How is it that so many
women suffer from irregular periods and bouts of intense pain in conjunction
and yet what is happening to these women is a mystery. They can do laparoscopy, they can give you
birth control, but there really is no real way to help it or even know exactly
whats going on. It seems an area where
we need much more medical exploration and research. And we are still waiting…In the meantime I
was told by no less than three doctors that becoming pregnant may help my
situation. Wow I thought, that seems
insane, suggesting that I bring a new life into the world as a means of correcting
my illness. Wow. Many doctors have found
that pregnancy often helps certain ailments. Presumably because a women’s body
strengthens itself in preparation for creating and carrying another life. I
guess it’s a sort of wake-up call to the body, “time to straighten out your
act, you will be a parent soon.”
However, my response to those doctors (and other lay people who made the
same suggestion) was, ‘you have to be out of your mind if you think I would
make such a serious decision based on the possibility
that my health could improve”. Insane.
When I turned 30 I had already been married
for over six years with much of my old-fashioned immigrant
Catholic-Iraqi family wondering when I was going to have children, or rather
whether I was able to. I mean wouldn’t I already have some kids if we
were able to make them? Well, my husband and I had recently revisited this topic,
which we did periodically upon marrying, and had decided in this crazy mixed-up
world who would be foolish enough to purposely have children. Yes, we thought, that is probably the best
decision.
And then it happened. My
irregular period was even more irregular seeming. It had been two weeks late
before, but has it been even longer than that now? Gosh I seem to feel quite
nauseous all the time now. I was in
strict denial. It was easy to be, we had used more than one form of birth
control. Ladies, let me tell you,
abstinence is the ONLY sure fire way to avoid pregnancy. I was even told it would be difficult for me
to conceive, that if I wanted to I should consider seeing a fertility
specialist. I bought a three-pack
pregnancy test. I told my husband I
would do it the next morning. Then two
days later he asked if I had done it yet. I said no, I was waiting to make sure
to do it in the morning, when they say its best. Now two mornings had passed by
with me conveniently forgetting to take this test. My husband mentioned that I
should probably really do it. The next
morning I did. I did all three. All three were
positive.
I sat on the couch and
watched my life pass by. And then I got nervous, scared really. I’m an incredibly sensitive person, to a
fault even, and I was instantly enveloped in tears. What would this child do in
this world, how would he or she survive, with the threat of war and global
warming, classism, sexism, racism and homophobia... People filled with hate,
morals being flung to the waste side. How would he or she survive this? Oh no,
what if he or she becomes one of those people? And then my mind really started
to race. What if my child is disabled, how would I ensure they will be cared
for when I pass? What if I die when my child is still small? What if my husband
does? What if I die in childbirth? God help this child.
My husband wasn’t
surprised, not to say he didn’t seem quite anxious about the whole thing, but
he wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t how I pictured this happening when I was
younger. I pictured my husband being really nervous and me being so elated and
trying to calm his nerves. It was the opposite, he assured me that things would
be fine, that it was in God’s hands anyhow and he had willed us to have a
child. He reminded me that we should be so happy. And then I was, scared still,
but happy, or at least excited about the prospect of a child and excited at the
thought that I was carrying and creating a living being. What a head rush that
is!
I told my mom almost
immediately. She said she knew. I guess I was the only one who didn’t. I always thought I would know the instant I
was pregnant, that I would just feel it. I didn’t know the instant I was
pregnant, that seems certain. But I do think I knew for weeks, but just sort of
ignored it.
And there it went.
Everything I smelled made me crazy. Morning sickness really brought home the
surreal feeling that began to slowly take me over. A living being that will
grow to be a baby. I’ve seen babies, and now, I would think, I’m making
one…inside of me. And it will come out of me (somehow) and grow to be a big
person - what a trip.
The bigger I got the
harder everything got. Like so many movies and TV shows I kept imagining (and
yes even using a throw pillow at one point) what I would look like fully
pregnant. I don’t think it really ever hits you. Its one of those things that
is such a mind blower you really can’t totally look at it straight ahead, like
It will blind you if you really try to imagine it. Its too much, too scary. You
have to think about it almost like peripheral vision, knowing its there but not
really fully taking it in. Maybe this is just me and most women can fully
revel in what changes their body is going through. But for me, despite feeling
like a miracle, at times weeping over the beauty of being involved the most
awesome feature of the circle of life, I was really freaked out by this.
The more pregnant I got the more freaky it
was. Especially when I got to the point of feeling her moving and her little
kicks. Not to say it wasn’t already
flipping me out, imagine (for those of you who have not experienced this)
feeling like you have a fish bowl and a rather healthy goldfish (like my four
year old goldfish from the Michigan State Fair who looks like he belongs in a coi pond)
in a bowl a bit small for them (like our goldfish, Lys Gul Fisk) holding court
underneath the flesh of your abdominal area…yeah. To top it off, Potato decided her little left foot would
spend most of the last couple months sticking out of the top of my rib
cage. If I really fell into a realization of exactly what was going on it
fucked with me like crazy.
And of course you gain
weight. Or some people don’t, some people lose weight (I have heard). I gained
weight. I had just finished law school, in fact recently took the bar exam. In
fact, the day before I found out I was pregnant I was notified that I failed
the bar exam. That was quite a weekend.
I got very plump indeed in law school, not everyone does. Actually, a
lot like pregnancy many gain weight but some don’t and some even lose
weight. As soon as I started to lose
weight again (after law school and restarting a long lost vegan diet) is when I
got pregnant. Talk about ruining your diet. Walking up the stairs became such a
chore, standing to clean the dishes became such a chore, so did anything else
that required me to do anything other than sit in a room at perfect temperature
at a desk. Sleeping even became a chore, when you have only one position to
sleep in that isn’t very comfortable it stops seeming worth it.
At about five and a
half months my maternal grandmother became very ill. I tried to visit her in the hospital but was
many times told by my family to stay home, worried I would get sick and hurt
the baby. And at about seven months she passed away. Her seven kids and dozens
of grandkids and great grandkids crowded her hospital room and the hall
outside. We cried our eyes out, we screamed how we loved her, we prayed, we
reminded her of memories, a call came in from a family member out of state
wanting to say bye. It was one of the most intense experiences of my life and
to say it left me broken and broken hearted is because I can’t find the energy
and courage to think of it deep enough to describe it better. My
grandmother and I were very close.
Though I was a black sheep she treated me like gold. She called me
“malakah” – an “angel” in Chaldean (an Aramaic language). I used to bring her flowers on special occasions. She would tell me it was a waste of money and to stop doing so. But I
knew it really made her smile and maybe even let her know how much I loved her,
how special she was to me. I enjoyed playing cards with her and listening to
her stories. Without my grandmother I would probably speak very little or no
Chaldean, it was because this was the only language she could speak that I know so much of it. She wasn’t taught to read or
write, the written Chaldean language is all but dead. She used to watch me read
books, wishing she could, she literally sat across from me and smiled and
watched. I used to think I would teach
her to read when I got older. I never did.
My parents are first
cousins (don’t judge us, many if not all cultures practiced this until recently
and we have stopped as well). My grandmothers were sisters. My paternal grandma
passed away before I was born, when my father, her youngest, was only three. My maternal grandmother told me I was just
like her, supposedly I look quite a bit like her, I have a fiery personality as
she did and I have a want to help others with what I can. I think that’s why we had a special
relationship, I was her youngest daughter’s only daughter, I came from her
sister’s youngest son and I reminded her of her beloved and lost sister buried
far away in Iraq long ago. Whatever the reason, I am so grateful for the
relationship we had. I often wonder if she knows how much I love her, how I
miss her more than the father I lost unexpectedly at 53 just a couple years before her death. She was a part of my heart that is gone, my
mother’s mother, my second mother who taught me to pray and who raised my
mother, who in turn raised me, to be a strong woman.
At about seven and a
half months pregnant something happened. I was at work when I felt an all the sudden
enormous pressure on my pelvic area. Considering I had to pee every forty or so
minutes I figured I probably just had to pee and held it too long. When I got
up I was in a lot of pain but managed to hobble to the bathroom. After I went and the pressure was still there I knew something was wrong. I had a hard time making it back outside the bathroom. When I got to the doorway in the hall I just stood there bent over in pain and hoped someone would come by and help me. Eventually one of my coworkers walked that way and hurried over to help me out. They brought me a chair because I couldn't move and I called the doctor. It turned out that my pubic bone had separated prematurely, with the weight of the baby weighing on the two parts which were grinding together it was agony. I was on bed rest for pretty much the rest of my pregnancy.
At some point near the
end I could deny it no further, I could no longer ignore what was going on, nor
look at it only peripherally-my belly was so straight and in the center “out
there” I could hardly look in any direction and not be faced with reality.
June 6, 2012 came and
went. I learned that due dates are no more than good guesses and to not be
surprised when I was late – "first babies often are". It was getting pretty hot and I was pretty
huge. Being on bed rest for a while wasn’t helping. June 9 was the day I
declared she would arrive. I just knew it, nine being my favorite number. June 9 came and went. So did June 10, 11, 12, and 13. I was getting
pretty restless. I was numb in my hands and swollen legs and feet. My wrists
hurt from carpal tunnel and even my nose was swollen. We did all the things you
are told to when trying to induce labor, all the way from massage and
acupuncture to sex and driving around on bumpy roads. Nothing. The one thing I
held off on doing was drinking castor oil.
That sounded horrible. But I was getting worried. Babies born late have
a risk of having their first poop in the womb and getting it in their lungs.
Scary.
On June 14 I had a
doctor appointment. I decided long before to go natural (as horrible as it
seemed) for various reasons like trying to avoid a caesarean section and not
wanting the babies first time on drugs to come before her teenage years. The
midwife seemed a bit concerned. I was very thinned out but only 1 centimeter dilated. She suggested castor oil. I
winced. We checked the baby with a stress test and an ultrasound. She seemed to
be fine. The midwife, the doctor (I thought had the best of both worlds, giving
birth in a hospital in the alternative birthing center this unique hospital has
with a nurse/midwife and a doctor right near if needed) and I made a plan by
the end of this appointment. It was a Thursday. We decided if I wasn’t in labor
by Saturday night, I needed to come to the hospital to be induced naturally.
I went home and
started to really worry. I was afraid to be induced. I was worried something
was wrong. There was nothing left to try
– except castor oil. My husband went and bought some and I stared at it. Then I
remembered one thing I didn’t try since it seemed quite similar to taking a
bumpy car ride, the yoga ball. I put on movie after movie and bounced on that
damn ball for hours and hours. Nothing. I gave up and tried to get some rest, being told
when it did happen I would really need my energy.
At about 2:00am on
June 15, now nine days late, I woke
up with an intense yearning to urinate. When I got out of bed I felt liquid
dripping out of me. Throughout my
pregnancy I actually never had problems with bladder control, thankfully, so I
knew something was up. But it being in the middle of the night, my head was
cloudy and it took me a minute to put two and two together. I went to the
toilet and it didn’t feel like a regular pee. I wiped and saw blood and
freaked. I screamed at my husband from the bathroom and he woke up in a shock. Poor guy, I probably took a year off his life
waking him up like that. We checked contractions, irregular like before. I
talked to the midwife, she said despite the irregular contractions it looks
like it I was starting labor. If it wasn’t for the water breaking (not
everyone's does) I would have never known I was in labor. They tell you constantly the
contractions will be regular and that’s how you will know, well mine weren’t
until they were two and three minutes apart. She told me to meet her at the
hospital. An icy fear gripped me.
