Tuesday, March 04, 2008
I think I have now entered the dreaded Third Post-Partum Phase. During Phase 1 (roughly the first month after birth), you are completely focused on healing and accomplishing basic tasks - eating, sleeping, peeing, showering - with as little pain as possible. You are, of course, also pleasantly obsessed with the miracle of your baby – the fact that s/he exists and that you made her or him from scratch. Then during Phase 2, you start to feel pretty good. You've stopped bleeding. You’ve kind of figured out how the baby works and maybe even developed a little routine. You've lost a bunch of the pregnancy weight. You start to appreciate the absence of your big belly and your ability to bend over. You start thinking "Hey! I'm getting my groove back!" This phase can last quite awhile. With Gman, I think I was in good spirits and feeling like a Mama Super Star until he was about 6 months old.
But eventually, Phase 3 kicks in, usually when you finally try to resume all your regular life activities (including exercise), and you become aware of just how drained you are from nurturing and carrying your little one, inside for all those months, and now outside as they get bigger and more voracious for everything you have to offer everyday. The Chinese say it takes a woman 5 years to fully restore her chi after having a baby, and I believe them. Every muscle in my body hurts. My pelvis is out of allignment. My upper back is on fire from holding the baby and carting around the milk jugs I call breasts. My immune system is out of whack. I'm getting nosebleeds. I have very painful plantar's fascitis in my feet. And I have hemmorhoids, which aren't going away (lovely.) So there's some more healing to be done, and it's going to take awhile.
And then there’s my mood. My baby honeymoon is over a lot quicker this time, and it’s back to reality – and the realization that the kids are here to stay! Both of them! I’m crabby. I’m cranky. I’m feeling impatient. Not a great platform from which to lovingly mother a boisterous and impish 3-year old. Gman woke up at 5:45am this morning, and because we could not deal, we popped him in front of the tube for a couple of hours. Not an auspicious start for any morning. By the time I got up he was a) Bored, b) Hungry, c) Ready for Attention (either positive or negative). And I just wanted him to sit down, shut up, eat his breakfast, and get dressed and washed without a hassle. We were not on the same wave-length. And so I started in with The Nag – the “you need to…” and “if you can’t, then I’m gonna…” and “Normal children do what their parents ask of them,” blah, blah, blah. The poor kid.
"It sounds pretty dreary and difficult over there, and I've been trying
to come up with words of wisdom to offer. There's always the usual:
It's all perfect.
Everything's an opportunity.
The best: keep counting your blessings/gratitude.
All are true but sometimes words are just words.
My best words for now are "hang in there".
Did I tell you this? I was at a deli last August. It was Sunday morning and there was a long line of people waiting to order their bagels and coffee, etc. On the line was a mother with a boychild of about 8 or 9. When it was finally her turn, she ordered a hot dog for her son. It was morning and the hot dogs weren't ready yet. She got off the line to re-negotiate her son's order. He was quite difficult but she finally got back on the line and ordered a roll with butter when it was her turn. I was still on the line. A few minutes later, she returned to the counter. Apparently, her son got a seeded roll, not a plain roll - and that was not acceptable. She was beside herself. I touched her arm and said to her: "Don't worry. They grow up. My sons took me on a trip to Sedona for my 60th birthday". Before I left, she came over to me and said "thank you"."
Blessing Counting. Perhaps the most critical tool people (and especially parents) can use to get through an ordinary day without major mishap. The concept captured my attention last summer, during a conversation with Mama Zen about why she hadn’t knit something for Gman when he was a baby like she’d planned to. We recalled that she had broken her wrist that summer (hence no knitting), and as she recounted the details of the experience, she kept coming up with all the good things that had happened: "thank G-d it was my left and not my right", "I had very good doctors," etc. And I asked her how she could think of such a difficult thing in such a positive way, and she said "Well, you know I'm a blessing counter, from way-back." Just like that. And I thought, "How do I become one of those?!" I've been working on it ever since. I think it’s going to take a long-time to become a habit, so when I can, I try to make a daily practice of it. I do it while bringing Gabriel home from school (a long and laborious trip that I often find boring). “I’m grateful that it’s not raining.” “I’m grateful that I remembered to bring a snack.” “I’m grateful that we live in a neighborhood with such beautiful trees.” “I’m grateful that I have warm clothes for my kids to wear.” Etc. Etc. Etc. Etc. Etc. Etc. Etc.
Photo by jogiboarder
Labels: Faith, Family Life, Mamahood
Saturday, October 27, 2007
But I think the real cause of my lethargy is the fact that I learned a few days ago that a good friend - we'll call her Isis - has been diagnosed with cancer. She is my age - young - and she has children - also young. And while no one ever deserves cancer, she is definitely at the bottom of Santa's coal list. She cooks organic locally produced food with love for her family. She is a teacher. She studies Judaism and Buddhism and is working with her husband to transform their home into a green oasis. She is one of the most thinking feeling people I know - a source of light and wisdom in the world. And while I believe she has more internal resources than most to deal with the current challenge the universe is offering her, it makes me immeasurably sad that sweet Isis now has to deal with the "C" monster.
So, between the weather and the bad news about my friend, my mind, which has been remarkably calm lately (no chattering "what about your career?!" monkeys anywhere in sight), has taken a sudden detour into nihilism. Some people have a Narnia-style trapdoor in their mental wardrobes that leads to a land of fantasy. But the rabbit hole I succumb to most often dumps me in a landscape that looks more like the battleground in the last Lord of the Rings movie - no vegetation, no buildings, and lots of grotesque Orks running around with axes and maces ready to destroy everything in their path. What's the point of making plans when we have no idea what the future holds and know that our lives could change radically at any moment? How do you deal with the fact that you can live well and make good choices and still have to endure pain and suffering? How can we be truly present to the present moment when the fear of what could happen in the future is so overwhelming?
I guess these are the central questions that most religions strive to answer. Yet, while I've always liked religion and enjoyed studying it, in my heart of hearts I'm a doubting Thomas. I secretly believe that religion is actually a beautiful, exquisitely crafted quilt that humanity has woven over centuries to keep itself warm and insulated from the truly awesome and impersonal truths that actually drive the universe. So while some people jump into the life raft secure that they are protected by their faith, I've always had the company of a mental skeptic who quips "You know, sharks are still happy to chomp on you whether you believe in G-d or not." Nonetheless, religion is the best tool I've got to push back the darkness when it comes. Just as we tell simple stories to explain complex ideas to children, the stories that religion tells about what it means to be human and to live in the world may be the only version of the truth that I will ever be able to understand.
So, in an attempt to corral and quiet the wild horses in my mind this morning, I picked up a book called Faith by Sharon Salzberg (which appropriately, Isis gave me for my birthday last month.) This book chronicles the journey of a woman from being mired in her painful past to being enlightened and emboldened by healing and self-love as she discovers Buddhism. I read a lot of books about Buddhism, even though I don't consider myself a Buddhist. Somehow, the unfamiliarity of Buddhism relaxes me and allows me to entertain certain concepts and feelings more easily than I could if they were couched in the language of Christianity (which I always wind up arguing with because of my long and emotional relationship to it).
My biggest problem with Christianity is the notion of a personal G-d, a deity who sees and cares about the details of my life, and with whom I can communicate. I believe in....something bigger than myself, but I've never been sure what to call it - G-d, universal life force, Buddha-nature? When I look at the mystery and complexity of the world around me, I just can't get behind the idea of an anthropomorphized life-force who is consciously creating and shaping the reality I experience, and with whom I can share my suffering and desires. The idea of having "faith in G-d", as in "have faith and it will all work out okay" also doesn't ring true to me. Things often don't work out okay. Bad things happen to good people. Disaster and poverty and war exist. And all the theological explanations about how these things can coincide with "G-d's plan" for the world always sound like over-intellectualized rationalization to me. But of course, none of these doubts keep me from praying, or making signs for luck, or wishing that G-d does exist, does see me, does care about my life and the lives of the people I love. None of these doubts prevents me from still having faith in...something.
What I find it easier to believe in is Nature. Whenever I find myself losing my marbles, I look at the sky - watch it changing, see what the particular quality of light is that day, chart the meandering path of birds and planes through its endless expanse. The sky calms me down. It doesn't make me feel that everything is going to go my way, but absorbing its eternal beauty makes me care less about the specific temporal challenges I am facing. The sky is something I can believe in. So is the ocean. Big things that have energy and power and beauty, but no awareness of my existence. Things that remain unchanging (or forever changing), no matter what happens to me. I've always known that no matter what happens to my life or my body, as long as I have a window to look out of with a view of the sky and a tree, I'll be okay.
So I read something in Faith this morning that resonated for me and made me feel a bit lighter:
"The first step on the journey of faith is to recognize that everything is moving onward to something else, inside us and outside. Seeing this truth is the foundation of faith. Life is transition, movement, and growth. However solid things may appear on the surface, everything in life is changing without exception. Even Mount Everest - the perfect symbol of indomitable, unyielding, massively solid reality - is "growing" a quarter of an inch a year, as the landmass of India pushes under Asia. People come and go in our lives; possessions break or change; governments and whole systems of governments are established or disintegrate. Eager anticipation precedes a meal, which soon ends. A relationship is difficult and disappointing, then transforms into a bond we trust. We might feel frightened in the morning, reassured in the afternoon, and uneasy at night. We know that at the end of our lives we die. There is change, breath, oscillation, and rhythm everywhere.
With faith we can draw near to the truth of the present moment, which is dissolving into the unknown even as we meet it. We open up to what is happening right now in all its mutability and evanexcence. A pain in our body, a heartache, an unjust treatment may seem inert, impermeable, unchanging. It may appear to be all that is, all that ever will be. But when we look closely, instead of solidity, we see porousness, fluidity, motion. We begin to see gaps between the moments of suffering. We see the small changes that are happening all the time in the texture, the intensity, the contours of our pain.
No matter what is happening, whenever we see the inevitability of change, the ordinary, or even oppressive facts or our lives can become alive with prospect. We see that a self-image we've been holding doesn't need to define us forever, the next step is not the last step, what life was is not what it is now, and certainly not what it might yet be."
I wish for lightness for you too - may whatever you are carrying today be eased by some unexpected encounter with another person or with the sky above you.
Be well.
faith
Labels: Career Anxiety, Faith
Sunday, September 09, 2007
MIRACLE x 2One of my favorite intellectual indulgences is engaging in long-winded theological conversations. My good friend J and I use to stay up till all hours in college debating the nature of divinity and the various laws and practices humans have devised to explain and express their connection to it. For my own part, I believe in a kind of universal consciousness and creative force that I call G-d, for want of a better word to describe the expressible. But I've never believed this power was personal: I don't think G-d takes notice of me or the specific circumstances of my life. I think that I hold about the same position in G-d's consciousness as any other living thing: one drop in a really big bucket.
And yet...how to explain the miracle of my daughter's heart. Yes, Baby Pickle has revealed herself to us. We recently had the 2nd ultrasound - the big picture show - and because we had the good fortune of getting a technician-in-training, the test took about an hour (rather than 10 minutes), and we got to see everything. First, as I predicted, Baby Pickle is most likely a girl. I am enormously pleased by this discovery, not only because I felt she was a girl and love having my maternal intuition validated, but because I am really looking forward to having the experience of parenting children of both genders. I am also hoping that Pickle and Gman will find it easier to enjoy and tolerate each other if they are a bit different.
But by far the most amazing part of the ultrasound was the chance to see Pickle's heart. There are several measurements of the heart ultrasound technicians must take to ensure that there are no significant defects, and because ours was a novice, he was having trouble getting his shots. His teacher, a nurse who appeared to be running the whole department, patiently instructed him how to move the ultrasound wand until finally, the entire pulsing organ came into view. It was such an amazingly clear picture, everyone wanted to linger over it. We could see all four ventricles, the arteries leading into and away from the heart, and the pulsating flush of light representing the flow of blood through the heart. "Nice heart," the nurse said after a minute. And I felt a flood of pride: "I made that heart!" And then another flood of wonder: "How is this possible?" How is it possible that one human being can create another inside of them? How is it possible that information encoded on a microscopic scroll could cause the creation of such a complicated, delicate, and beautiful organ. Looking at my daughter's heart, I immediately understood why the organ has become the symbolic seat of the emotions and even the soul in human consciousness. It is the very embodiment of the universal life force that moves through all things with a steady thumping beat. You can live without a brain. You can live without your kidneys. You cannot live without your heart. And looking at this heart, I could suddenly imagine that maybe G-d does take notice of each creature created on her blue globe. I imagined the heart as G-d's pied-a-terre, the place she fills when she comes to visit her creatures in their earthly incarnation.
Now on to the 2nd Miracle. The day after this ultrasound appointment, I got a phone call out of the blue. "Hello, my name is Jeanette. I'm a one-to-one midwife. Can I stop by and see you today?" I've got to give you some backstory so you can fully appreciate the waves of ecstasy that rolled through me when I heard those words. Early in my pregnancy, I became convinced that I wanted to try for a homebirth this time around. I've had several people encouraging me toward this choice - my exceptional midwife L who graciously "specialed" me with my first pregnancy (meaning that she was the only person I saw for my prenatal care and she committed to being at my delivery), my amazing doula R (who I credit with getting me through transition quickly and in a relaxed enough state that I was able to go the distance without the drugs), and my new friend A (who is training to be an antenatal teacher here in the UK). A gave me a fabulous book called "Homebirth" by UK author and midwife Nicky Wesson, and after reading it, I was pretty sure I wanted to try it. However, the book cautioned that while 75 years ago 90% of births were done at home, today the rate is less than 2%! Thus, you can expect to find a lot of ignorance and resistance to homebirth in the mainstream medical establishment.
Flash forward to my first prenatal appointment at around 14 weeks. I saw a woman who it turns out was a midwife (although she never introduced herself to me, nor did she do much beyond taking my blood pressure and asking 3 or 4 banal questions), and I told her that I wanted to have a homebirth. She basically said "Oh, you can't. We don't do that anymore, we don't have the staffing. We used to have this thing called the one-to-one midwife scheme, but it's only available to disadvantaged mothers now." In other words, if I was young, addicted or crazy I could have the blissful experience of seeing the same midwife throughout my pregnancy, and in my own home no less, but since I'm healthy, wealthy and middle-aged, no dice. Now to be fair, the National Health System is extremely strapped at the moment. Later I learned that it was decided at some point to save one-to-one midwifery time for people who otherwise might not receive any prenatal care. This seems like a smart idea. But still, I was flummoxed by the "we don't do that" approach to homebirth. Because not only are the outcomes better in homebirth, it's actually a hell of a lot cheaper for the state than a hospital birth. I mentioned several times during my visit that I would really like to have a homebirth. "I'll put in a request" she said in a bored tone, "but I wouldn't count on it." I figured that was a euphemism for "fuck off," and didn't expect it to go any further.
At my next appointment, at around 16 weeks, I saw the head honcho OB doctor, because I have this little genetic disposition toward developing blood clots, and I needed to check out the implications for the pregnancy. Turns out there are none for the baby (yeah!), although I could potentially croak from a post-partum deep vein thrombosis that develops into a pulmonary embolism (boo!), but the chances of that are very unlikely and it wouldn't develop quickly so there would be time to take some measures to contain it. I asked this Dr. M (a white, middle-aged, ultra-English male) if my condition precluded me having a homebirth. He said no, "but I would advise against a homebirth anyway." Why? Because my first baby was "big" at 9 pounds, 9 ounces, and 2nd babies tend to get even bigger. "We'd worry about shoulder dystocia," (fancy term for baby getting stuck on the way out). Oh, is that all. I laughed it off, because honestly, if you've seen my hips, you know I ain't gonna have no trouble birthin' no big babies.
Turns out, this conservative dude is actually the gatekeeper of my prenatal care. Because at my 3rd appointment (the one where I had the ultrasound), a much friendlier and more informative midwife said "Oh yes, we do do homebirths and we're always looking for candidates," (yeah!) "but Dr. M has said you shouldn't have one, so you'll have to convince him," (boo!) When I asked when and how I could achieve this, she told me I could see him again at 36 weeks. "Isn't that leaving things a bit late," I asked. "Oh no," she chirped, "if he says it's okay then, we can still schedule you for a homebirth." At this point I was 22 weeks (out of 40 total), and I didn't relish the thought of spending 14 weeks worrying about a big showdown with the doctor that would either result in me getting the chance to birth the way I want or in getting forced into doing it their way. Didn't seem like a good plan. But I left the hospital with the grateful knowledge that Baby Pickle is healthy so far and decided that I would hold the intention of a "homebirth" and hope that the universe or G-d was tuning in enough to pick up my broadcast.
The very next day, I got the call from Jeanette, the one-to-one midwife. I waited all day for her to turn up (she was squeezing me in), and when she finally arrived, we spent a relaxed hour together chatting over tea. She took my blood pressure again and measured my belly on the couch, while Gman played happily in his room. She explained that in fact, one-to-one midwifery care is still available for anyone who wants to have a homebirth. And it turns out the first midwife I saw - the surly one who I thought was blowing me off, actually did put in my request, and finally it had been approved, and I was in like Flynn.
I cannot describe the joy I felt that day, and the wonder that after expecting the worst, suddenly the best had become possible. It just goes to show...well, I don't really know what it shows. Except that I am considering it a Miracle - Miracle #2 (the first being Pickle's heart) - and I am so so grateful. "Hold the intention" is becoming a new mantra - a kissing cousin with "Do your part and the universe will do the rest." There are still lots of reasons why I could wind up delivering in the hospital, but I feel like I have done everything I could to create the optimal conditions for this baby to land in the world, and that is a very very good feeling.
May you experience a Miracle in your own life sometime soon. And may you be wise enough to recognize it when it comes.
Be well.
Labels: birth, Faith, Mamahood
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Time to let the cat out of the bag. Well, okay, I'm actually hoping to keep the cat...er...baby in the bag awhile yet. But I've had visual confirmation via a scan that this baby exists and at 15 weeks I'm out of the danger zone, so I finally feel free to write about the experience of double-dipping into the Mamahood jar.
First of all, let me just say - those condoms really do work. I know this because apparently I got pregnant about 12 seconds after we decided to stop using condoms even though we weren't quite ready to conceive yet ('cause hey, it took 8 months the first time, so we figured we had a little leeway.) But being pregnant seems to be like riding a bicycle - once your body has done it, there is no prep time required to do it again.
Like much else in life, the second time around isn't quite the thrill ride that the first was. It's also not as scary. While I did still entertain a persistent first trimester dread that the zygote wouldn't stick around to develop into a charmingly little long-tailed lizard, in most other regards it was fine and totally manageable. Sure, I was exhausted and a little queasy and emotionally volatile and exceptionally stupid for about 3 months, but other than that the first phase was no big deal. Also, since I am now living in the land of socialized medicine, I didn't even see a doctor for the first time until last week - so in a sense my pregnancy has been off the radar up until now.
But now I am on the radar, and now begins the struggle and scrape to choose when and how I will perform the big push. I've been fairly interested in having a homebirth, given that a) I had a great birth the first time around and b) I've heard lots of unpleasant stories from local mums about their experiences in NHS hospitals. But apparently if I go this route, the state has no obligation to provide me with a midwife to assist me. They might send somebody if they feel like it on the big day, but then again they might be too busy. This apparent indifference to my birthing preference appears to be largely economically motivated. In the hospital, one midwife can attend up to 5 women at a given time. At home, two midwives are required to be present and they must stay with the woman for the entire duration of her labor. So, obviously, you can pump out a lot more bambinos a lot quicker in a hospital setting. Which is my big problem with hospitals in the first place - the time pressure. Clock watching tends to lead to icky interventions like forcepts and vacuum extraction and caesareans. Apparently 100 years ago, 90% of women gave birth at home in this country. Now it is less than 2%. Amazing how times change. If I was poor, teenaged, or crazy, I would have a better shot at being assigned a homebirth midwife team. But since I am healthy and middle-class, my desires about how my health is managed are of little interest to NHS. I could hire an independent midwife to assist me with the birthing process - apparently they are terrific and even better trained than the NHS midwives - but it would cost us about $6,000 out of pocket. This option is a) financially impossible for us and b) kind of absurd in a country where allegedly the healthcare is free.
So, I'm trying to be patient - a good practice given that I am still less than halfway through my pregnancy. Being pregnant provides the ultimate opportunity to get comfortable with waiting - which is I think one of the secrets to being a happy and fulfilled person. We are so used to being in control, to exerting our agency and influence - it is quite a shock to discover that in some circumstances the best and only thing that can be done is to wait. And I still remember a key lesson I learned in my first pregnancy - the reason it takes 10 months to grow a baby is that it takes the baby's parents that long to really believe in the baby - as a fully fleshed individual entity, not just an idea or a lifestyle prop. It is starting to dawn on me in small ways that another human being is coming to live in our house and that everything we have chosen or planned for our lives is about to change. We don't know if this person will be male or female. We don't know if s/he will be mellow or intense. We don't know if s/he will be sick or healthy. And all those unknowns stir up flocks of other unknowns - where will we be living in 6 months (our lease is technically up December 6th), when will I work again, what will life be like in 5 years (with a 4 year old and a 7 year old), in 10 years (with a 9 year old and a 12 year old), in 20?
Accepting the impermanence of life - that is one of the central goals of Buddhism. Well, I think having babies is one of the most tangible expressions of Buddhism there is - it's all about the unknown and lifes' cycle of constant change. It's all about giving up your ego and acknowledging that you have no control over anything. It's all about the present moment - which today - at this moment - is very good: the sun is shining (after 14 straight days of rain), I went for a power-walk this morning (I finally feel well enough to exercise), and I've had enough time alone to both read and write this blog. I hope the moment is good for you too.
Be well.
Labels: birth, Faith, Mamahood
