Return from Inertia

Oh, the horror of the blank page.

Many times I have logged in with the intention of writing a post, only to chicken out after a few feeble attempts at trying to express what I was thinking or feeling at the time. I’m so out of practice. In fact, everything about me feels rusty and out of order.

I need to start doing.

6 Months Later

I can say it now: I feel (almost) normal.

I don’t think I had an easy pregnancy. In many ways, it was a good pregnancy; my blood pressure was normal, I passed the glucose tolerance test, no abnormalities were detected in the baby, and every month, when Khalid and I watched our little boy through the ultrasound, he seemed to be growing well and having fun kicking and floating around in my womb, much to our delight. However, I was not very happy for a significant part of my pregnancy. I wasn’t depressed, but I was very sensitive, temperamental and emotional, much more so than I was before I got pregnant. Naturally, work became very stressful for me. At the same time, I had to put up with severe water retention and rashes from the middle of my second trimester all the way till I gave birth; the former went away within two weeks of delivery, the latter only two months ago. In short, my pregnancy was perfect as far as the baby was concerned, but (I have to be honest) rather unpleasant for me. To top it all, 17 hours of labour.

I must come across as petty to some people because I write about feeling miserable, uncomfortable and ugly during my pregnancy, when I should be thankful that my child turned out healthy and normal and beautiful. I am not complaining. But I want to tell it like it is, because I need to, for me.

After I gave birth, I felt irreparably broken. Perhaps it was a case of post-partum blues. Those first 6 weeks, I had so much to learn and do for the baby; establishing a breastfeeding routine while putting up with 2 to 3 hours of sleep at a time was particularly challenging. I was distracted by the child, but not enough that I didn’t notice how very slowly I was recovering, so slowly that it seemed I would never be the same again. It saddened me. The pregnancy books and some friends will tell you that staying active would help you recover faster. The first time I decided to go out, to Vivocity for lunch with Khalid and my sister, three weeks after giving birth, I was exhausted within 2 hours. I realised then that I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t ready to be active. I needed to rest. And rest. And rest.

I went back to work right after my 12-week maternity leave ended. I was still carrying extra baggage. Some i—t children thought I was pregnant again. But I was still much lighter than I used to be, and slowly but surely, I learnt to love my body, however imperfect it was. One day, I realised that I had walked up three flights of stairs without stopping, and I was so proud of myself; in the last few weeks of my pregnancy, I took forever to get from one place to another on my swollen legs. As my son grew, my arms became stronger from carrying him. I also started going places with Omar strapped to me in the baby carrier. At first, I felt clumsy and I got tired easily, so I could only make short trips. Last week, I went to Beach Road to buy costumes for the school musical and made it home with Omar, the baby bag and a big bag containing 5 bulky jackets after walking from Beach Road to the taxi stand at Bugis — progress! I’ve started to believe that I can go back to how I used to be physically. It will take time, but I love myself enough to keep trying till I get there.

The thing is this: amidst the joy of welcoming a new member of the family, people sometimes forget about the person who went through the most hardship to make it happen – the mother. Her happiness and wellbeing is very important too. The hardship doesn’t end once the baby’s born. It takes time, faith, love and effort to heal.

I feel almost normal again. And I thank God for it.

P.S. This post was first published under my Facebook Notes, October 30.

The Day My Life Changed

Exactly a month ago today, I woke up from a nightmare at 4:06 in the morning. The details of the nightmare dissipated within seconds of my eyes’ fluttering open, as I became aware of a peculiar sensation: of liquid leaking from between my legs. My water had broken. After 38 weeks and 5 days, the wait was finally over. I was going to see my first child.

My husband, K, called our hospital’s emergency service hotline, and whoever was on duty then contacted our ob/gyn to inform him of what had happened. We got a call from a sleepy Dr Tan 5 minutes later. He told me to get to the hospital within two hours. Apparently there was no need to hurry since I was not bleeding.

We arrived at the hospital by 6.49 am. Very efficiently, I was ushered to the delivery suite. I was given a hospital gown and had some contraption strapped around my belly that monitored the baby’s heartbeat and blood pressure. My temperature was taken, and then I was left alone to wait, while K registered me as a patient.

That was the day of many firsts. I got my first enema ever at 8.00 am. 30 minutes later, a nurse came in to check my dilation, by which she meant she was going to shove a gloved finger or two into my vagina, all the way in. Oh my God that hurt! It was like sticking an ultra absorbent tampon into your vagina when you are not having your period. In fact, up until then I had not felt any pain, only the uncomfortable sensation of liquid coming out of me, over which flow I had absolutely no control. I fell asleep reading a celebrity gossip magazine that K had sweetly procured for me.

Breakfast came in the form of tiny cheese sandwiches and a small pot of Milo. That was around 10. (Little did I know that that was to be my last meal before I gave birth, 11 hours later. ) Dr Tan came to check up on me. He said I was officially in labour, but since I was only 1 centimetre dilated, it was going to be quite a wait.

And wait I did.

Sometime around noon it was decided that my labour had to be induced, so I was hooked up to an oxytocin drip. An hour or two later, I started feeling some pain. I got acquainted with the gas mask. I say gas because I don’t know what gas it was that I breathed. All I knew was that breathing into it made me feel a little high. The love affair didn’t last long, though. An hour later, I was screaming in pain. How can I describe the pain? Imagine a virgin being fisted without lubrication. FUCKING PAINFUL, in other words. I had the mask over my face and was breathing hard, and nothing happened. Thankfully, the skilled anesthetist came quite quickly and managed to stick a needle into my spine for the much-welcome dose of epidural. Involuntary shivering followed, then numbness. Someone examined me again and told me that I had dilated 5 centimetres in the past hour, hence the sudden intense pain. Suddenly, the baby was descending quickly through the birth canal.

After more waiting, I was eventually told that I was fully dilated and that I should start pushing.I could no longer feel my contractions, but I pushed when I was told to, and each time with little progress. It must have been 7 pm at the time, and I was miserable, exhausted and hungry. All I could do was to listen for the instruction to push and hope that this time, I would get it right.

I gave up at 9 pm, or close to it. The midwife asked if I needed help, and I said yes. Dr Tan came, performed an episiotomy and pulled my baby’s head out with a pair of forceps. I felt nothing, just a faint sensation of something sliding out of me. At 9.06 pm, my little boy was born. When he was placed on my chest, still covered in vernix, he was quiet. It surprised me. TV got it wrong. Not all babies come out crying. Some are contemplative, looking around at their new world through hazy eyes. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It took me a week, literally, to notice the alien head-shape, the kind that all babies who go through a vaginal birth temporarily have, from the photographs that my husband took.

We named him Omar. It means long-living in Arabic, fluent speaker in Hebrew, and first-born in German.

Perfect.

New Beginnings

It was time to move to another place, so here I am.