Reflections from Maadi

Ma'salama, ya Masr, wi Shukran

2011-06-26T07:00:00.000+02:00

Today is the day.

By the time this post publishes (it's been scheduled a little in advance), my family and I will have left Egypt.

What to say on a day like this? One chapter of my life is ending today. It's a chapter I'd like to keep open for a while longer. I expressed my nostalgia in my "Saying Good-bye" post not too long ago. Now I've said my good-byes to my friends, my favorite shops and their keepers, my favorite restaurants and their owners and employees.

What I haven't said yet is "Thank you." Thank you, embassy community, for preparing the way for me and for providing so many small and large luxuries to make my adjustment easier. Thank you, expat community as a whole, for welcoming me, embracing me, and providing a supportive social network during every phase of my life here. Thank you, Maadi Community Church, for showing me a glimpse of what heaven will look like. Thank you, Maadi Women's Guild, for giving me the opportunity to fellowship with other Christian women, to participate in group Bible studies, and to serve people who need it more than I ever imagined possible in my comfortable life back in the States. Thank you, Caritas Egypt, for running the baby wash program, which was my first foray into volunteering in Egypt. Thank you, Mother Teresa's, for running the orphanage and daycare where the children stole my heart from the moment I met them.

Thank you, people of Cairo, for welcoming me into your country. For being supportive and not impatient with me as I mangled your lovely language in my attempts to speak it, and for your attempts to help me learn it better and more quickly. For caring about my daughter and looking out for her welfare, even when I disagreed with your advice. For offering me a seat on the Metro even though I'm sure you were more exhausted and in need of it than I was. For using your own Metro ticket to get the turnstile to let me out that time when my ticket decided to stop working during transit. For banding together to protect my daughter, myself, and my property from your less upstanding neighbors during the Revolution.

Thank you, Egypt, for showing me that I'm stronger, more adaptable, and more capable than I realized. For showing me how good my life is. For showing me how good life can be even for people who have so much less than I have, as long as they have faith, family, and a sense of humor. For giving me a taste for adventure. For helping me understand that adventure does not always feel adventurous. For helping me realize that a laid-back attitude doesn't mean that things can't get done, just that they get done in a different way and with different timing. For showing me that things don't have to get done how and when I want them to, and I'll still be just fine. For allowing me to expand my horizons and those of my daughter.

Good-bye, O Egypt, and thank you.

Ma'salama, ya Masr, wi shukran.

An Invitation

2011-06-17T08:00:00.000+02:00

I have enjoyed writing Reflections from Maadi over the last three years. However, I just don't see my way clear to continue writing Reflections from Maadi once we no longer live in Maadi.

Take heart, however (or be discouraged, if you rejoiced at the thought of this blog ending), for although this blog will end, a new one will begin. I decided to start a new blog, with a new name and a new address that aren't so country-specific, so that it can stay with me as we move from post to post over the years. The plan is to import the content of Reflections from Maadi and eventually delete this blog.

I do intend to publish one more post here, my good-bye to Egypt, so stay tuned for that.

My new blog will not have any new posts until this fall. I may feel compelled to write a little something before our arrival in Cambodia, but it's more likely that I won't post anything until September, after we arrive and set up internet access. This summer I will not be blogging, although I hope to keep up with the blogs I read.

My new blog is called Reflections from a Global Nomad, and it can be found at http://DeborahReflections.blogspot.com. Consider this post your invitation to join me there. I hope to see you there in September!

The New Normal

2011-06-09T10:57:00.000+02:00

It seems like all the expats here in Egypt have a new system of indicating time. Events now are labeled as "pre-Revolution" or "post-Revolution." Yes, the Revolution of 25 January changed things that much, at least according to some. According to others, little has changed. I think it depends on where exactly you live and how much you pay attention.

In my neighborhood, not too much has changed, at least on the surface. The streets may be marginally cleaner. You're likely to see things like this:

Patriotism and pride in being Egyptian seems to be up. I haven't taken pictures yet, but it's very common now to see poles, trees, gates, and walls painted in red, white, and black, the colors of the Egyptian flag.

You're also likely to see scenes like these:

These pictures, and many others like them, appeared during or shortly after the revolution. They reflect the national unity that was present during the revolution (also captured by the now-famous photo of Coptic Christians holding hands while encircling a group of praying Muslims in Tahrir Square, making sure that they were not disturbed or harmed during their prayers). This unity has persisted among some, but unfortunately not all, Egyptians.

However, not all the changes in Egypt are positive. In my experience, most of the negative changes are under the surface. Unfortunately, they can rise to the top suddenly and turn minor annoyances into dangerous situations. I have not experienced these situations myself, but no one is immune, and wise people will not forget that today's Egypt is not as safe for foreigners (or for Egyptians) as pre-revolution Egypt was.

One surface indicator of the dangerous undercurrent is a rise in crime. Crimes that are commonplace in big cities in the United States used to be unheard of within the expat community here; now they're much more common, though still less common than in America's largest cities. Purse snatchings and pickpocketing are things to be concerned about now, whereas in the past, they were remote possibilities in most of Maadi. There also are rumors floating around of murders and sexual assaults, though it looks like all of the rumors stem from one event that happened within a few days of the revolution--the rumors make it sound like it happens at least once a week, but in reality, it seems to have been a one-time occurrence.

The rise in crime is a problem, but it isn't one that I've been too concerned about. Like I said, the frequency of these events still is not as great as you would expect in most cities the size of Cairo. You can't guarantee that you never will become a victim, but you can reduce your chances by taking common-sense precautions, just as you would in New York City, Los Angeles, or Washington, DC. When I look at this situation, I see a choice: I can stress out about the difference between now and before, or I can see that Maadi still is safer than Washington, DC, where I went every day for two years with nary a problem, even though I spent a little time in some of the rougher neighborhoods as part of my job. I choose to take reasonable precautions and not worry overmuch.

I tend to be more concerned about two other recent phenomena. The first is the distinct possibility that minor incidents will grow suddenly into terrifying and potentially violent ordeals. It used to be that fender benders, for example, were no big deal; the drivers would yell at each other a little, and then someone would shrug and say "Allah aayez keda" (Allah wanted that), and the drivers would get in their cars and drive away. Now, if the fender bender involved one vehicle driven by a westerner, it is a real possibility that other drivers will band together with the non-western driver to blame the westerner and demand restitution, even if the westerner really wasn't to blame. Angry mobs recently have coalesced around minor traffic accidents and around tourists at the pyramids who resisted a camel handler's demands for more money than had been agreed upon. (It's always been a common trick to say "That was the price to get on the camel; it's another 100 pounds to get off!" But it used to be that the tourist who resisted for a while was able to get off the camel without handing over any extra money; now that may happen, or the other camel handlers may form an angry mob and scare the tourist into handing over all the money he has on him.) An angry mob can be a frightening thing, and I honestly do not know what I would--or even should--do if I ever became the target of one.

Even the possibility of angry mobs, though, would be less scary if it weren't for the other recent phenomenon: the police more often than not won't intervene anymore. The Egyptian police never have been respected by the Egyptian people; instead, they have been feared. When the police abandoned their posts during the revolution, the people's fear disappeared. The police still aren't working at full capacity because many police haven't gone back to work. The people no longer fear them, and that makes it dangerous for the police. The police spent years abusing their power; now, many of them rightly fear retaliation. If a policeman intervenes, he may just become the target of the angry mob rather than the one who scares them into dispersing. So purse snatchings have occurred within feet of policemen, with no intervention. The mob at the pyramids gathered under the eyes of the tourist police and terrified a tourist into tossing a wad of cash in one direction and running with his family in another direction. It used to be that if we were afraid for any reason, we were instructed to go to a police station. As westerners, we would be protected, especially once we showed our diplomatic IDs. That protection may or may not be forthcoming anymore. Now the only safe places to go are to our embassy or to one of our other compounds. It's a little scary to think of what could happen if we became the target of an angry mob when we were not near one of those places.

Again, though, I see a choice here: I can take reasonable precautions and go about my life, or I can be so afraid that I don't ever leave my home. I want to enjoy my remaining time in Egypt, so I take precautions and live my life. I'm aware of my surroundings more than I was before, I'm more cautious in general, and I don't drive anymore (I think I still would choose to drive here, though more cautiously than before, but our car already has been picked up for export since we're rotating out soon). There is a potential threat here, but it isn't such a high-probability threat that it should unduly affect my life.

The way I see Egypt today--the new normal, if you will--the people have made one choice: They chose to oust Mubarak. Now they have a series of other choices to make. They will make political choices at the polls, and those choices will determine whether Egypt is free or not, a democracy or not, a nation united or a nation divided along sectarian lines. But they also will make other choices as they go about their daily lives, and these choices will have great impact as well. Each and every Egyptian will decide whether he or she prefers to live in a country of laws, where the police are allowed, encouraged, and even forced at first, if necessary, to function as police do in free societies, to protect the entire population and to enforce laws that affect all people equally. The other option is for the population to fragment into "us" against "them" groups and band together to promote "our own" over all others, even if "our own" is in the wrong; to prevent the police from functioning as police do in free societies; to trap Egypt in the past rather than moving it forward into a modern and future reality of freedom and equality.

The people of Egypt have made one choice, which has resulted in the new normal we see around us today. But now, and every day from now going forward, they must choose what the new normal will become. I wish them well as they examine their hearts, their minds, and their society in order to make the choice with which they and their children will live.

Saying Good-bye

2011-06-05T08:21:00.000+02:00

I have a serious case of preemptive nostalgia.

Our time in Egypt is coming to an end; we're leaving in just a few--so few!--short weeks for an indefinite time. There is no guarantee that we ever will come back, although both Jeff and I would like to return. We'll spend the summer on home leave in the United States, then move on to our next post (Phnom Penh, Cambodia) this fall. We're excited about our future in Cambodia ... but I'd just as soon not have to leave Egypt.

Some friends recently arrived for the beginning of their posting here. For the last week, my days and evenings have been filled with introductions as we take our friends to our favorite restaurants and shops, expose them to the pleasures of Cairene life, and generally try to help them settle in and thrive here. It's a happy time of reuniting with friends and sharing aspects of our life that I really didn't expect to be able to share with friends from home. But it's also a sad time.

Every time I introduce my friends to a restaurant, to a shop, to the joys of a sunset felucca ride, I'm acutely aware that it may be my last time to enjoy those pleasures myself.

We introduced them to MCC this Friday, and as I looked around at the familiar scene, it was like I was experiencing it again for the first time. I felt again the awe as I looked at this tiny slice of what heaven will look like, with people from so many different races, cultures, and denominational backgrounds. I admit it; I teared up a little as I thought of my impending departure. Even though I anticipate finding a similarly diverse international church in Cambodia, nothing ever will be quite the same as this, my first, international church.

We took our friends to the Khan el Khalili yesterday. We introduced them to our old favorites, to which we were introduced early in our tour here--Moustafa's glass and clothing shops; Gouzlan's jewelry shop; the Three Crazy Brothers metalwork shop; and Sunnyland, the world's best papyrus store. We took them by some of our own finds--the camel bone shop with the amazing figurines and chess sets, and the silver shop where you can purchase a necklace or bracelet customized with your name. They found their own shops to visit as well--a small jewelry shop, a large bookstore with historic photographs of Egypt. At each of my favorite shops, I looked around with longing at all the beautiful items that I had considered purchasing on previous trips but had decided against for one reason or another. This would be my last chance; was I sure I wanted to pass up these purchases? In the end, we made our planned purchases of some water glasses to match a pitcher we purchased a year or so ago, a couple of pajama sets for Alexa to grow into, a camel figurine carved from camel bone for my mother, and a commemorative spoon for her friend. We also purchased two wood inlay boxes--how have we been in Egypt for three years without purchasing one of those?; a couple of old locks to which Jeff took a fancy; and two large papyrus paintings by Ibrahim, the painter whose subject matter could almost step off the page and into the shop, but whose price tag matches the quality. We also were gifted with a small inlay box for Alexa and with two smaller papyrus paintings that the shopkeeper had seen me gazing at longingly--a beautiful Tree of Life and a nighttime pyramids and camels scene that inexplicably captivated both Jeff and me.

We still have more introductions we want to make. There are shops here in Maadi, the alabaster factory in Mokattum where we finally will purchase those lamps we've been talking about for three years, and the Asfour Crystal showroom, to name a few. We want to make a repeat visit to our favorite restaurant, Condetti. We want to introduce them to a few other restaurants here in Maadi. Maybe take another felucca ride. I'd love to introduce them to the pyramids, but the security situation there is just shy of stable enough for us to feel comfortable going there right now.

Each introduction will be a hello for them ... and a good-bye for us. I'm so grateful to have had this time in Egypt, both the pre-Revolution years to get to know the "Egypt that was" and most especially these short weeks since the evacuation was lifted, to meet the "Egypt that is becoming" and to say good-bye to my life here. The future holds wonderful things for us; I only hope it is not too selfish for me to hope that one of those wonderful things is the opportunity to return to Egypt one day and meet the "Egypt that will be."

Lifted

2011-05-04T10:04:00.000+02:00

The evacuation order has been lifted!

I know; I'm a few days late in sharing the news--we received word Thursday that it would be lifted Friday--but I've been exceedingly busy since I found out. Within half an hour of receiving the word, I was on the phone with the government's travel agency. I wasn't allowed to get tickets yet--it was Thursday around 4:30pm, and I couldn't get tickets until the order was lifted officially Friday morning--but I was allowed to make reservations, and reservations I would make! I quickly discovered that it would be easier said than done. The itinerary I wanted was sold out for both Saturday and Sunday, and I wasn't sure if I was allowed to make reservations for Friday since I wasn't certain when the paperwork would be signed. But I finally made reservations on a different airline for Sunday afternoon.

The next two days were a flurry of activity. Friday morning I dealt with a mistake by one of the travel agents, who misread my travel orders, claimed that the government was not going to pay for our tickets, and refused to issue them. (Thanks to Dianna at the State Department for helping clear that up.) Then I packed, attended one last gathering of the family, attempted to finish replacing the velcro and elastic on a bunch of cloth diapers (thanks, Mom, for doing most of it for me), and acquiesced to Alexa's rather piercing demands that I take frequent breaks to hold her and reassure her that the flurry of activity wasn't a prelude to my leaving her. On Sunday morning, I attended church in jeans and a t-shirt, then went directly to the airport. My mom rode with us to keep Alexa happy in the backseat on the 45-minute drive, and we were followed by my sister-in-law, sister, and niece, who came to give Mom a ride back home and to see us off.

I had a brief period of worry at the airport when I realized that there could be a problem with Alexa's visa, but it was alleviated pretty quickly by phone calls from the ticketing agent to her supervisor and from me to Jeff. Then it was just a matter of getting through security, to my gate, and on the plane. That part was much easier than it could have been because Jeff and I had planned ahead and purchased a Gogo Babyz Travelmate. It's basically a cart that you can attach to almost any car seat to give it wheels and a telescoping handle--effectively turning the car seat into a bare-bones stroller. I went through a total of four airports, including my originating airport and Cairo, wearing a backpack, with a diaper bag worn diagonally over my torso, pushing (or at times pulling) the car seat. I was happiest when Alexa was in her car seat, but there were times when I managed to get through the airport with all my stuff while carrying her, which I never could have done without the Travelmate. I also had a Moby wrap available in case I needed to tie her to me, but my connections all were quick enough that I didn't really have time to tie it on and use it.

Once I arrived in Cairo, I wasn't sure whether or not to expect an expeditor. Jeff had said he'd try to get one for me, but the arrangements all had to be made over a holiday weekend, so he wasn't sure if it would work out or not. There was no expeditor waiting for me at the plane, but I managed to get through immigration, baggage claim, and customs without one--God bless porters who are willing to work for baksheesh plus the $1 cart rental fee.

I expected to see a driver with my name on a card as soon as I cleared customs, but none of the signs had my name on them. A phone call to Jeff's office resulted in the phone number for the travel agency's switchboard, and they sent me the number of an expeditor who was looking for me. At that point, I only needed the driver, but I knew that the expeditor would bring the driver, so I called him anyway. It turns out that the expeditor had misunderstood which flight I was on; he was waiting at a different terminal. He sent the driver to me but didn't come himself. Just as well--I wasn't in the mood to tip him. The driver came and collected me, along with Alexa, all of our carry-on baggage, our two large checked bags, and our checked fold-up travel crib. In no time we were on the Ring Road headed to Maadi.

Jeff was waiting for us at home. He'd been able to get off work early, and he met us at the gate. He was thrilled to see us, of course, and couldn't get enough of holding Alexa. The guards and staff all welcomed us back enthusiastically. It felt so good to be here again!

Since we arrived home, I've been trying to unpack. Alexa is adjusting, although she's gone back into full separation anxiety--she'd had it bad when the evacuation first started, probably due to stress, and by the time we left the States, she had just started to be okay spending time with the extended family without me. Now she wants me all the time, and she gets very upset if I'm out of sight. But that was expected, and she does enjoy playing with her daddy as long as I'm there too. And she grins like crazy when she pets the cats (under our careful supervision--she likes to pull hair, tails, ears, anything she can). I'm sure she'll be fine before long. She's been through a lot in the last few months, and it just takes some time to adapt.

I'm loving being back here, with my husband, in my apartment, taking care of our daughter and our cats. I haven't gone out yet because I've been focused on unpacking, but I'm looking forward to getting out there again. I have a feeling Jeff will want to be with me the first time, making sure I'm aware of new security guidelines, although I think he's filled me in pretty well. I intend to make the most of my last couple of months in Egypt. I'm just so grateful to have them!

My Wonderful Man

2011-03-20T18:00:00.106+02:00

Jeff's birthday is just around the corner.

Last year, we were apart on his birthday, because Jeff was on a work-related trip. Ditto for the year before that. This year ... sometime in early January, Jeff told me about a couple of work trips he'd need to take in March and April. "Okay," I said. "Alexa and I will be fine. But you're not going to be gone on your birthday for the third year in a row, are you?"

Fate is laughing at me. We carefully arranged for Jeff's trips to be before and after, but not during, his birthday. For the first time in three years, Jeff will be home for his birthday. For the first time in three years, I will not. I won't be there to bake or buy a cake, to give him his gift, or even to kiss him good morning. But despite my physical absence, I hope for him to know--in his head and in his heart--that I'm with him in spirit, that I respect and love him, and that I am profoundly grateful and proud to be the wife of such a wonderful man.

My wonderful man is a devoted husband. He constantly tells me and shows me that he loves me. From buying little (and not-so-little) gifts "just because" to seeing to my safety when I refuse to do so myself, Jeff makes it clear that with him, I am loved, and I am safe physically and psychologically.

My wonderful man is a loving father. Alexa never will have reason to doubt that she is the apple of her father's eye. In the short time that she has been with us, I have watched with joy and bemusement as she has wrapped her father securely around her little finger. From playing peek-a-boo to changing beyond-dirty diapers with nary a complaint, Jeff quietly demonstrates day in and day out that he loves his daughter more than life itself and that he is devoted to her well-being.

My wonderful man is a diligent provider. He works long hours when necessary to provide the money our family needs. He works under good circumstances and, like now, under less than ideal circumstances. Like everyone, he has times when he just doesn't want to do it, but he always pushes through in order to provide the best service he can at work and to provide for our needs at home. He curbs his own desires in order to ensure that our future needs are met, spending far less today than he could in order to provide for our future as well as our present.

My wonderful man is a good friend, not just to me, but to others. I have watched him maintain relationships that I and many others would have written off, because he sees the good person hidden beneath the thorns. He is a good judge of character, too--I've watched thorns recede to show the world what my husband was able to discern years ago. Through the good times and through the bad times, Jeff is a supportive and dedicated friend.

My wonderful man is a person of integrity. I shared before how his principled stand first attracted my attention. Jeff consistently thinks through the morality of his decisions before he takes action. He was one of the first people I ever heard support copyright law when file sharing services like Napster became popular. Even today, as we look at buying new phones for use overseas (therefore needing unlocked ones), he pointed out how buying jail broken phones is, in effect, stealing from the mobile company that subsidized the phone's purchase in anticipation of future revenues. As a result, we will spend significantly more money in order to buy factory-unlocked phones, but we will be behaving with integrity in the purchase. Jeff wouldn't have it any other way--he will provide for his family, and he will not be wasteful, but he also will not cheat anyone else along the way.

My wonderful man is a person of compassion. He ensures that we give, over and above our tithe, directly to people and organizations that assist the less fortunate. He buys the little packs of Kleenex from Cairo's street children. He gives to beggars on the metro. When I approached him with a request to purchase supplies for the impoverished children of Kentucky--who routinely lose 15 lb over the summer because of the absence of free school lunches, which provide most of their nutrition during the rest of the year--he told me to double the amount I'd hoped to spend. He suggested that we donate to special projects at our church in the wake of the revolution. I know that when he becomes aware of a need, we soon will be looking through our budget, finding a little here and a little there, so that we can help meet that need.

My wonderful man is a man of faith. His strong Christian faith guides him in all of these other areas. His faith informs his beliefs and his actions in every aspect of his life, from his politics to his work to his family life and more. He is a shining example of a man defined and molded by his faith in Jesus Christ.

My wonderful man. All I hoped for in a husband. All I dreamed of in a father for my child(ren). The role model I pray my daughter will look to when she one day chooses a husband and father for her children.

Happy birthday to my wonderful man.

I love you, Jeff.

The Third Culture

2011-03-16T18:37:00.000+02:00

Part of a Skype chat exchange between me and a friend who left Egypt last summer and spent some time in the U.S. before moving overseas again:

Friend: Do you have some moms and babies you can get together with where you are?

Deborah: Nope, not really. Probably could if I made the effort but that feels like settling in here and this isn't home anymore.

Friend: I understand. When we are in US for our breaks, I never seem to put forth much effort into 'hanging out' with other women or going to their parties.... they all look at you funny anyway, like you are some sort of alien being that does not belong....

Deborah: The ladies at church are supportive and sympathetic but ... at a Greek restaurant the other day, they thought the pastor was insane for eating goat. Goat! That's pretty tame ... we just don't relate.

Friend: Hahaha, goat? Who'da thunk it?? And yes, it is pretty tame... how big is the church?

Deborah: It wasn't even that they didn't want to eat it, but how vocally disgusted they were ... very small, just over 100 on a good service

Friend: Sounds like the one we went to while in US.

Deborah: It's a good church, with good people. It's just that the small-town South doesn't understand wanting anything different ... is it possible for an adult to become a "third culture kid" after just a couple of years overseas?

Friend: Oh yes! You adjusted well. You jumped in with both feet. It's the ones who do not participate in the culture, whether that is with other ex-pats or with locals, that do not become that tck..... It's much better when one is adventurous...

Overall, it is better when one is adventurous. It makes life overseas rich and rewarding. I wasn't even that adventurous, really. I spent a lot of time in the embassy bubble. If I have any regrets about my time in Egypt, it's that I wasn't adventurous enough. I didn't spend enough time with locals. I didn't learn enough of the language. I didn't immerse myself in the culture fully enough. But if I had done those things ... the adjustment now would be even harder than it is.

You see, when you live overseas, you have a choice to make.

You can hang on to the culture of your home country. You can hang out only with other Americans, in my case. Cook and eat only familiar foods (at least to the extent possible). Refuse to adapt your clothing and behavior to the local culture. This choice makes it harder to function in the new country. Expats who make this choice often hate being overseas; they constantly compare the new country to their home country, and they find the new country lacking in almost every respect. During my time in Egypt, I learned quickly to identify those expats who had made this choice and to avoid them as much as possible. They were toxic to my emotional state. Too much time with them left me depressed and dissatisfied with life in Egypt, at least until I recognized the mindset and instead got angry at those who seemed determined to poison everyone around them.

The other extreme is to "go native." Spend as much time as possible with local citizens. Shun all but local foods. Dress and behave so much like a native that you can't be told apart from a distance. Become fluent in the local language and look down on anyone who doesn't speak it. I don't have any experience with expats who make this choice--to my knowledge, they either shun other expats or live in areas where there are no other expats to shun. It seems to me that this choice would lead to the easiest life overseas once you've gone native, although the process of getting there would be long and difficult.

The third option, the one most often chosen, I think, is to strike a balance. The precise balance varies from person to person, but the goal is to adapt as much as necessary to facilitate and enjoy life overseas while not losing touch with the home culture either. Learn the language and use it, but don't stress about speaking it just like a native speaker. Adapt your clothing and behavior to show respect for the local culture, but don't try to turn yourself into a local. Be open to new experiences. Make friends with other expats and with locals, to the extent that language skills and the culture allow. (My few Egyptian friends are women who are fluent in English, for example; it wouldn't be appropriate to have male friends, and my Arabic isn't good enough for small talk, much less real conversation that doesn't center around driving directions or price haggling.) Adopt a blend of both cultures in order to function as well as possible in each.

As you can guess, I chose the third option. For me, the balance was tilted heavily toward American culture, as it often is for foreign service families who know they won't be in any one place for more than a few years. As I mentioned earlier, my balance may have been tilted a little too heavily toward American culture. But no matter where the balance is, the experience of overseas life, the experience of a culture not your own--even if your experience of it is limited--changes you. Children who grow up as expats have a unique culture that they experience as their native culture--it isn't their home country's culture, or their host country's culture, but a mix of the two. These children are known as third culture kids, trans cultural kids, or tck's.

Third culture kids often feel most at home with each other, even if their native languages, religions, and home--or "passport"--countries differ. The culture to which they often have the hardest time adapting is the culture of their own country. They often can move without too much difficulty among other cultures, but they just don't fit in once they move "home." I suspect that's because the kids at "home" have been exposed to all sorts of subtle cultural influences that the third culture kids missed. The third culture kids also just aren't used to a situation where their classmates' experiences are so homogeneous--where's the kid with a stronger Asian influence, or a stronger African influence? What do you mean, everyone claims Christianity, and almost everyone is Protestant? Where are the Muslims, the Buddhists, the Orthodox Christians? How is it possible to believe that this is the only way to live--haven't you seen anything different? No, I guess you haven't, since everyone here lives similarly.

If all goes as Jeff and I hope, we will be raising at least one third culture kid. I pray that we will have wisdom in that endeavor, and that our daughter--as well as any other children we may have--will adapt readily to her unique culture and to American culture when that time comes, keeping the best of her various cultural influences and discarding the rest. But in order to raise her to do that, I also need to figure out my own place, my own culture.

I grew up in a small town in the American South. Those years shaped me, and I will never--nor do I wish to--escape those influences. My time in other parts of the U.S. caused subtle changes in my personality and outlook. But my time in Egypt--brief though it was--has changed me more than I think even I realize. There are some surface changes, some deep changes, and--I suspect--some fundamental changes to the core of my personality, or at least the beginnings of fundamental changes. But at this point, if I so chose, I could slip back into the culture of my growing-up years with only slight modifications.

Of course I'm choosing not to. I enjoy my expat life, and I'm looking forward to raising my third culture kid. But there are costs, and there will be costs to Alexa in the future. In order to help her later, I have to continue to work my way through my own adjustments now. The one I'm most noticing: the faint but ever-present feeling that this place just isn't home anymore, that I don't quite fit in, and that I shouldn't settle in.

If you're interested in how truly third culture kids fare after being suddenly repatriated, as in the current evacuation, here are a couple of news articles about their experiences.

Introducing Reflections Q&A

2011-02-25T20:00:00.002+02:00

Not too long ago, my sister-in-law approached Jeff and me with a question. One of the teachers at her sons' school was interested in letting her students ask us questions, via email, about Egypt and what it's like to live there. Of course we agreed! However, the request started the gears turning in my head ... if one teacher would like that opportunity for her students, maybe others would like it too? Surely it isn't just the students in that one class who would be interested to know what it's like to live in a different country. Surely other students, and other teachers, would be interested as well. Surely there's a way to give that opportunity to others, too.

Of course there's a way! I've received questions from multiple countries, not just multiple classes, since I started this blog. (For the two who are still awaiting replies, I apologize for the delay; I hope to answer you soon.) But this blog isn't always appropriate for younger students, like those my nephews' age, or for use in public schools. Besides, this is my personal blog, and although I don't mind if it serves an educational role sometimes, that really isn't its main function.

There's nothing for it, then. I have to start a new blog. One meant for students and educators. One that, while requiring teachers to use their own judgment about specific posts and topics, is appropriate for most students in any context--public, private, or home school. One that's written without using as much bad grammar--sentence fragments, anyone?--as I use here. One that uses simpler words and sentence structure, so younger students can understand it more easily.

And so Reflections Q&A was born.

In Reflections Q&A, the main purpose is to answer questions from students. Now, if the students are anything like me, it's difficult if not impossible to ask questions in a vacuum. You have to have a little bit of knowledge in order to know what questions to ask. (Of course, some questions come up anyway, such as "what language do they speak" and "which side of the road do they drive on," but to go much beyond that, a little background knowledge is useful.) So my plan is to publish an original post once a month or so, in order to give a little background and get students thinking. I just finished the first one, "Introducing Egypt." It was more of a typical "educational" post, with information about Egypt's land and people. I'm not sure yet what the next post will be, but I'm hoping that it will come across as less educational-sounding. Maybe something about shopping in Egypt, complete with pictures of the Khan and how to bargain in Arabic, or driving/riding in Egypt, or what you see on the typical Egyptian street (could talk about litter, or women in hijab, or goats/camels/other livestock). Something that is somewhat educational, but that comes across more as "this is what it's like to live in Egypt." I may even do these posts more often than once a month for now, since I intend to take the summer off and then change the focus from Egypt to our new home this fall. The more I think about it, the more I'd like to say about Egypt in the few months remaining before summer!

I got sidetracked. Back to the point: I'll post original content once a month or so, but the main goal for those posts is to elicit questions from students. I've set up an email address where they can send questions, and whenever I have enough, I'll publish a Q&A post. I'd love to do a Q&A once a month, so that I have a post going up every two weeks, alternating my articles and Q&As. I don't expect many questions at first, though, so we'll see. And if/when I start getting enough questions, I'm open to doing a Q&A post each week. (I do hope, though, that this doesn't become too much of a time drain ... if this gets really popular, I could start regretting it!)

So there you have it. Reflections Q&A. Check it out. If you like it, pass it along to teachers you may know--or use it yourself, if you're a teacher.

http://reflectionsqa.blogspot.com/

Balancing Act

2011-02-23T19:13:00.000+02:00

Life as an evacuee is a balancing act.

I have a life here. But it isn't my real life, the one from which I was torn away so abruptly. I don't even know if I'll be allowed to return to that life. State Department regulations state that evacuees who are scheduled to leave post within a certain time frame (90 days, 6 months, I'm not sure of the specifics; reports vary) won't be allowed to return to post. If it's a 6-month rule, I'm already within the limits, and the powers-that-be won't send me back. If it's a 90-day rule, I'm only a few weeks away from the limits. There is some question of whether that rule will be waived in this case. There also is some question of whether the rule allows us to return if we pay for our own airline tickets, rather than being reimbursed by the Department. But more importantly, there is some question as to whether the evacuation order will be lifted before we're scheduled to leave anyway, making the rule a moot point.

But back to the balancing act. Alexa and I are in limbo. We are experiencing what our lives would have been if we hadn't moved away from my hometown, or at least something resembling it. I'm being a stay-at-home mom, but the home where I'm staying is my mother's house, not my own. I'm attending a small, close-knit church where everyone knows and cares about each other--and they've been very supportive of me and Alexa--but I don't know anyone. I'm driving in my SUV (Jeep Grand Cherokee--very nice!) to my nephews' basketball games and birthday parties, but the SUV is a rental and when I get to those basketball games and birthday parties, I don't know anyone other than my own relatives. I've been living away from this area, coming back only to visit, long enough that I don't have any friends here anymore, so my time is spent with my mother and her friends, or with my siblings or sister-in-law. The highlight of my days is talking--or better yet, skyping--with Jeff.

The bottom line is that I don't belong here right now. If I'd made different decisions in the past, I could have belonged here. Depending on the choices I make going forward, I could belong here in the future. But right now, at this moment, I don't belong here. I belong in Egypt, with my husband, living the life that we've created together.

But if I'm not allowed to go back to Egypt, I'll be here until September, other than a few short trips to DC for processing or to other states to visit other relatives. (Our plan has been to spend most of the summer here on home leave between posts.) That'll be seven months total. Over half a year. Long enough that I should try to belong here. Long enough to make it worthwhile to rent a furnished apartment, find a playdate group, join a Bible study. Settle in a little and act like I live here.

But if I am allowed to go back, it will be sudden. If I go back under Department orders, with them covering the expenses, I'll have three days from the time the announcement is made until I have to be on a plane. That's three calendar days, not even three business days. If I'm in a furnished apartment, my understanding is that they'll pay the fees associated with breaking a lease, but have you tried to make those arrangements suddenly over a weekend? I haven't, and I don't want to. If the order were lifted today, I could call the travel agent, pack our bags, and be on a plane first thing tomorrow morning. If I settle in here more, that would be much more difficult.

It's the uncertainty. Some who were evacuated, especially those with school-aged children, made the decision from the start that they wouldn't return to Egypt, or they wouldn't return until the end of the school year. Their families, their children, need that stability. I need stability too, but much less than those families. So I haven't made that decision, and I won't make that decision, because what I need more than stability is to get back to my life in Egypt, to wrap it up the way it should be wrapped up before I leave for good.

There's so much still to do in Egypt. I haven't even started sorting and purging for our move to our next post. I haven't bought any of those beautiful alabaster lamps with the copper accents. I haven't even taken a tour of Coptic Cairo! And I haven't said good-bye. To my friends, to my church, to the guards who worked so diligently to protect us. To Road 9, the Khan, the drivers who won't stop so I can cross the street unless I step out in front of them. The taxis whose horns create a cacophony of beeps, honks, and out-of-place melodies. The women on the metro who wouldn't offer me a seat when I was pregnant and wearing short sleeves, but who insisted that I sit when I was holding a baby and wearing culturally appropriate clothing. To all the sights, sounds, and smells of a huge city in a developing country. I need to say good-bye, to all these things, in my own way.

I so hope to go back. I so need to go back. But in the meantime, I'll go on with my balancing act. Fitting in enough to stay occupied, to provide the stability that Alexa needs, to use this time to allow relationships to develop between Alexa and her extended family. But not enough to create problems if I do get that call, that email, that notification that we have three days to board that plane. I'll continue to tell myself that we're going back.

Because I just can't bring myself to accept that my life in Egypt is over.

Evacuation Day

2011-02-12T22:09:00.000+02:00

Monday, 31 January 2011, began early and lasted late. My alarm clock went off at 5am, after I’d been asleep for only four hours. For the last several nights, I’d averaged four hours of sleep a night. As someone who needs eight or nine hours each night, let me tell you: I was beat. Already.

Nevertheless, I got out of bed and headed toward the shower. As I went into the bathroom, I heard the squawk of the emergency radio and paused to listen. It was the same announcement I’d heard the last several mornings: Curfew is still in effect. The streets are not secure. The embassy is closed until further notice. Do not try to approach the embassy unless your supervisor tells you to and arranges secure transportation for you. Stay off the radio unless it’s an emergency. The same announcement would be repeated throughout the day, unless something happened to change it.

But today I wouldn’t be able to hear it. I was evacuating.

I showered and dressed. Ate breakfast. Went through my mental list of things that had been packed, trying to figure out if any substitutions should be made—I was at the weight limit for our luggage and beyond the limit of what I could carry on my own, so additions could not be made without corresponding subtractions. Jeff and Alexa woke up. Jeff held his baby girl, not sure when he’d be able to do so again. She was evacuating with me.

We’d been told to be ready the moment the vans pulled up. They’d be leaving at 8. At 7:30, Jeff went downstairs to get the car seat and reported that people were gathering already. We decided to head down as well. We spent the next two or three hours sitting in the common room, waiting for the buses to show up. I chatted with a couple of other ladies who were evacuating, one who—like me—wouldn’t have left of her own volition but was being pressured by her husband’s managerial hierarchy; another who was so conflicted that she hadn’t made the decision to leave until one o’clock that morning. I envied her the choice. Jeff continued to hold Alexa. I watched them, drinking in the sight of them together.

Finally the vans pulled in and we began loading. We had too many people to fit in one load, but we managed to fit anyway. The vans were needed to pick up other evacuees in other locations—we already were running behind schedule, and no one wanted to waste the time for a second trip unless it couldn’t be avoided. We crammed in for the 15-minute drive to the commissary compound, where processing would occur before the caravan of buses left for the airport.

As we drove through Maadi, I was struck by how quiet the streets were. It made Friday morning—the typical quiet time—look like rush hour. Almost every street we passed showed the remnants of the barricades set up by last night’s vigilante militias: a stack of sandbags here, a pile of junk metal there. A tank sat in each major intersection. I wished I had my camera, but with all the things I had to carry, I'd made the decision to leave it in my carry-on bag, despite knowing that I would miss some great pictures. It was the right call, but ... oh, the pictures I missed!

Just two turns from our destination, we stopped. A group of Egyptian men surrounded the front of the vehicle. After a short conversation in Arabic, our driver made a U-turn through the pass to the other side of the divided road. We drove a few meters—passing through a small crowd of waving, smiling young men—then turned right and began a convoluted journey that eventually led us back to the main road a scant distance farther down than where we were stopped. From my new vantage, it was easy to see that relatively permanent road blocks had been erected, and although most vehicles could maneuver through if they went slowly and carefully, our larger vehicles simply wouldn’t fit.

After that, we arrived at the commissary compound quickly. People and bags—one checked, weighing less than 44 pounds, and one carryon per person—were unloaded, and the vans sped off to collect more evacuees. We were directed to a long table where we checked in, and the administrators made sure that appropriate travel orders had been issued for everyone. Those who were low on cash had the opportunity to collect an advance against their travel per diem. We all waited around, making trips into the commissary as necessary to use the bathroom and buy travel supplies, until the order was given to start loading the nine or ten waiting buses.

As the buses were loaded, I stood aside with a few others. The dependents from my husband’s office planned to travel together so that we could help each other along the way, and most had not yet arrived. Several of us have small or multiple children (one family has four), and two young girls were traveling without any parent, as dad had to stay and mom was already in the States when all this began. Those with no or older children planned to stay close and help those of us who needed it. So the few of us who had arrived watched the buses fill and eventually leave without us.

Finally everyone had arrived. There were no more large buses, so we loaded up into a smaller tour bus, packed in like sardines. Our luggage was tossed into an open cargo truck, and we could only hope none of it flew out on the bumpy roads leading to the fast, smooth sailing of the Autostrade. We were content, though—our support group was intact.

Tanks were in abundance as we made our way to the airport. One young boy excitedly counted 35 or so. They sat in intersections and alongside the busy road—traffic outside of Maadi was lighter than usual, but definitely there. Soldiers stood near the tanks, lounged on top of them, or sat nearby. Atypically, none seemed to notice cameras aimed at them, even when those cameras were pressed to the window as we passed slowly by.

Soldiers turned us away from the first airport gate we approached. We backtracked, turned around again, and went to a different gate, where we were allowed entrance. As we approached the arrival hall that would serve as our departure hall, I saw masses of people milling around outside: the evacuees, “official” (diplomatic passports) on one side of the doors, “non-official” (tourist passports) on the other. American law states that non-official U.S. citizens are to be given equal opportunity as official citizens to evacuate in these situations, so each plane would carry half official evacuees and half non-official evacuees.

We unloaded ourselves—de-pretzeled ourselves, actually—from the bus and headed to the back of the long, winding line on the official side of the doors. The truck with our luggage made its way toward us, then parked while the luggage was unloaded. As they were unloaded, the bags were placed in long lines stretching across the driveway. I saw one of our bags and went to claim it. “Don’t touch that!” A man barked at me. “It’ll make them all tip over; someone will get hurt. Just wait.” Surprised, I turned to one of my fellow evacuees. “He yelled at me, too,” she admitted. Unsure as to the problem—the bags were being placed in a single layer, so even if they tipped over, they wouldn’t touch anyone, much less cause injury—I watched as all the bags were unloaded. When the go-ahead was given, I joined the others in gingerly stepping over all the not-my-bags to reach mine, then pulled it out of line. Sure enough, the bag beside it fell over—and landed harmlessly on the ground, not even causing the anticipated domino effect.

Our group organized ourselves pretty well. The two of us with infants were responsible primarily for our own babies, two or three kept an eye on the 11 mobile children, and the remaining two or three made sure that all the luggage kept up with the group as we inched forward. Before too long, one of the security guys approached us. “Am I to understand that you’re a large group of single moms traveling with a bunch of small children?” Affirmative responses all around—the two without children were particularly critical to our group, so there was no way they were being left out of anything. “You’re exactly the kind of group that we want to expedite and get on your way. Follow me.”

We followed him toward the front of the line. Progress was slow, as children were corralled and made to help with the copious amounts of luggage, but eventually we made it. The security guy told us to “wait here” while he went to arrange things for us. Within just a few minutes, I heard an abrasive voice: “You can’t stand here, this is a traffic lane, I need you to move NOW!” It was the same guy who had yelled at me over the luggage. As we laboriously moved ourselves and all of our bags onto the sidewalk, clearing the wide and deserted driveway where we’d been parked by our security guy, he continued to yell. Finally he went away. I overheard our de facto leader telling another member of our group: “You know, it was weird, the first thing he said when he came over was ‘what office are you with?’ What does that have to do with anything?”

Shortly after that, our security guy came back, an apologetic expression on his face. “Between when they told me the policy and the time it took me to find you and bring you up here, the policy changed. They’re not expediting groups like yours anymore. I’m sorry.” He helped us make our way back to the end of the line.

Hours passed. Diapers were changed on changing mats laid out on the grass. Snacks and water were distributed and consumed. For the most part, we didn’t move. Telephone conversations revealed that the first planes that were boarded, before we even arrived at the airport, were stuck on the tarmac waiting for approval to depart. The ambassador herself was making phone calls trying to get the evacuation planes cleared. The Regional Security Officer made an announcement that they were trying to get us all out that day, but some may have to spend the night at the airport because of crew rest laws kicking in as a result of departure delays, especially for the two planes that were scheduled to make two round trips. It was getting chilly, and I was glad that I’d packed for a potential overnight in some freezing European city (we wouldn’t know what city we were going to until we were assigned a flight).

Finally there was significant movement. Another plane obviously was being boarded, as the line ahead of us decreased by a third. Children again were corralled to help us move ourselves and our bags to our new position. The security guy who had tried to help us before came to give us an update. While he was speaking with some, another security guy approached me, as I was standing off to the side and couldn’t hear what the first was saying. He told me what to expect with numbered cards and such, which we would receive once we’d been assigned to a plane. Then he said “Now that all the groups with connections are gone, the rest should be able to go according to plan.” Excuse me? He must have been exhausted and frustrated to have let that little tidbit slip.

Not long after, I was approached by the first security guy who had tried to help us. “How old is your little one?” Almost seven months. “We’re taking infants under 12 months first for the next flight.” Great, can the whole group go? “No, only immediate family members. But we’ll be upping the age limit as we clear the little ones, and we may be able to fit everyone on the next flight, so you may end up together anyway.” Thanks, but I’d rather stay with my group. I need them. “If everyone doesn’t fit, the ones who are left may have to spend the night here.” That’s fine. “It’s going to get cold, and they may not be able to go inside.” I’m prepared for that. Thanks for your concern, though. “Ok.”

A few minutes later, security guy number two, the exhausted and frustrated one, approached me. We repeated the same conversation, with only minor variations.

A few minutes later, the guy who liked to yell came up, trailed by the other two. Both of the nice ones looked embarrassed and a little worried. Not a good sign. I don’t recall all the details of this conversation, but I was ordered to leave the support of my group, the group that my husband had told me to be certain to stay with, the group whose help already had been needed time and time again. “You have no choice,” he said to me. “I’m responsible for her,” referencing my daughter. I remember my response to that unbelievable statement: “No, you’re not,” with a measure of steel in my voice. “I’m responsible for my daughter.” His responsibility extended to keeping looters and potentially dangerous opportunists away from her (and from the rest of us) while we waited our turn to board a plane; I was and am responsible for everything else, including keeping her fed, clean, and warm—all of which I was prepared to do even if we did spend the night outside that airport. I had planned and packed for four days of travel in conditions ranging from hot to snowy. One night outside in Cairo’s chilliest was not going to be a problem; I wouldn’t even need to break open the checked bag, as blankets, extra clothes, and bottles all were stored in her diaper bag. All I needed was the willing assistance of my group to help hold her, prepare bottles, or guard and move bags.

In the end, I acquiesced to separating from my group and taking the earlier flight—not gracefully, not even politely, but with open hostility and anger—only because my husband also had told me that no matter how heavy-handed and dictatorial this guy became (I’d complained about him in earlier phone conversations), I was not to resist him so much that I risked being sent back to my apartment instead of evacuated. (My husband knows me well enough to recognize temptation on the horizon.) There were two more confrontations, though: one when he insisted that I move myself, my daughter, her car seat, her diaper bag, my backpack, and our two suitcases immediately, without help, while I was holding a screaming baby and trying to prepare a bottle for her; and one after I’d checked in and tried to move to where he’d told me he wanted us—inside, where Alexa could be warm—only to be told that I couldn’t go inside yet. I was livid at that point: he was so concerned that my daughter be warm that he was forcing us to separate from our group—whom we needed—but once he’d accomplished that goal, we were left to wait outside in the cold anyway?!? I found myself grateful that my hands were so full; otherwise I’d have had a hard time resisting the urge to wring his neck.

After another half hour or so, one of the women in my group approached me. She told me that the mom of an infant younger than Alexa had gone willingly into my plane load, and that a mom of two and a mom of four had been forced, like me, as they filled the plane with progressively older children and their families. There were two seats left on my plane, and one of them was designated for a helper from our group. In the end, my plane carried five adults, six young children, and two infants from our group. We left behind two adults and the five oldest children.

We made our way through security and checked our bags. After passing through passport control, a short bus ride took us to the plane. One member of our group took Alexa’s car seat as I carried the baby. When I reached the top of the stairs and tried to claim the car seat from the flight attendants, who had taken it from my friend, they refused to give it to me. “We don’t know how many passengers there will be. There may not be enough seats.” There will be; my baby was counted as a passenger, and she has her own seat. State Department regulations require it, and State Department regulations require that I use that car seat. “We don’t know. We need to keep it here. We’ll put it in the cargo hold and you can get it in Istanbul.” You can keep it here, in the front of the plane, until the plane is completely boarded. Then there will be an empty seat beside me for my daughter, and you can bring me the car seat once you see that there’s room. Don’t put it in the hold. She’ll need it during this flight. “Okay, we can do that.”

Eventually, finally, the plane was fully loaded. As soon as I heard the announcement that all passengers were aboard, I flagged down a flight attendant, pointed out the empty seat beside me, and requested my daughter’s car seat. Her face brought to mind the phrase “deer in the headlights,” but she disappeared up the aisle. Several minutes later, she came back. “The seat is in the hold. I cannot bring it to you. I cannot get to it.” In a firm but controlled voice, I replied “You can and you will. It was not supposed to go into the hold. Get it.” At least, I thought my voice was controlled … the man three rows up who turned his head to see what the fuss was about may not agree. Several more minutes later, the flight attendant timidly approached me again. “What color is your seat?” Orange. But I saw another orange one up there, too. Mine is the Chicco. Finally, after another several minutes, I saw Alexa’s car seat being held aloft, over the heads of seated passengers, approaching me. As I buckled Alexa in, I hoped that the drama was over for the day.

Not so, but at least I had nothing to do with the rest of the day’s drama. An elderly passenger toward the front of the plane suffered from faintness and vomiting en route to Istanbul. He was attended by two doctors on board; they gave him oxygen and had him lie down. Upon arrival in Istanbul, he was taken to a hospital. I have no idea who he was or how he’s doing.

We landed in Istanbul around 2am on Tuesday, 1 February. I had left my apartment 18-1/2 hours earlier. It would be another 25 hours before Alexa and I arrived at my mom’s house. We left Istanbul around 6am, then made two more connections before arriving at the local airport 45 minutes from my hometown. Luckily, Alexa allowed me to sleep a good bit on the way. I was informed by flight attendants and other passengers that as I snoozed, she smiled and cooed at anyone and everyone who passed by our row.

Upon arrival in the United States, I discovered that the authorized evacuation under which I had left Egypt had been upgraded to a mandated evacuation. That information did make me feel slightly better about being forced to leave, but still … then and now, I yearn to go back.

Lockdown Pseudo-Twitter: Saturday and Sunday

2011-02-03T22:27:00.000+02:00

In this post, I'm continuing to publish things I wrote while locked down in our apartment in Maadi. Please remember that errors, contradictions, and uncertainties were left in deliberately in order to reflect my experiences at the time. The following updates were written on Saturday, 29 January, and Sunday, 30 January. This is the last of what I wrote while I was there.

~~~~~~

Saturday, 29 January 2011

8:06am – Internet’s still not up. The curfew ended just over an hour ago, but we’re still being instructed by the Marines to stay in our homes. I’m not sure what’s going on outside. The AFN news channel is showing its normal lineup, meaning it’s showing what aired on Fox News last night (morning shows tend to be shows that were shown live in the States the night before), so it’s still showing images from last night. CNNi has moved on—it’s on some international business show now. I heard a siren a few minutes ago, but there’s no telling what that was for. I can’t even look out the window and see anything useful because of the direction our windows face.

Jeff came to bed around 2am. I hadn’t been sleeping well up to that point, so I woke up enough to ask what was going on. He told me that Mubarak had finally given a speech—what took him so long?!—and that Mubarak was dissolving his entire government, to be reconstituted, presumably taking into account the protesters’ demands. I’m not sure that’s going to be enough; after all, their primary demand seemed to be that Mubarak himself had to go. We’ll see what happens later today. If the protesters are satisfied, it will be quiet, or mostly so. If not … well, we made it through yesterday okay.

11:11am – We got mobile phone service back an hour or so ago. I called my mom even though it was 3am where she is. I thought she’d be worrying and would want me to wake her, especially because we don’t know if or when mobile service will be cut off again. I was right except for one thing: She wasn’t asleep. She’d spent most of the day blissfully unaware, because she was at work, but she got very worried in the evening when people started calling her.

Jeff just left. We’re still supposed to stay in our homes, but certain mission-critical people need to be at the embassy in a situation like this. Jeff’s office keeps the Cairo-DC communication flowing, so the office needs to be manned. Throughout the embassy, people who spent the night last night are going home, and they’re being replaced by others. The RSO sent transportation. We packed a bag so that Jeff has everything he needs to spend the afternoon, night, and all day tomorrow at the embassy. (No, I didn’t tell my mom that Jeff was going in and that Alexa and I will be alone tonight. The purpose of the call was to reassure her, not to worry her further. We’ll be fine, even if tonight is a repeat of last night, but she wouldn’t believe that, so she doesn’t need to know right now.)

11:25am – CNNi just reported that people are again gathering on the streets of both Cairo and Alexandria. It looks like Mubarak’s plan to dissolve his cabinet isn’t enough—the people want him gone.

1:56pm – Jeff just called from the embassy. There will be a curfew in effect from 4pm today until 8am tomorrow. So it’ll definitely be just me, Alexa, and the cats tonight. Jeff asked if I wanted him to send a mass “we’re okay” email or just email his sister so he can ask her to let people know without letting everyone know that he has email access (ergo that he’s at work and we’re home without him). I asked him to just email his sister.

2:06pm – The Today Show just came on AFN News. They’re actually showing real news! Yay! It’s the first live coverage I’ve seen today. I think the footage they’re showing is from yesterday though.

I’ve heard that 35 bodies were taken to a single hospital in Cairo yesterday. I wish the total had remained at one. But the protesters aren’t backing down, so it looks like there will be more, especially if the military decides to go all-in for Mubarak. The question now is: who will blink first, Mubarak or the protesters?

5:02pm – I’m sitting in the middle of a mass uprising that might topple a government … and I’m bored. I’m stuck in my apartment. The news is getting repetitive. There’s no internet to browse. Who knew being in the middle of history could be boring?

Ah, the news just got interesting for a minute. They talked about “rising angst against America” and asked if there had been any reports of the American embassy or Americans being targeted. Nope. They still aren’t interested in us. That’s fine by me—I don’t want it to get that interesting. At this point, I just want it to play out. However it’s going to end, go ahead and do it already. I want my husband back home.

6:56pm – Ok, I’d like to be bored again, please. I just got back from a building meeting called by the RSO guy who lives here. He didn’t have too much concrete to tell us as far as plans go, but he just wanted us all to get together for a minute. He was talking about having requested a fast-response Marine team, not being sure how he’d handle it if our walls were breached by looters (if he shot one, there’d be two; if he shot them, there’d be four, and they’d be really mad then; he could beat up a few—with the aid of the guards, I’m sure—but not a lot …) I think the bottom line is that we’re on our own, and if looters breach our walls, all we can do is hunker down in our safe rooms, let them take our stuff, and hope that they have no interest in us. He confirmed that there’s looting on Road 9 (VERY close by) and that there was attempted looting next door, but their guards fired into the air, the military showed up, and the looters went away. Basically all we can do is hunker down, ride it out, and hope that our walls and guards are enough to deter them, or that if they do come in, they’re satisfied with busting up our cars downstairs. I started hearing gunfire while I’ve been typing. I’m not a fan.

I’m worried now. I was fine before the meeting, but hearing the tension in the RSO guy’s voice, seeing the fear on the others’ faces … knowing that we don’t have the resources in place to protect us or to get us out if something happens tonight … I had been believing the news reports that today has been more peaceful than yesterday, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s been more peaceful between the government and the protesters, but now the looters are coming out and they’re the ones I’m worried about. I hate that Jeff had to go in. I’ve done all I know to do to prepare for anything. I have go bags packed for both Alexa and myself. If we have to go, I won’t be able to take the cats, but I put down extra food and water for them, because if we have to go, there won’t be time to do it then. Of course we can’t go tonight because there aren’t any plans to protect us while we go.

I have supplies for myself, Alexa, and the cats in the safe room … other than food. I’m going to go put some cans of soup and a jar of peanut butter in there. (I already have food for Alexa and the cats in there.) The logical part of my brain says that it isn’t going to be an issue; tonight won’t be any worse than last night … except that I’m not sure I really believe that. The looters make all the difference. They’re my fear now. The army won’t protect us from them, and the police aren’t around anymore. I’m not sure I’ll be sleeping tonight.

8:15pm – I just received a phone call from our floor warden. She told me that there is a group of people outside our walls with sticks and clubs, but not to worry about it: they’re the good guys. They’re the bowwabs and some residents from the neighboring buildings. They’ve banded together to protect the buildings from looters. I’m relieved. Their goal is not to protect our building, but in protecting their own, they also will increase security for ours. I hope our precautions also help them. In a very real way, we’re mooching off of the risk that they’re taking.

Sunday, 30 January 2011

7:39am – Last night was interesting. I finally decided shortly before 11 that there was no point to staying up. I gathered our go-bags, the cats’ travel crates, litter box, and food and water bowls, put them all in the safe room, then called Jeff to give him an update on the situation.

The whole time it was obvious that both of the cats and Alexa all had picked up on my stress. Isis wouldn’t leave the safe room, once all of her supplies were in there; she’d approach the door but wouldn’t step foot out of it. Cleo left the room every time I opened the door, but if I called her name, she came running. Cleo typically does not come when called; like most cats I’ve met, she’s more likely to look at you as if to say “silly human; if you want me, you must come to me,” if she doesn’t just take off in the other direction. Not last night, though. She practically galloped down the hall if I stood in the door and called her, as if she were afraid I’d close her out.

The saddest, though, was Alexa. She was happy as a clam if I held her. She was content if I put her down but remained within arm’s reach and facing her. But the moment I turned my back or, heaven forbid, took a step or two away, her little face crumpled and she cried pathetically until I touched her. Some primal part of her little brain seemed to realize: “Mama’s afraid. If Mama is afraid, then I’m in danger. My only hope of survival is to keep her with me.” And she was very effective at keeping me with her.

I got in bed around 11:30 and fell asleep shortly thereafter. Around 12:30, I was woken by a phone call from the CLO. They were contingency planning: If an evacuation were authorized, how many in my family would go? Well, Jeff wouldn’t—he’s mission critical. I’d have to talk to Jeff about whether or not Alexa and I would go, but it would depend on … at this point, my sleep-fogged brain failed me. It would depend on a lot of things, I thought. Definitely on whether or not we could take our cats. She said that they’d be able to go on a later flight than us. My brain woke up enough to say “That’s the best you’re going to get; agree,” so I said that I’d still have to check with Jeff, but we’d probably go. We got off the phone and I called Jeff, who had wanted to know any and all developments. I told him what she’d said. He told me that downtown was eerily quiet; the demonstrators had heard that their homes were being looted and had gone home to protect their families and their stuff.

After the information exchange, I tried to go back to sleep. That part didn’t work. I heard what sounded like gunfire, possibly close, and it was all over. I was awake. I had to go to the bathroom. I was hungry. I took care of all my physical needs and still lay awake for at least two hours. I saw the clock hit 2:30. I was probably awake until 3 or so. Then I was woken at 7 by the Marines reminding everyone on the radio that the curfew is on until 8, the embassy is closed until further notice, everyone should stay in their homes, and no one should try to go to work unless their supervisor tells them to and arranges transportation.

Jeff called just a few minutes ago. He’s coming home this morning. He couldn’t say exactly when for security reasons—the situation out there has them treating Cairo as if it were Baghdad, from an op-sec perspective—but he will leave the embassy within the next couple of hours. The curfew doesn’t end until 8, so I doubt they would leave before that.

I’m exhausted. I need a shower but can’t take one because Alexa will wake up any moment. I have a headache. Being in the middle of a revolution—or attempted revolution, if they end up failing—really isn’t any fun. But it’s part of the territory sometimes, apparently.

8:18am – When Jeff and I were married, we registered for everything in blue and green. Blue for Jeff, green for me. We have a great set of dishes—12 dinner plates, 12 round salad plates, 12 square plates, 12 bowls … all of them six blue and six green. I’ve always organized them carefully in my kitchen cabinets; that’s just my nature. The dinner plates are in one stack, alternating colors: green, blue, green, blue, like clockwork. The small plates and bowls are in side-by-side stacks, one stack green, one stack blue. All neat and organized, like a store display. Yesterday as I put up some dishes, I thought it might be nice to introduce a random element. So I grabbed the dishes from the dishwasher and just put them up without concern for organization by color. I ended up with two greens, then a blue on top of a stack of blue plates. A series of three blues and then two greens on top of my dinner plate stack. This morning as I put up some more dishes, I realized what I was doing. I’m deliberately introducing a little chaos into my kitchen cabinets, because somehow that makes the chaos in my life right now seem a little less chaotic. Sometimes psych majors realize the darndest things.

9:19am – Jeff is home. We believe that an evacuation has been approved, but whether or not it will go into effect will depend on how things go today and tonight. It may be the beginning of the end for the protests, as people can’t focus too much on protesting when they’re having to protect their families and belongings from looters. The looters may have ended this uprising and given Mubarak a little more time, although the handwriting is on the wall for him. Jeff reports that things outside, between the embassy and Maadi, are “eerily normal.” Traffic is normal for a Friday morning (though not for a Sunday), very light and fast. Civilians are directing traffic, some with sticks and knives, replacing the missing traffic cops. Very few people are out walking around. Neighborhood vigilante groups formed last night and I would assume are still in effect, even though the members may be taking sleep breaks. Basically people stayed close to their own buildings but had whistles—hear a whistle, go help your neighbor, knowing he’d do the same for you.

12:06pm – It’s official; there is an authorized evacuation tomorrow morning. Now we have to decide if Alexa and I are leaving. Today is a pivotal point. If the security situation remains unstable, it will continue to be dangerous at night. But there is a military presence in Maadi now, making it much safer. Depending on the reactions of Mubarak and the protesters, things could get better, or they could deteriorate rapidly. If we leave now, we can take the cats out with us. If we wait and it gets worse, we may not be able to. Once we leave, we may not be allowed back in for some time, possibly not at all, if it takes long enough that they determine that we’re too close to our PCS date by the time they lift the evac order. And Jeff will be here, not with us. We have to decide today. I don’t want to leave, but there are factors to consider other than my desires, including Jeff’s safety too. If we leave, he’ll feel freer to just stay at the embassy instead of going back and forth, with the travel being the most dangerous part. We need to decide …

2:19pm—Looks like we have little to no choice. The pressure is on from Jeff's bosses in DC. Alexa and I are leaving. The cats can’t go after all. An employee who will be here for the duration is a cat lover who has agreed to take responsibility for Cleo and Isis, since Jeff won’t be able to take care of them if he gets stuck at the embassy. Her maid will care for them if she can’t get home. I’m probably done with updates for a while now; gotta get ready to go.

Lockdown Pseudo-Twitter: Friday

2011-02-02T23:38:00.000+02:00

In this post, I'm continuing to publish things I wrote while locked down in our apartment in Maadi. Please remember that errors, contradictions, and uncertainties were left in deliberately in order to reflect my experiences at the time. The following updates were written the evening/night of Friday, 28 January 2011.

~~~~~~

Update 7:29pm – a member of the Regional Security Office who lives in our building told Jeff that (1) the guards downstairs, who can’t go home tonight due to the curfew, are okay for food; (2) there are cars burning near Maadi Grand Mall; and (3) someone breached an embassy parking lot (not the embassy compound itself) downtown. I hope no one tries to breach the embassy itself. I won’t talk about my opinions regarding this protest—it isn’t my place to have an opinion in a public forum, although I do have one in private conversation—but let me say this loud and clear to anyone and everyone: The U.S. Embassy compound is sovereign U.S. territory. If anyone breaches that, it’s up to the RSO and the Marines what consequences they will face.

7:37pm – Jeff just called me out to the walkway, telling me it was my one chance to see it. The protesters are in the midan a short block away. I ran out there to see, but Jeff pulled me back in less than 15 seconds later, before I actually saw anything. He wouldn’t let me take the camera. When we came back in, he asked me to take Alexa and go into our safe room, just in case. We usually have several police around our compound in addition to our guards. Currently we have two. We’re more vulnerable now than we usually are, and if anything were to happen, it would happen fast. Better to be already in the safe room.

7:41pm – Jeff just stuck his head outside (wouldn’t let me do it) and reported that the protesters seem to have been just passing through the midan near here on their way somewhere else. I’m allowed back in the living room now.

8:00pm – We heard gunfire outside. It wasn’t really close, but fairly close. Couldn’t tell if it was really guns or if it was tear gas. This is turning into an interesting evening. I think we’ll be up late tonight, monitoring the situation.

8:13pm – they’re in the midan again. The shots—it sounds like tear gas—are coming fast and loud. I heard what sounded like heavy vehicles right outside our compound wall. Jeff is looking to see if it’s the military replacing our police officers. The police around the embassy downtown also were pulled. They were supposed to be replaced by military but I don’t know if they have been yet.

8:18 pm – it wasn’t the military. The protesters are filling the midan to the point that incoming traffic is being diverted down our street. We’re hearing shots that don’t sound like tear gas but also don’t sound like the AKs carried by Egyptian police and military. Not sure what that is.

We’re staying in touch via landline with other embassy people, primarily those in Maadi. I’d like to check on my non-embassy friends, but I don’t have their landline numbers. Our people are all okay so far, staying in their homes. The protesters aren’t mad at us this time, so there’s no real reason to think they’ll try to breach our housing, but the guards turned off the walkway lights as a precaution. The protesters are targeting police stations and public buildings like ministry buildings and NDP headquarters. We should be okay as long as we don’t go out. But I don’t see this night ending without more casualties among Egyptian protesters and/or police.

8:28pm – Jeff just confirmed that people are getting shot in the midan outside. We don’t know if the police/military (not sure who’s firing) are using rubber or metal bullets, but the guards are listening to the police radio, and people definitely are getting shot.

8:35pm – Alexa just fell asleep, hopefully for the night. She slept in her crib last night for the first time. Not so tonight. She’s sleeping in the safe room tonight. We don’t expect anything to happen to us here, but if it does, it will happen quickly enough that we want her already in there.

8:41pm – I no longer have any desire to go out on the streets. I occasionally poke my head out the door onto the walkway, being careful to have no light behind me (silhouetting is bad). We just received a transmission from the Marines over the emergency radio: “Anyone outside will be shot.” I assume that’s the rules of engagement the Egyptian police and military are using at this point. Some idiot actually replied to the Marines with “Are you serious?” I loved the Marines’ response: “Be advised, anything coming from [call sign] is serious.” Come on, people—if you’ve been listening, you’ve heard the stress in that young man’s voice increase throughout the evening. Shut up, listen up, do as you’re told, and let the man do his job.

10:39pm – I’m beat. It’s been quiet here for a couple of hours. Last I heard, the military were entering Maadi. The police had backed the protesters away from this area to the Maadi Grand Mall area. By now, I would assume that the military is on the scene and the police are off the streets. The people like and respect the military a lot better than they like and respect the police (for whom they have zero liking and even less respect), so military presence alone should calm things somewhat. I need to go to bed. Jeff is planning to doze on the sofa with the news on TV. Hopefully things will be better tomorrow … but honestly, things are already worse than we expected them to get at all, so there’s no predicting how the weekend will play out.

Incommunicado

2011-02-02T17:38:00.000+02:00

First of all, thank you to all of you who posted comments or sent emails expressing your concern for us and for others in Egypt. Jeff and I deeply appreciate your concern and your prayers.

I obviously was not able to post anything during the internet blackout, but that did not prevent me from recording my thoughts and reactions to what was going on. I typed ongoing reports--my own personal, delayed Twitter-esque record--with the intention of publishing them on this blog when I was able. The final product, before any editing I do along the way (I promise not to edit the content, but I may edit for clarity or grammar before posting--but I will leave in uncertainties and even information that I later discovered to be wrong, because I want it to reflect what we were experiencing at the time), was 11 pages long. I'm going to post it in installments. It ends with the news that Alexa and I were going to be evacuated--after that, I was too busy to keep it up. I'll try to record what I remember of the evacuation process and post that too.

For now I'll start with the initial report, what I wrote as a typical blog entry, before the twitter-style updates were added. Those will begin in the next post.

~~~~~~~~

Friday, 28 January 2011

We woke up this morning to discover that we had no internet access. This was not unexpected, with the protests planned for today. We had been warned that internet access and possibly even mobile phone coverage could be cut off by the Egyptian government as a way to limit the ability of the people to coordinate protests. Jeff discovered our lack of internet access around 7 this morning; we later learned that friends who arrived home from an evening out at 12:30am had no internet access at that time either. As best we can tell, it was shut down shortly after midnight.

Shortly after 8am, Jeff told me that the expectation was that mobile phone service would be cut off around noon. This timing made sense, as protests were expected to start after Friday prayers, around 2pm. We decided to call Jeff’s father, despite the early morning hours on the East Coast, and ask him to post a Facebook status explaining that we were incommunicado, but safe, as we had no plans to leave our home today. We took this precaution because I had received expressions of concern from the States yesterday, so if there was any news coverage of today’s protests at all, we knew people would be concerned, especially if they were unable to contact us. It turned out that we were wise to go ahead and make the call early, rather than waiting closer to the anticipated noon cutoff time. Mobile phone service was disabled shortly after we used my mobile to call Jeff’s father.

Our plans for today—put in place a couple of weeks ago, before protests were even a consideration—included a drop-in here at our apartment for our old Bible study group, which dissolved last spring when our leaders moved away. We spent the rest of the morning preparing oatmeal-peanut butter-chocolate chip cookies, vegetables and dip, and brownies … unsure of whether anyone would even come, with today’s anticipated events. If people decided that they were better off staying home, they had no way of letting us know. (Landline phones were still connected, but most of us only know each other’s mobile numbers and email addresses.)

We had a brief period of worry this morning, not for ourselves, but for an embassy friend who needed to go to work today. He left his home in Maadi at 9 and took the metro downtown. The trip by metro usually takes around 45 minutes. It was expected that it would take a little longer today, as the metro station under Tahrir Square has been closed for the last couple of days. Our friend was required to exit at a neighboring station and then walk to the embassy. But even with this extra time, the trip shouldn’t have taken longer than an hour. At 10:30, he still wasn’t answering his office phone. With mobile phone service unavailable, there was no way to contact him. Luckily, the worry didn’t last long—he arrived safely at the embassy and made contact by 11 or so.

All but one of the expected couples did come to our social event this afternoon—one of them with her embassy-issued emergency radio tucked into her handbag (ours was on the coffee table; the others were not mission members and therefore had no radios). They reported that the streets of Maadi were “eerily empty” this morning, although there apparently was a rush on the commissary when it opened. That makes sense, as many families do their shopping on Fridays and wouldn’t have wanted to be out this afternoon. Combine those families with even a few panic shoppers, and the commissary would have been slammed. We're very grateful that Jeff always insists on having a large stash of emergency rations here--primarily peanut butter, tuna, and chunky soup, plus lots of bottled water. No commissary run needed for us today.

We spent a pleasant couple of hours this afternoon chatting, eating, and admiring Alexa with our friends. We also turned the television on in the background, to the AFN news station, so that we’d see the news coverage if anything major happened. Unfortunately, the Today Show was on … so we were treated to fluff about adjustable beds and a teacher who had sex with her student ten years ago.

After our friends left, we received a phone call from Jeff’s supervisor. The embassy phone tree had been activated to disseminate a warden message that usually would have gone out by email—basically, there were clashes between protesters and police throughout Cairo, roads around the embassy are closed, there’s a small demonstration near the overpass in Maadi, and no one should attempt to get to the embassy. News of the protest here prompted me to tell Jeff that we need eggs; I can just run down to the metro market (practically under the overpass) and pick some up. Jeff wouldn’t let me leave the apartment. *sigh* I know, it isn’t logical, it probably isn’t even sane, but … I want to see. But I can’t, so I won’t dwell on it.

Then we got a phone call from another friend. She lives in Zamalek, an island in the Nile just across from downtown Cairo, and she could hear protesters from her living room. She was watching the coverage on CNN International and al-Jazeera English on her satellite. I lamented that we’d had our Orbitz disconnected and were reliant on AFN’s one news channel, which was showing fluff. She reminded me that our Orbitz satellite could pick up the free satellite channels—including CNN International and al-Jazeera English. Yay! Jeff hooked it back up for me, so now we’re sitting here watching CNNi while I type. We aren't getting al Jazeera, so CNNi or AFN are our only options. I prefer Fox News, which is showing now on AFN, but Fox News isn’t devoting themselves exclusively to the protests like CNNi seems to be.

Some of this coverage on CNN International is ridiculous. They’re reporting that prisoners have been released from Egyptian prisons and are being used as “shock troops” to put down demonstrators. They’re also reporting that one of these “shock troops looked wild-eyed, like he was on drugs.” I’ve got two words for you: No. Way. Do these reporters not know how drug users are treated here? Let me tell you, they DO NOT get released early and given the opportunity to bash some heads. Now, I still do not intend to reveal with whom I agree philosophically—the demonstrators or the Mubarak regime—but I will say that CNNi’s coverage is very biased. These reporters obviously are on the side of the demonstrators. They’re criticizing everything about how the government is responding, saying that the government is overreacting even though the government is reacting against protesters who are throwing Molotov cocktails and calling for the overthrow of the government. Whether you agree with the protesters or not, how would you expect the government to react? The CNNi reporters are saying that the government is showing “no restraint.” Really? No restraint? When they’re using tear gas and batons? If they were showing no restraint, they’d be using bullets. Dispersed from automatic weapons. There would be no protesters left standing.

Don’t get me wrong. The images on TV look pretty bad; the situation out there is bad. The government is responding forcefully, and the response is getting more forceful as the day—evening now—goes on. Police are using tear gas and batons. We saw one protester on the news get hit by an armored police van. Martial law has been declared. It’s bad out there. The case may be made that the government response is disproportionately forceful. But there is restraint. Is there enough restraint? I won’t comment on that. But I do wish CNNi would be a little less hysterical in their reporting.

Speaking of less hysteria in reporting, we spent a few minutes on Fox News. “Egypt is exploding.” Exploding?! Thank you, Shepard Smith. I’m sure my mother will be very reassured to hear that.

Okay, off the “objectivity in news reporting” soapbox. Back to what’s going on.

There’s a curfew in effect from 6pm until 7am in Cairo, Alexandria, and Suez. I’m not sure what the consequences of breaking curfew would be—is it immediate arrest? Will they eventually go to “shoot on sight”? For now, it looks like they’re still using batons. I guess our friends at the embassy are stuck there tonight—we did just receive a call from one of them saying that we shouldn’t buck this curfew; the government is serious about this. I guess I won’t go out for eggs after all … although I do wonder: Does Cairo include Maadi, which technically is a suburb? I won’t get to find out … and from some of the pictures I’m seeing on TV now, I think I wouldn’t go out anyway. The time for that was this afternoon.

I wish I could call or email my family to reassure them that we’re safe. I hope they saw my father-in-law’s Facebook post this morning and know that we’re not out and about in any of the chaos. More importantly, I hope and pray that the one protest-related death currently being reported is the only one.

Evacuated

2011-02-02T05:47:00.000+02:00

This is just a quick post to say that Alexa and I were evacuated from Egypt on Monday, along with 1498+ other Americans. We just arrived at my mother's house tonight and are desperate for sleep. I hope to post more within the next few days.

Jeff remained in Cairo and will continue to remain there so long as he is needed. (He does not expect to evacuate.) We have every confidence in his safety and in the safety of the remaining mission personnel.

Protests

2011-01-27T09:14:00.001+02:00

This is not going to be a long, in-depth analysis of anything. I say that so no one will be disappointed. But I do want to take a moment--and it may only be a moment, if Alexa wakes up--to make you aware, if the news hasn't already, that there are some pretty big protests going on in Egypt right now.

You may remember hearing the news that a popular uprising in Tunisia successfully overthrew the government there not too long ago. That news has inspired other populations to stage their own protests/demonstrations/whatever word you want to use.

In Egypt, the day for protests was set at Tuesday, 25 July, which was a national holiday: Police Day. I started hearing about it a few days before that, maybe Thursday or Friday. I didn't think much of it; we hear about demonstrations fairly often, and I can rattle off all the standard lines: Avoid areas where demonstrations will occur, even peaceful gatherings can turn violent, and so on and so forth. Usually we're told by the Regional Security Office (RSO) that protests are planned for a certain day, and that's the end of it. This time there were indications that the RSO was more concerned than usual. I won't go into details, but suffice it to say that extra precautions seemed to be occurring in the days leading up to the protests. That was enough to tell me this was going to be big.

And it was. Check out some pictures from a Facebook group called Operation Egypt. There were some huge protests on Tuesday, including a massive one in Tahrir Square, just a block or so from the embassy where Jeff works. (As it was a holiday, he wasn't there on Tuesday.) As planned, our family stayed home. There was a time when I would have wanted to go see what was going on--staying on the outskirts of everything, being reasonably cautious--although Jeff never would have agreed. But now that we have Alexa, I was all for staying home. So we did. We checked the internet news a couple of times but overall didn't work ourselves up over anything.

Yesterday Jeff went back to work. I stayed home with Alexa and didn't check the news or anything. Jeff got home around his usual time last night. He informed me that they had been dismissed early, but he had work to do (catching up from being out sick on Monday), so he hadn't left early. The early dismissal was because the protests had continued from Tuesday to Wednesday. That surprised me, as usually these things occur on the planned day and then they're over and done with. Jeff said that as he was leaving work, there were rumors that a demonstration was starting in front of the Semiramis Hotel on the Corniche, across the street from the embassy.

This morning I saw Facebook status updates from friends here in Egypt: "I'm okay." "Pray for Egypt." "We're fine, staying in Maadi, which is still quiet." I saw a post from my sister-in-law indicating that she was praying for all Americans in Egypt, and I knew she was thinking of us. I realized that the protests must have hit the international news sometime yesterday/last night. I did a quick search and began to realize just how big this really is--something I hadn't realized as I stayed cocooned in my quiet apartment with my sweet daughter. The pictures that I linked to earlier blew me away. When I went to Operation Egypt's home page on Facebook so I could link to it, I saw an update that was posted less than half an hour ago: "Protests starting now at Liberation Square (Midan atTahrir) Cairo. No police yet." This is the huge midan near the embassy. Many of the pictures I linked to were taken there. It looks like it's going to be another day of protests, another day of tear gas, another day of struggle.

I'm not in a position to comment on Egyptian politics. (I'm in Egypt on a diplomatic passport, after all, and many people don't understand that I don't speak for the American government, even though my husband does work for the U. S. embassy.) I have my opinions, which will remain with me for now. But I think we all can agree that Egypt needs prayer. The Egyptian people need prayer. If you're a praying person, please pray. Pray for the safety of the police and the protesters, and any bystanders who are caught up in events as they simply try to go to work, school, or about their daily lives. Pray for justice for all the citizens of this country. Pray that God will have His hand on these events and that He will work in and through them to accomplish His purposes in the lives of the individuals involved and in the life of Egypt as a country.

Day three has begun. There are calls on Facebook and Twitter for even more massive protests tomorrow after Friday prayers. I don't know how long this will go on or how it will end. But right now, the Egyptian people are protesting.

Update: Jeff just emailed me and said that he was in Tahrir before lunch today. He saw lots of police but no protesters. I wouldn't be too surprised if small groups of protesters were being arrested or run off immediately. The key will be what happens this evening, if large groups show up, and what happens tomorrow afternoon.

Quick Takes

2010-12-14T15:21:00.000+02:00

It's been so long since I've written anything! There's so much to update you on, too, but very little time to do it. Alexa just went down for a nap, but she rarely naps for longer than 45 minutes, and sometimes not even that long. So rather than trying to do a series of posts, I'm just going to do a bunch of short "quick takes" in this one. So buckle up, it's going to be a quick ride!

My little brother is now a married man! He married his long time sweetheart in early October. It was a true family affair for us--Jeff arrived a couple of days before the wedding, as he was a groomsman. I was a bridesmaid. Alexa was a flower girl, at least in name. She wore the same dress as the older flower girls and was carried down the aisle by the mother of the groom. It was a beautiful wedding, with a fall theme, which made for gorgeous decorations. My sister sang and even managed to get through it without tears. The bride was, of course, beautiful.

After the wedding, our little family spent a few days visiting friends and family in other states. Everyone was completely taken with Alexa. We spent quite a bit of time in the DC area with friends, whom we convinced to go with us to the Maryland Renaissance Festival. We'd been a couple of times before we moved to Egypt and loved it, so we couldn't pass up the opportunity to go back. It was just like we remembered, with elaborate costumes, decadent food--can I just say croissant sundae?!--and all sorts of attractions, from jousting to shopping to watching the drunks to knife throwing (I think we avoided the drunks throwing knives, though). Our friend who went with us got her first henna tattoo. I've never had one, but it was interesting to watch. I documented the whole process in photos, but since this is a quick takes post, here's the one and only picture you get: the artist with his work.

The flights went very well, overall, and Alexa was wonderful. She slept through all of our flights, with just brief awake periods for food and diaper changes. Luckily she didn't have any dirty diapers on the planes, saving those for layovers, so it wasn't too difficult to do lap changes. Also, may I just say that United was very baby-friendly? They had no issues with us taking on the car seat once we established that Alexa had her own ticket, they offered us an infant life vest before we ever took off, and there was room (in economy plus, to which we always upgrade because of Jeff's long legs) for the person in front of Alexa to recline his seat without interfering with the car seat. Lufthansa, on the other hand ... grrr. They didn't want us to use the car seat; we had to repeat two or three times that it was airline approved. Then they refused to give us an infant life vest when we requested one--they tried telling us that we wouldn't be flying over water because there were no large bodies of water around Frankfurt. Apparently the flight attendant didn't realize that we'd be flying over the Mediterranean Sea on the way to Egypt! She finally told us that it was their policy to give it to us only if/when it was needed. So apparently it's important for every passenger and crew member to have immediate access to a life vest--every passenger except infants, that is. I guess if there's no time for a busy flight attendant to go get the life vest before the plane hits the water, parents can miraculously grow suction cups on their arms to prevent the wiggling--and at that point wet--child from slipping out of their arms. My blood pressure still goes up when I think of that one. And then, in a final blow to Lufthansa's credibility in my eyes, the person in front of Alexa put his seat back, hitting the back of her car seat and causing it to pop up into an unsafe, unusable position. Luckily, Jeff was feeding her at the time, so she wasn't in it. Needless to say, I am no longer a fan of Lufthansa. At all.

Alexa has been sleeping through the night ever since we got here. She slept incredible hours on the planes, probably due to the vibrations, and has been doing it ever since. She usually goes down for the night between 10 and 11 and wakes up at 7 or 7:30. I would like her to fall asleep around 8 or 9 and stay asleep, but she currently naps for half an hour or so starting at 8 or 8:30, then wakes up for 60 to 90 minutes for one more feeding and diaper change before going down for the night. Until the last week or so, her longest naps during the day were around 45 minutes--she'd take several short naps ranging from 20 to 45 minutes, with 90 minutes of wake time in between. Lately she's been taking a long morning nap of 2 to 3 hours. I think that's because I've been laying down with her for that one, so when she starts to wake up, I soothe her back to sleep--I need a long nap, as I'm getting up between 5 and 5:30 every morning so I can pump, shower, try to get breakfast, and maybe get some laundry started before she gets up.

Speaking of pumping, I haven't shared the whole saga here yet. I had intended to breast feed Alexa, but that hasn't worked out. She was unable to take anything by mouth for the first two days, and after that, she had a hard time latching. Combine that with the fact that I wasn't producing enough milk in a day to get her through one meal, and well, formula supplementation via bottle was necessary. She never took to the breast, despite my best efforts and assistance from a lactation consultant. So we invested in a good pump, which I use regularly. Lately I've been able to produce enough milk that we only give her one 8-ounce bottle of formula a day. The rest of what she eats is milk. I'm not sure how long we can keep it up, but we're going to keep going with that as long as possible. Breast milk provides the best nutrition for her, so I'm committed to pumping until I can't produce milk anymore or until her first birthday, if I make it that long.

We're fully on cloth diapers now. I had purchased some used BumGenius 3.0's before Alexa was born. When I tried to switch from disposable to cloth diapers a month or so after her birth, I discovered that the BGs were too big in the legs. So we used prefolds and covers instead. We're still using those during the day. We were using disposables at night until shortly after we returned here, but we decided to bite the bullet and see how well cloth worked at night. We realized that the BGs didn't fit in the legs because the elastic was shot, but we found two that still had decent elastic, and we used one of them with a doubler overnight. It worked wonderfully! No leaks and, thanks to the stay-dry layer, Alexa felt dry the next morning. We've used them every night since then (other than a couple times when we needed to use diaper rash cream). We bought a couple of new BGs on sale and LOVE them. They're too expensive to justify buying for all-the-time use, though. So we'll keep going with prefolds and covers during the day and the BGs at night, at least unless/until we find someone who is able to replace the elastic on our used BGs. It almost makes me wish I knew how to sew ... but I do NOT have time right now to learn a new skill.

And now Alexa is awake, so if I forgot anything, it'll have to wait until next time.

Just in case the next time isn't for a while, let me just say to you all:

Merry Christmas!!

On Our Own

2010-09-24T09:52:00.001+03:00

I started a post titled "The First Week" almost one week after Jeff returned to Egypt on 2 August. I haven't had time to finish it. Or, more accurately, on the few occasions when I've had uninterrupted time to finish it, I was so tired I couldn't think well enough. That post is a bit out of date now, to say the least. But the main point of it still stands: Jeff had to go back to Egypt so that he could work, and we had to stay here in order to get all of the required paperwork--medical clearances and Alexa's passport and visa. For almost two months now, it's been me, Alexa, and a good bit of help from my mom. As much help as my mom has been, though, it isn't the same. I have a newfound respect for single parents. I've been gradually adjusting to the things I've needed to do, but at first, I was completely overwhelmed.

The day that Jeff left, I readied myself and Alexa for bed. Then I just sat on the bed and held her while I cried. I missed Jeff already, and it wasn't just because I wanted to be with my husband. I also was looking forward to the night ahead of me--a night of waking up every two hours, trying to nurse Alexa, bottle feeding her when she refused the breast, trying to get her back to sleep, then pumping so that there would be some milk available to mix with the requisite formula (I couldn't pump enough) for her next feeding, then cleaning the pump kit, and finally going back to sleep. Based on how long it had been taking Jeff and me to do each task when they were shared (Jeff feeding her while I pumped, for example), I estimated that I would be up for 75 to 90 minutes each time Alexa woke up. So I could expect to sleep in 30 to 45 minute increments. I was already exhausted and overwhelmed, and I hadn't even started yet.

That night went even worse than I expected. I forget all the details now, but I remember clearly that at 3am, I had gotten less than an hour of sleep. I was rocking Alexa, trying to get her to go back to sleep, when I realized that she needed a diaper change. As I got up from the glider, it rebounded back and hit the wall--hard. My mom's room is right below mine, and the crack of wood on wall woke her up. While I was changing Alexa's diaper, she came in. There I was: standing over the changing table, crying so hard from exhaustion and stress that I couldn't even see what I was doing, trying to change the diaper of a baby who had absorbed my tension and was screaming as loudly as I wanted to be. Mom deftly shooed me out of the way, changed the diaper, and sent me to bed while she stayed up the rest of the night with the baby.

Things have gotten better since that first night. First I realized that Alexa was content to fall asleep in my arms while I pumped, if I just got her calm enough not to squirm too much first (Jeff had rigged a way for me to pump hands-free, which has been a lifesaver!). Then when she got big enough to rub up against the pump supplies and be uncomfortable, she was okay lying in my lap. When that became too precarious, I realized that if I got up when she first started squirming, rather than waiting for all-out hunger, she would take the bottle and then fall back asleep without requiring a lot of soothing after. And at some point, I decided that it just wasn't worth it to keep spending the time--and allowing her frustration and hunger levels to climb--while I tried to nurse her. We just started skipping straight to the bottle. Now, instead of 75 to 90 minutes per waking, it's more like 45 to 75. And she's sleeping longer, usually eating on a 3-1/2 hour schedule at night. I average 2-1/2 hours of sleep at a time now during the week. On weekends, Alexa goes downstairs to spend the night with her Grandma Linda, and her mama gets up at most every 4 hours to pump.

Things have gotten easier during the day, too. I still rarely shower before Mom comes home for lunch at 1, unless I get up early to shower at 7 while she's still here to take care of Alexa. Yesterday was only the second day that I've showered while home alone with Alexa without being summoned from the bathroom by her cries--and I did it twice yesterday: my usual morning shower and then another one last night because I'd gotten sweaty at my niece's soccer practice. Very proud of myself for that, even though I didn't get to dry my hair last night because Alexa got hungry.

I still don't accomplish much in a typical day. I spend most of my time feeding Lexa, pumping, changing diapers, and just holding her--she hates being put down. The bouncy chair is my best daytime friend; it's where Lexa was until just a few minutes ago and therefore why I was able to start this post. And for the last few weeks, Lexa has spent all day on Wednesday with her Aunt Jeanne and her cousin Harry. That's allowed me to do some shopping, cleaning, and packing that I would not have been able to do otherwise. I'm trying to get ready for our return to Egypt, which isn't too far away now.

Lexa and I are making it on our own. Or as "on our own" as we are, with the help we receive from Lexa's nearby grandparents, aunts, and uncles. But there's a wonderful day coming soon, when Grandma will drive baby Alexa and her mama to the airport to pick up Daddy. A few busy days later, she'll drive us all back to the airport, and the three of us, rather than the two of us, will be on our own. Lexa and I will have fewer relatives around to provide childcare, cuddles, and general help, but we'll be with the one person we need most.

We miss you, Jeff, and we can't wait to be reunited with you.

Spoiled

2010-08-15T11:00:00.019+02:00

This is a post I started on 2 July, before Alexa's surprise month-early debut. It was almost ready to post, so I've decided to go ahead and publish it. I promise I haven't abandoned this blog; I just don't have much time to write anymore. I started a post a week ago; Alexa woke up hungry about halfway through, and I haven't had time to go back to it. I'm hoping to start writing more regularly, but it's looking like blog posts will continue to be few and far between for a while. Thanks for sticking with me!

I have realized something over the last couple of weeks that I've been home. I am spoiled. Not just a little pampered, but downright spoiled rotten.

I was spoiled before I ever moved to Cairo. Having a generous and loving husband will do that to you, trust me! So will growing up in a family in which finances are something to be aware of, but not something to worry about overmuch. Actually, growing up in America at all spoils us in ways that I'd say most of us don't recognize--if you take it for granted that most public restrooms will be usably clean (even though not up to standard for your home bathroom, I'm sure) and that the toilet paper will be free, trust me: you're spoiled.

Since I've been back in the United States, however, I've recognized some unique ways that Egypt has spoiled me. To be very honest, many of them are ways that the U. S. government has spoiled me during my time in Egypt--I'm spoiled compared to most expats who live there, too. But for me, it's all been part of my experience in Egypt.

What are these ways in which I'm so dreadfully spoiled now? Let me tell you ...

I've been home for 2-1/2 weeks now. I've cleaned my bathroom once, using vinegar and baking soda because I won't use chemical cleaners that produce potentially dangerous fumes so long as I'm pregnant. I made the decision to clean the bathroom only after finally accepting the fact that I in fact did not bring my part time maid home with me. She's busy spoiling Jeff now, cleaning the bathroom he uses, ironing his clothes, cleaning the floors he walks on ... if I want something cleaned here, I have to do it myself. (To be fair, I could ask Mom; she would do it, especially if it's something I couldn't or shouldn't do because of the pregnancy, but I won't be more of a burden this summer than I can help.)

A couple of days ago, Mom and I went to the grocery store. We went to one of those discount stores where the prices are ridiculously low, but you provide your own bags and bag your own groceries. That part didn't bother me any. But then we had to take our own groceries out to our own car ... and I thought of the baggers at the commissary in Cairo. They bag your groceries, take them to your car, and load them for you. *sigh* And then when we got home, we had to actually carry the groceries into the house. No grocery carts waiting by the parking lot (it would have had to be the driveway here) for you to use to get your groceries inside. The equivalent for expats who don't live on an embassy compound would be: no bowwab to carry your groceries for you.

When Mom and I got home from the grocery store, the power was off. I had laundry in both the washer and dryer, we had just purchased cold and frozen items, and--worst of all--the air conditioner can't work without electricity. It was only out for an hour or so, but let me tell you, I missed that great big embassy generator! My power in Egypt never goes off for more than a couple minutes, usually more like 30 seconds, because the generator kicks on automatically. (This is one of the ways in which I am totally spoiled even for an expat--most expats in Egypt don't have generators, and the power goes out frequently, sometimes for hours.)

I've been driving quite a bit since I've been home. It's no fun anymore. The challenge is gone. In Egypt, you have to be on high alert all the time--you never know when a vehicle is going to cut you off, slam on the breaks, make a left turn from the right-hand lane, come flying out of a small cross street with no warning ... anything can happen. Likewise, you can do pretty much whatever you want; you can make a one-lane road into a three-lane, refuse to stop at intersections, drive as fast as you want (the only limitations being physical obstacles such as pedestrians, other vehicles, speed bumps, and pot holes), and generally drive like a maniac. In fact, I'm convinced that the more crazily you drive, the more fun you have and the safer you actually are, because you're paying more attention. Here, there are rules. And you're expected to obey them. In America, we have these beautifully smooth, wide interstates--and the authorities expect you not to get above 70mph! And to limit it to three lanes of traffic, when there's obviously room for at least five. I haven't gotten any tickets, but that's just because I'm so aware of the fact that there actually are rules here that I'm more careful about obeying them--or at least coming close to it--than I was before I had experience driving anarchy-style. Unfortunately, though, all the rules, when combined with the good road conditions, make driving kind of boring. I try to stay focused--after all, anything can happen, and although driving here is less risky than driving in Egypt, it isn't risk-free. But after driving in Egypt, driving in America is just ... boring. Too easy. Not exciting. Not fun. *sigh*

Of course, there also are ways that I'm not spoiled in Egypt, but I'm becoming spoiled again here. Everywhere I go here, I find that the air conditioner is functional and turned on. I can drive without being concerned about hitting my head on the ceiling because of going a little too fast over the speed bumps, pot holes, or general road hazards. I can wear sleeveless shirts, and men don't harass me, nor do women hiss at me. There are parking lots everywhere--a huge deal for me since I never really got the hang of parallel parking. And of course, there are the bathrooms, which are so important for a pregnant woman! Every store has one, and they're pretty much all clean; equally important, they all have toilet paper, and they don't have an attendant that I have to pay in order to get said toilet paper. I'm also finding that I enjoy being back in a Christian culture, with a church on every corner and businesses sporting Bible verses on their signs. (Yes, I'm from the Bible belt!) And I'm absolutely loving spending time with my sister's two children, the younger of whom probably doesn't even remember that I visited last summer, but who should remember me next summer after spending this time with me now.

Yes, I am spoiled. I have a very good life, one that I love. Adjustments have to be made when big changes are made--and moving, even temporarily, back to the United States from Egypt definitely counts as a big change. Most people would expect everything to be better in the U. S., but I'm finding that there are things from Egypt that I miss--and not just my husband and my cats, although they certainly are the top three! But I am happy to be back in the States, happy to be with my extended family, happy to be receiving the best medical care in the world for myself and my baby ... happy to be being spoiled in all the ways that I missed in Egypt, just like I'll be happy later this year to go back to being spoiled Egyptian-style.

How about you? Are you spoiled? If so, I have only one thing to say: Enjoy it!

Alexa's Birth Story

2010-07-29T13:01:00.001+03:00

It was Wednesday, 7 July 2010, 8:40 am. I was just waking up. I'd been up every one or two hours during the night, as was my routine at that point, but I was feeling pretty good overall. I didn't have any plans for the day. The day before, I'd had lunch with some friends and brought home the infant car seat that their daughter had outgrown. The next day, I had my first appointment with the midwife who is part of my OB group--I'd met with one of the doctors once, and we'd agreed that I was more of a "midwife type of person" than an "OB type of person." But I had no real plans for the day. Maybe do some laundry, try to figure out what still needed to be purchased for the baby, read the last chapter of my Hypnobabies home study course ... nothing major.

I got up and went to the bathroom--again; all those middle of the night wakenings were for bathroom breaks too. While sitting on the toilet, I felt something unexpected: mild cramps that felt a lot like menstrual cramps. I immediately became concerned. I knew that many women's contractions start out like that, and I was not ready. Alexa wasn't expected to arrive for another month; Jeff was still in Egypt; we didn't have half the supplies we would need for a new baby. But I wasn't too worried. After all, I was expecting Braxton Hicks contractions to start any day. I did say a quick prayer, though: "God please don't let that be real contractions. Just let me be constipated or something, please."

And God laughed.

Around 8:50 am, I was reaching for the doorknob to leave the bathroom and go find some breakfast. Suddenly I felt warm liquid running down my legs. I stared in disbelief at the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. My pajama pants were soaked. A small, rational part of my brain informed me that my water had broken and that I needed to call the doctor's office. A large, irrational part of my brain informed me that I had urinated on myself and that I needed to change clothes. I went to the closet to get my other pair of pajama pants. Right after I put them on, I felt another gush of warm liquid running down my legs. The small, rational part of my brain informed me that I definitely needed to call the doctor now. The large, irrational part of my brain informed me that I had just dirtied my last pair of pajama pants, so I needed to do laundry, especially if there was any chance that I was going to the hospital that day.

I didn't listen to either part of my brain. I called my husband at work in Egypt, where it was around 4 pm. No one answered the phone. I called his mobile. No answer. I called the house. No answer. I called work again--still no answer. I lost count of how many times I called various numbers at which I thought Jeff may be reached. Finally, I called my doula, Carey, here in the States. No answer. This was getting old, and I was getting stressed. The small, rational part of my brain kept insisting that I call the doctor. The large, irrational part of my brain still believed that if I didn't believe it was happening, it wasn't really happening. I'm convinced that the small, rational part of my brain was quietly processing information and making plans while simultaneously encouraging the large, irrational part of my brain to remain in a state of disbelief--if I actually started to believe what was happening before I had a fully developed course of action in place, it would not have been pretty.

Finally, I called the doctor. It was around 9:30 am. The nurse told me to have someone drive me to their office. I told her that I'd come, but it would be a while--I hadn't had a shower, and I had to have my mom go to the store to get some pads. She said that they didn't mind that I hadn't had a shower, and I needed to come as soon as possible. I said I'd come but made no promises about when--I didn't want to end up at the hospital with ruptured membranes, no contractions, and hours in which I could be offered interventions that I didn't want. After that call, I called my mom at work. My opening statement went something like this: "Mom, just listen and don't freak out. I know you've got a lot of work to do today [she'd mentioned that the night before when she told me that she'd be going in early and maybe staying late], but I need you to leave work, go to Wal-Mart, buy me some pads, and come home." She sounded much calmer than I had anticipated when she said she was on her way. But before she got the phone hung up, I heard her calling her boss's name to tell him she was leaving, and there was a definite note of urgency that bordered on panic. Oh well.

I started going around the room, methodically grabbing things and throwing them on the bed to pack. I hadn't packed my hospital bags yet--there was no need to pack them for another week or so at least, right? Mom arrived about 2 minutes later. (It should be about a 5-minute drive home from her office.) When she asked what she could do, I had her pull up my hospital bag list on my laptop (I'd planned what to bring, although I had not yet purchased about half the items on the list) and start packing. I got in the shower. I felt relatively calm and determined not to rush. After all, I wasn't even feeling real contractions yet, so I still had several hours to go at least, maybe even a day. I took my time in the shower. Then I helped Mom finish packing my bags--one labor bag and one postpartum bag, which included the things I wanted for Alexa.

At some point in that process, Mom handed me her phone so I could talk to my sister. Lisa urged me to go straight to the hospital, reminding me about her experience with her firstborn. Her water had broken, she had called the doctor, and she left for the hospital. Halfway there, her contractions had started with a vengeance. By the time they got to the hospital and found that my niece had rotated from head-down to breech, they had to hurry to get the C-section prepped (no breech vaginal births for those docs). My stubborn streak showed itself, and I continued to move quickly but unhurriedly. I did start moving a little faster around 10:30, when I noticed that the contractions were getting stronger and coming more frequently, but I tried not to let Mom see what was happening. Every few minutes, I tried to reach Jeff--still no answer.

Finally, around 11 am, we left for the doctor's office. On the way, the contractions got stronger, closer, and more regular--at the start of the drive, they were coming every 10 minutes or so; by the end, it was every 5 minutes, but they still weren't too incredibly strong. The doctor's office is 45 minutes from Mom's house, with the hospital about halfway in between. Unbeknownst to me, Mom seriously considered going there instead of to the doctor, despite my clear wishes.

Meanwhile, I continued trying to call Jeff. Finally, his boss answered the work phone and put Jeff on the line. My first words to my husband: "I've been trying to call you but no one would answer the [expletive]* phone. My water broke two hours ago." I don't remember his words, but I could hear his voice shift from concerned husband mode to I-have-a-task-to-accomplish mode as he immediately accepted that our baby was coming, he wouldn't be there for the birth, and he needed to get there as soon as possible.

I also was able to get in touch with my doula, Carey. I apprised her of the situation and told her I'd call from the doctor's office. I still had some hope that my labor was progressing slowly enough that I'd be sent home instead of to the hospital.

We arrived at my doctor's office shortly before noon. I gave the receptionist my name, and she said "Oh, you're the one they've been waiting for. Go on back." From there, things get a bit blurry, as the contractions were powerful enough and frequent enough that I wasn't much aware of anything else. I know I was taken back to see the midwife, Suzan. I don't recall if I was weighed or if my blood pressure was checked. At some point, one of the nurses started to say something to me while I was having a contraction, and another nurse shushed her. I wanted nothing more than to lie down on my left side--the very position I had loathed for the last several months, since I preferred to sleep on my back but no longer could. The midwife walked in the room and confirmed immediately that I was indeed in labor. By that point I think I was already lying on the exam table, on my side, curled up and just trying, with limited success, to relax. Suzan had me roll onto my back so she could check me. I was 6.5 cm dilated and 90% effaced. I asked if the baby was breech; last I'd known, she was transverse. But she had rotated to a head-down position, so one worry was relieved. I called Jeff and then my doula with the news.

I have vague memories of Suzan saying something about calling transport for me. Apparently she wanted me to go to the hospital by ambulance. Then I heard her telling my mom that it would take them too long to get there; I needed to leave immediately. If I started feeling the need to push on the way, Mom was to pull over and call the paramedics. I don't think I was supposed to hear that last part. I was told that I had plenty of time and that I wouldn't even be 9 cm by the time I got to the hospital.

I'm very glad not to remember much of the drive to the hospital. I know Mom drove like a madwoman, with her hazard lights on, horn blaring, weaving in and out of traffic. Her phone kept ringing. She went to answer it once. I snapped at her, telling her not to touch the phone while driving that fast and under that much stress. I think she told me to answer it. I'm not sure, but I think I talked to my sister at some point before telling her that I was having a contraction and hanging up on her. Mom started to say something during a contraction at one point. I have no idea what she wanted to say--I interrupted her with a sharp "Stop talking!" Apparently childbirth makes me rude. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Lisa.

As we got closer to the hospital, the contractions intensified. I wanted to lie down so badly I could hardly stand it. I pressed my feet against the floor, braced my hand against the roof, and stretched out. I considered reclining the seat, but that small, rational part of my brain took control and reminded me that lowering it as far as I wanted to made the seat belt ineffective, and with the way Mom was driving, the seat belt needed to be effective.

At the hospital, neither Mom nor I knew which entrance to use--I was scheduled for my hospital tour the following week. I ended up going in the wrong entrance, although it was in the right part of the hospital. As I stepped through the door, I didn't know where to go next. But it didn't matter; I couldn't walk anymore. I hit my knees, then went to all fours. Suddenly I saw feet--lots of feet. At least four pairs. People kept asking me questions. I answered the first one, which was "Did you fall?" I said "No, I'm having a baby!" The next person who asked a question while within reach of my hand received some papers shoved toward her instead of an answer--the midwife had given me papers to give to the admissions person at the hospital. Once the woman (no idea who she was; I don't think I ever saw anything but her feet) had the papers, the questions stopped and a wheelchair arrived. With the assistance of about three extra sets of hands, I got in the wheelchair. Then there was a blur of faces, walls, and elevator doors. According to the time on my admission bracelet, it was 12:48 pm.

I ended up in a room with a bed. I was out of the wheelchair and in the bed--again, lying on my left side--in what felt like milliseconds. After that I just let them do what they wanted. I ended up in a hospital gown. I saw my doula and my midwife come in; I'm not sure who came in first. Then my life became a blur of "Oh God!", "God, help me!", and "it hurts!" There were brief moments of what felt like sanity in between, but I'm not sure how sane I really was. I remember saying that I should have had a C-section--forget mere drugs, I wanted to skip straight to not pushing**--and telling my doula that I hadn't gone by the ATM to get the rest of the money I owed her. She laughed and said that was alright. But most of my "conversation," if you can call it that, consisted of curt demands: "Cold!" (translation: I want a blanket) and "Wash cloth!" (translation: I'm hot and I want that cool wash cloth on my forehead) were the main ones. Oh, and there was that great big "NO!!" when the midwife didn't hear me decline the first time and told me to give her my hand so I could feel the baby's head before she came out. I'm not sure why I was so adamant, but that simply was not happening.

Through it all, my doula was there. She placed a cool cloth on my forehead when I was hot, removed it when I tried to shake it off, put a blanket around my arms when I was cold. She reassured me that God would help me when that sincere prayer was all I could say. At one point, she asked if I could use my Hypnobabies light switch, to which I said "No, I never even read the last lesson!" She asked if I wanted to listen to one of the relaxation scripts. I informed her that they were on my iPod, which was in my labor bag, which was in the trunk of my mom's car.

It felt like I began pushing immediately. Then it felt like it took forever. Suzan kept saying that one more contraction would do it, but one more contraction came and went and the baby wasn't coming out. I found out later that Alexa's head slid partway out and then just stayed there for half an hour.

Eventually, finally, at 2:06 pm, I felt a huge, painful pressure, then a sudden release. With the release came a gush of liquid and the sensation of something solid sliding out of my body. I knew that the head had caused the pressure, and once it was out, everything else quickly followed. I did not immediately hear Alexa cry, although she cried within a few seconds. I saw her as they clamped and cut the cord--I started to protest that I wanted delayed clamping, but I subsided under the gentle pressure of my doula's hand on my arm. I knew that she was as pro-delayed clamping as you can get, so if she was silently urging me not to protest, there was something important and time-sensitive happening. Alexa was taken to the heat lamp across the room for a few minutes. Then she was in my arms for a few brief seconds before they took her away. I don't recall exactly what was said, but I knew she was being taken to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) for observation. Everyone was very reassuring, to the point that I didn't really get worried about her. I'd seen her, I knew she was breathing, and they said they just wanted to observe her and they may not even need to admit her. I found out later that she was having difficulty breathing, and because she'd come out face first, she had some bruising that made her look blue--it was easy to mistake the bruises for evidence of insufficient oxygen.

Then the real torture began. I shook uncontrollably from the adrenaline. I felt like I was freezing, and my whole body shook like you'd see in a cartoon, not like anything I'd ever experienced. My belly was massaged to make the placenta detach. The cord was yanked on to pull the placenta out. I was given a shot of pitocin to prevent hemorrhage--quickly enough that I didn't have time to decline it if I'd wanted to (I still was disoriented enough that I probably would have consented, especially since I wasn't able to breastfeed immediately to cause the uterus to contract). My second-degree tear was stitched up--and the anesthetic cream hadn't been applied to a large enough area; one stitch went in without anesthesia. I was so exhausted and out of it that my protests consisted solely of the occasional "Ow!" I was distracted by a nurse having me sign the consent forms giving them permission to do everything they'd already done--there hadn't been time before. I also learned then that I'd done the impossible--given birth in the hospital without so much as a hep-lock. Suzan had told the nurses not to bother with it; there wasn't time.

My doula informed me that I had family in the waiting room; should she make an announcement or let them come in? I asked her to wait until I'd talked to Jeff. I called him and gave him the news, then allowed my visitors in. My mother and my father-in-law were the first; then my father-in-law left and my brother came in. I don't remember the conversation or anything. At some point I became lucid enough to ask my doula about what exactly had happened with Alexa. At the time I understood what she said. Now I don't remember most of it.

I was in the delivery room for about an hour. Then the nurses brought a wheelchair for me. I was taken to the NICU, where I was able to see Alexa, although I couldn't hold her. One of the doctors came over and explained what was going on with her. She had been brought in for observation because of difficulty breathing. She was on oxygen and a few monitors. He wanted to start her on antibiotics because it was possible that she had an infection, but the blood work wouldn't show it for 48 hours. I gave permission for the antibiotics but declined the routine Vitamin K shot he wanted to give her. I was impressed that he respected my wishes without pressuring me.

After a too-brief visit with Alexa, I was taken to my recovery room. It was a strange, disconnected feeling: I no longer had the baby belly, I was in the hospital, I had just given birth. But I had no baby, at least not one for whom I had any routine care responsibilities or who was even within my sight. I was in the maternity ward with no baby. I actually got jealous when I heard the baby next door crying.

The rest of that day and most of the next brought a flurry of activity. I was seeing visitors, submitting to exams and checks, pumping breast milk, going down to the NICU to see Alexa whenever I could. I was also trying to figure out the State Department paperwork that needed to be done to get the ball rolling on Alexa's passport and medical clearance. Jeff called from various airports to report his progress. He arrived the following day around 7:30 pm, during the shift change at the NICU when even parents aren't allowed to visit. When the NICU re-opened at 8, we went down so he could meet his daughter. I'm glad I thought to have a camera available; I have a picture of when he first saw her. After some time with her, we went back to my room to get some sleep. That's when my body fell apart--it realized that with him there, I could relax some, and the pain began. It wasn't my stitches or perineum that hurt, though; it was my back, shoulders, and neck. The nurses gave me medicine that relieved the pain and let me sleep.

I was discharged from the hospital the next day. Jeff and I checked into a nearby hotel to stay near Alexa. We spent every moment we could with her. Finally, the following Tuesday, she was released. That's when I felt like I really became a mother, when we took full responsibility for her. That's when the birth was complete.

*I usually don't curse, but in this situation, it just seemed appropriate.

**My next birth also will be all-natural, despite my mid-birth desire for a C-section. The NICU nurses told me that had I had drugs, which would have been necessary for a C-section, Alexa's breathing problems could have been much more severe. Many babies whose mothers have epidurals are born sleepy; if they're already at risk, this exhaustion can interfere with their ability to transition to breathing air.

Introducing Alexa Ruth

2010-07-16T16:50:00.002+03:00

I know it's been even longer than usual since my last post ... most of it is due to the usual: not much to say, too much going on, etc. But now I definitely have something to say, and even though there's still too much going on, I wanted to take a few moments to share.

Meet Alexa Ruth!*

In this post, I'll just give a few key details. I'll try to post her complete birth story in a few days, but no promises ... lots going on, you know.

Birthday: Wednesday, 7 July 2010, 2:06pm (almost exactly a month early)
Amount of time from first "I hope that wasn't a contraction!" to birth: 5 hours 16 minutes
Amount of time from Mom's arrival at hospital to birth: approximately 2 hours
Amount of time from birth to getting to meet Daddy: approximately 30 hours (first available flight and all that)
Weight at birth: 6 lb 6 oz
Length at birth: 18-3/4 inches**
Number of days in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU): 6
Reason for being in the NICU: difficulty breathing
Date she came home: Tuesday, 13 July 2010

*Some of you may know that Jeff and I deliberately do not put pictures of ourselves, our family, our friends, or our colleagues on the blog for privacy reasons. However, we do acknowledge two important facts: (1) many of you will want to see Alexa and won't be able to unless we post a picture here, and (2) newborns change in appearance so quickly that pictures of them won't be a privacy concern after just a short time. So we decided to post this one picture of Alexa on the blog. This isn't a change in our policy regarding pictures on the blog; this is an exception to the rule.

**Oops, I originally posted her length as 15-3/4 inches. Thanks, Mom, for pointing out the mistake!

The Best and The Worst

2010-06-16T18:03:00.000+03:00

I'm here! As I said in my last post, I'm now at my mom's house, where I'll be staying until a couple of months after the baby's birth. Things didn't go quite according to plan--when the last post posted, I was not somewhere over the Atlantic; I was still at the gate in Frankfurt--but eventually I made it. I don't think anyone is particularly interested in a play-by-play of the entire trip, so I'm just going to give you the best and the worst. I'll start with the worst so we can end on a good note.

The Worst

I had to leave my husband and my cats behind.
My 24-hour door-to-door trip turned into 31-1/2 hours.
We were stuck at the gate in Frankfurt for 3 hours while they fixed the cabin air conditioner and tried to find the part to fix some other problem (I forget what it was) before eventually deciding that it would be okay for us to fly with the part broken; we'd just have to go a longer route. It added about 10 minutes to our flight time.
I missed my connecting flight at Dulles, which was scheduled to take off at about the same time we ended up landing there. It was delayed 30 minutes, but that still wasn't enough time to clear customs and immigration and get to the gate.
All the later flights to my destination airport were full. So were the later flights to the airport that's the same distance from my hometown in the opposite direction. (Our town is less than an hour from one tiny and one small airport, so we usually go with whichever one is cheaper at the time. It also allows for great flexibility in situations like this, unless the flights are all full.)
I ended up taking a later flight to an airport that's 90 minutes from my mom's house.
That flight was scheduled to leave approximately 5 hours after I arrived at Dulles. Due to a mechanical issue, it was delayed an hour.
Throughout the entire day, a muscle in my gluteus maximus spasmed every time I put weight on it. Therefore, standing and walking was a slow and painful experience.
The business class lounge at the Cairo airport was closed; there wasn't time in Frankfurt; and I was no longer business class in Washington. So quite possibly my only chance to experience a business class lounge has escaped me.
I was still dealing with congestion, drainage, and general nastiness from my cold.
My ankles currently are about the size of tennis balls, maybe slightly larger. They were twice as big early Tuesday morning when I arrived here.

The Best

I managed not to cry, although it was difficult.
My Tempur-pedic travel pillow went a long way toward making all the seats, in the airports and the planes, much more comfortable. Depending on the seat, I used it rolled up or flattened out behind my back every time I sat for more than just a few minutes.
Business class in the Lufthansa flight between Cairo and Franfurt was nice. I was able to put my feet up, although there weren't independent controls for the footrest and the back, so I couldn't get my feet as high as I wanted without reclining too far for Alexa's safety. I was able to compensate by getting onto my side--the seat wasn't quite wide enough for it to be truly comfortable, thanks to the belly, but it was a lot better than economy or than sitting there without my feet up. I slept for most of the flight, so it was comfortable enough. Service was only marginally better than it would have been in economy, although Lufthansa's economy service is much better than any other airline's that I've experienced.
Business class in the United flight between Frankfurt and Dulles was wonderful, even considering the extra 3 hours I spent there. The seats could recline all the way back like a bed, they could recline like a recliner, or I could adjust the back and the footrest independently. I only slept for a couple of hours, although the seat was comfortable enough to sleep longer--the sleep on the previous flight was enough that my stubborn body wasn't ready to sleep more yet. I could watch any of a few dozen movies or TV shows whenever I wanted, and I could pause, fast forward, and rewind them too. I had my choice of meals--I chose the filet mignon for the first and the turkey sandwich for the second. The first meal (the second was considered a snack) was three courses--appetizers (yes, that's plural), main course (choice of beef, chicken, or pasta), and dessert (an incredible chocolate mousse parfait-type concoction with strawberry sauce, or fruit ... guess which one I chose). The service was incredible. One of the flight attendants took one look at my belly and made me her personal project--I was never without water, I was told to use the first class lavatory rather than waiting in line for the business class one, I was given the option--repeatedly--to go to cooler areas of the plane before the air conditioner was fixed (it really wasn't even that hot), and I was generally hovered and fussed over. The other flight attendants also were incredibly attentive, but I think they provided that level of service to all the business class passengers. If anyone is traveling overseas on a United flight, the upgrade is totally worth it, if finances allow.
I didn't have to overnight in Frankfurt, although that option was offered to me by the gate attendant, who came down to ask how I was doing. The only time that my personal flight attendant seemed confident that I was doing just fine, thank you very much, was when the gate attendant tried to take me off the plane and away from her. Suddenly I went from practically invalid status to perfectly okay. I got the feeling she didn't trust him to take good enough care of me.
When the maintenance issue was discovered at Dulles, it was less than 10 minutes before they announced exactly what the problem was (I forget now, but they told us), that the plane could fly but required a longer runway on which to land, that our destination airport didn't have a functional runway long enough (the long one was being worked on), and that we therefore were swapping planes with another flight heading to an airport with a runway that the broken plane could use. No 3-hour decision-making process there!
I didn't have to overnight in Dulles. I was able to make it here, although it was a very long day. I think it woud have been worse if I'd had to overnight somewhere, even though it would have allowed me to sleep sooner.
I'm here safely.

So there you have it--the best and the worst. Since I've been here, I've pretty well been taking it easy. I'm trying to drink lots of water and keep my feet up to bring the swelling down. On the bright side, the swelling actually is about the same as it usually is for me after this trip--I expected it to be worse because of the pregnancy, but apparently it helped that I was able to have my feet up most of the time until I got to Dulles. At some point soon, I'll finish unpacking (I've unpacked my stuff but not Alexa's stuff), go through the boxes that have arrived (things we shipped and things that were shipped from our online registry), do some ironing (that I should have done in Cairo but just threw in the suitcase unironed instead), and make a list of things I need to buy. But for now, I think I'm going to sit here with my water and my mom's laptop (mine is having internet issues right now), keep my feet up, and catch up on reading the blogs I've missed in the last few days.

Going Home

2010-06-14T15:00:00.002+03:00

If I've done the math right, I will be somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean as this blog posts. I'm going home to the United States for the summer. This will be the first time that I've left Jeff for any significant amount of time since we married--three weeks for job training used to count as significant, but not anymore, not with this separation looming over us. I have mixed feelings about going.

On the one hand, it will be good to be home. It will be good to spend time with my family, to see my niece and nephews who have all changed so much over the last year, to get to know my little nephew who was born just before we left and who was too little during our visit last year to remember me. It will be good to shop at familiar American stores, to eat at my favorite restaurants, to live again in a community that is heavily influenced by Christianity. To understand the language spoken around me. It especially will be good to know that I'm in the place where, if it's needed, my daughter can receive the best medical care in the world--I realized not too long ago that if she were to be born prematurely, on that very day, in America, my daughter would have a hard fight ahead of her, but she probably would win it; if she were born even now in Egypt, she probably would die. From that day forward, I've been ready to step on a plane.

But on the other hand ... I'm going to be away from my husband for over a month before he's able to come for the birth, unless something unexpected happens. I won't see my cats--don't laugh! they're my fur babies, sweet little souls who are part of my family!--for four months. There are other aspects of life in Egypt that I'll miss, but not so much that I can't bear it. But I hate the thought that my husband won't see my belly grow or feel the increasing strength of Alexa's kicks, that my cats won't understand why I'm suddenly gone, that I won't be here to take care of my family. Even after Alexa's birth, Jeff will be with us for such a short time before he has to come back without us, while we wait for her medical clearance and all the paperwork to get her added to our orders and get her passport and visa. We're all going to miss out during this separation: Jeff, me, Alexa, Isis, and Cleo.

It doesn't help that Jeff and I both have been sick this week. Jeff has something going on with his inner ear, so he's experiencing vertigo--he has medicine that's supposed to take the edge off the symptoms, but it isn't doing much good, and the doctor says that his body basically has to deal with the problem itself. I've been fighting off a cold and finally admitted defeat last night. On the positive side, we've had more time together, since Jeff hasn't been able to work much. On the negative side, we've both wanted to do nothing but sleep. I'm not even finished preparing the freezer meals I want to leave for him--I still have a casserole, a double batch of macaroni and cheese, and a total of four batches (two singles and a double) of meatloaf to make, although I've already made the lasagna and more batches of chili than I care to think about. I still have so much to do (cooking, ironing, getting stuff together from all over the apartment, then packing on Sunday) ... and all I want to do is go back to bed.

This is turning into a downer. I've always been that way--more likely to be down when I'm tired, which is definitely the case this week. Time to look on the bright side. Everything that has to get done will get done, and the rest of it is probably not as important as I'm making it. I will be away from Jeff and the cats for way too long, but I'll have all that time with my extended family--parents, brother, sister, niece and nephews, the in-laws; I'll even get to see a grandmother, cousin, and maybe an aunt or two. I'll be able to do the needed shopping in air conditioned stores, with air conditioned transportation to and from them. My baby will be born in an environment where, even if things don't go according to the plan we have for her, things are incredibly likely to turn out well. I'll be staying with my mother for the first six to eight weeks of Alexa's life, a time when I'm sure to need and want her help more than ever. While I'm home, I'll get to attend, even be a bridesmaid in, my brother's wedding (assuming we can figure out the correct dress size and get it in time--the wedding's just two months after my guess date and I have no idea what size I'll be then). And even if I am dealing with sinus issues while I fly on Monday, at least I'll be dealing with them from the comfort of a business class seat--my first time ever in business class; thank you to my hubby for upgrading me!--rather than from a small, uncomfortable economy class seat.

As they say, every cloud has a silver lining, and when I think about it, I realize that this one really is more lining than cloud. The cloud is a doozy for someone who's philosophically and emotionally opposed to leaving her husband (and not fond of the idea of leaving her cats either!), but there is a lot of lining. Now to just focus on that ...

Pregnancy Update

2010-05-31T17:18:00.013+03:00

It's been a couple of weeks since I last posted anything here--sorry about that. I'd like to say it's because things have been busy, but ... it isn't. It's because I've been so tired that I really haven't been doing much to write about. But there has been a little going on with the pregnancy, so I decided to update you about that anyway.

At my regular prenatal appointment a week and a half ago, my nurse asked all the standard questions, including "Have you been experiencing any pain?" The short answer to that question this time was yes, although there was nothing that I thought was unusual or problematic. However, it's always safer to report it all and let the doctor decide, so that's what I did. I was right about the hip and thigh pain that I've been experiencing for over a month now--that's normal, and it's normal for it to be worse at night than during the day. But that isn't the only pain I've experienced. I've also experienced a little bit of abdominal pain, mostly when I'm wiggling around in bed at night trying to get comfortable or when I reach for something on the top shelf in my kitchen cabinets. This pain also struck me as normal--after all, my abdominal muscles are under a lot of strain right now, so it makes sense to me that any use or stretching of them may be enough to push them over the edge into soreness or even a momentary acute pain. My nurse practitioner largely agreed with me, but she looked a little doubtful. She said that pain like that was unusual, and unusual is a little concerning, so she wanted me to go see a local OB just to make sure everything was okay.

We made that trip last week. Long story short, everything is fine. There is no indication that anything at all is wrong, other than that I may be a little dehydrated. Both my nurse practitioner and the OB emphasized that, especially now that I've started having a few Braxton Hicks pressure waves, which can be magnified by dehydration. The OB, Dr. Nevine, also recommended that I start taking Cal-Mag, a calcium supplement, in addition to the prenatal vitamins that I was already taking. That made sense to me, as I regularly realize that I've gone all day without eating or drinking much of anything that has a lot of calcium in it--I try so hard to make sure that I drink enough water (which means that I often drink nothing but water, drink it constantly even when I'm not thirsty, and still end up with signs of dehydration) that I don't drink much milk.

Dr. Nevine also palpated my abdomen and informed me that Alexa currently is transverse. That means that she's lying across my abdomen; instead of being head up (fully breech) or head down (in the proper birthing position), her head is on one side and she's lying against my cervix. It isn't a problem at this point; most babies turn sometime between weeks 32 and 38, and I'm just now at week 31. She'll probably turn into the proper birthing position on her own, but if she doesn't, my OB in the States may be able to turn her manually later on. I actually was happy to hear that she's transverse, just because that's how I felt like she was laying. It would have been disconcerting to be told that she was up-and-down when I could have sworn that I felt her more side-to-side. But it will be nice when she gets herself into the birthing position--if she were to stay transverse until time for her birth, that would be an automatic cesarian section, which I'd much rather avoid.

In other pregnancy news, I've started doing a home study course for natural childbirth. It's a 5-week course with weekly reading and daily practice. I have not been good about doing the practice, which is why I'm not keeping to the 5-week schedule so well--I keep realizing that it's time to read another lesson but I haven't done my practicing. The course I'm using is Hypnobabies. I was very skeptical of it at first, and I'm still skeptical of some of its claims, but overall I think it will be a good method for me. I don't think of it as self-hypnosis (although it turns out that there actually is some research out there indicating that people can be trained to use self-hypnosis for effective pain relief) so much as I think of it as teaching myself not to be afraid of childbirth and to relax deeply.

The idea is that fear causes the release of adrenaline and increased muscle tension. Increased muscle tension can stall labor, as the uterine muscle fibers that have kept the cervix closed during pregnancy tense up and refuse to be drawn out of the way by the uterine muscle fibers that are trying to open the cervix for birth. Increased muscle tension causes the experience of pain as these muscles work against each other. So it's important for a woman not only to not be afraid, but to be able to relax deliberately in order to minimize muscle tension and allow her body to birth with as little resistance as possible, which should minimize the pain she experiences as well.

Some claim that using self-hypnosis effectively leads to completely pain-free birth, but I don't expect that--although the course is trying hard to get me to expect it. I am, however, working to teach myself to expect a birth that is calm and manageable--one during which I will be able to use the relaxation cues I've learned in order to help my body relax. That's what the daily practice is all about--they call it learning self-hypnosis; I call it conditioning my body to relax in the presence of certain cues. I don't do the practice as often as I should, though, because apparently my body already relaxes in the presence of those cues--I keep falling asleep! I don't expect that to be an issue during my birthing time, so I do need to teach myself to relax in the presence of those cues while not falling asleep.

Oh, and if you've noticed some oddities in my vocabulary, it isn't just you. Part of the Hypnobabies method for reducing fear involves changing the way we think about certain things by changing the words we use to describe them. "Contractions" become "pressure waves," an equally accurate descriptor without the associations with pain that most people have. "Labor" becomes "my birthing time," again because so many associate labor with pain. I forget the other vocabulary changes that I'm supposed to be making, although there is one that may or may not be a Hypnobabies thing, but I've read it from several midwives and doulas: the word "delivery" is a little demeaning to mothers as it currently is used with regard to childbirth.

"Who will deliver your baby?" That makes it sound like the doctor is doing all the work--and making all the decisions--and the mom is just along for the ride. Midwives and doulas tend to talk instead about a medical professional attending the birth or catching the baby (although sometimes, depending on parental preferences, the doctor attends and the father catches), and the mother is the one who is birthing her baby. This change in terminology linguistically gives control to the mother, rather than to the birth attendant, at least to the extent that anyone can control birth. I like this terminology better than the traditional "delivery" terminology. After all, do I really want to use the same word for childbirth that I use when the pizza shows up at my door?

I think that's it for the pregnancy updates, other than one kind of amusing story. Alexa had been kicking me fairly regularly, although not all the time by any means. Then suddenly she stopped kicking me more than a couple of times a day. I started to get worried and mentioned it to Jeff. Within an hour, Alexa was kicking me constantly--four or more times in the first 15 or 20 minutes. Now it may be that frequently sometimes, less at other times, and none at all if I'm moving around a lot (probably rocking her to sleep), but it never gets to the point anymore where I even consider worrying before she goes into a frenzy of movement. It's almost as if she understood me tell Jeff that I was worried--I know she hears everything I say now, although understanding is unlikely--and she's determined not to worry me again.

Okay, that's really it. Hopefully it won't be two weeks again before I post something, but no guarantees. Right now my time is being spent sleeping, chasing Cleo away from the speakers (she's taken to licking them), and getting ready to head back to the States before too long. Speaking of those speakers ... gotta go!

Window Into the Womb

2010-05-10T13:30:00.000+03:00

Modern technology is truly amazing. I don't often take the time to appreciate it, but sometimes I'm hit with the realization of just how awesome modern technology is--the ability to see and hear events that are occurring on the other side of the world, or right in front of us but so small that our eyes can't discern them; the ability to record and play back images of all kinds; even the ability to cool an entire residence to a comfortable temperature when it feels like a furnace outside (an ability for which I am becoming increasingly grateful as summer approaches!).

I am in even greater awe of the intricacy and majesty of God's creations for which He did not use human minds and hands as His tools--rugged mountains, beautiful meadows, delicately balanced ecosystems.

And then there are those times when modern technology and God's creation intersect. The ingenuity of man--enabled by God--allows us to see a side of God's creation that wasn't possible a century ago, a decade ago, or in some cases, a year ago. Those times truly fill me with wonder.

The most striking examples of those times recently have occurred as I'm lying in an exam room looking at a large screen mounted on the wall opposite me--staring in awe at my daughter as she rests, squirms, and hiccups inside me.

During this pregnancy, Jeff and I have had an opportunity that I doubt we'll have with any future pregnancies--the opportunity to watch as our daughter grows and matures before her birth. Most of these ultrasounds were obtained for less than desirable reasons, as you'll read, but the result is spectacular. So join me now as I offer you a glimpse through the window into the womb ...

The picture above was taken on 12 December 2009, when I was around six weeks along (around four weeks once you realize that the first two weeks of pregnancy are before ovulation even occurs!). We had an early ultrasound because of the cramping and bleeding that I was experiencing, which raised fears of an ectopic pregnancy. The purpose of this ultrasound wasn't actually to see the baby--that was impossible at this point--but to see the gestational sac and determine where it had implanted. The gestational sac is labeled on the above image as "GS," and as you can see, it was located within the uterus, much to our relief.

This next picture was taken on 20 December 2009, at almost 8 weeks. Because of my symptoms, my medical providers wanted to see evidence that the baby was still alive before they began any routine prenatal care. During this ultrasound, we saw the baby--I think they called her an embryo at that point--and the characteristic flutter that indicates the beating of a developing heart. The baby is the light spot inside the black area, with the two plus signs indicating her length. Although this ultrasound was just over one week later than the first, that one week plus the benefits of more sensitive equipment enabled us to go from "no baby" to "baby," albeit "tiny tiny baby." And there is no way I can describe the joy and relief of seeing the rhythmic flutter that showed that our baby was alive.

This picture was taken on 24 January 2010, at almost 13 weeks. We had this ultrasound because we wanted nucal translucency screening. This early screening gives a good indication of several possible problems with the baby--we knew that we would have this child even if she had problems, but we also knew that if that were the case, we would need time to prepare ourselves for the arrival of a special needs baby. So we opted for the screening. The opportunity for another ultrasound was a bonus! It was during this ultrasound that we first heard Alexa's heart beat and saw her move. You can see in the picture above that she definitely looks more baby-like here, with a recognizable head and body. We also saw her little arms and legs waving as she maneuvered--her high activity level during this ultrasound had me comparing her to a jumping bean.

For this next one, I just had to show you two pictures. These were taken on 30 January 2010, at almost 14 weeks. We discovered after having the previous ultrasound taken that the hospital where we had been referred for that couldn't actually do the nucal translucency screening. They did the ultrasound but they didn't draw the blood or presumably have the connections to send the blood for testing. So we went to a different clinic, repeated the ultrasound, and had the blood drawn and shipped to the UK--or maybe it was Germany; I don't remember--for testing. The results eventually came back that there was little likelihood that the baby had any of the disorders that this test detects, and we were able to see our daughter in 3D for the first time. These are my two favorite pictures. The top one shows Alexa's big head, her face, and her little body, all facing left. I like how she appears to be praying. The bottom one--my all-time favorite--shows Alexa facing us. I'm not sure if the structure on the left is the placenta or what, but I love how it appears to cradle her as she rests comfortably against it.

I just had to show you two from this one as well. These sonograms were taken on 17 March 2010, around 20 weeks. This is the ultrasound that most people get, in which they find out the baby's gender. Our daughter was being modest that day. The doctor told us that he was "almost certain" that she was a girl, but his voice and body language was a little less confident than I would have found assuring. She wouldn't show us "the goods" that day, but she did let us get a couple of pictures of her face. In the top picture, you can make out her eyes, nose, and mouth as she lies on her back. You also can see her arms and legs, but she has a leg or foot strategically placed. The bottom picture had Jeff making cracks about Skeletor for a while. I admit it--I didn't get offended and even joined in the Skeletor comments some; it's an apt description of how her face appears in that picture!

Okay, I admit it--this picture also was taken on 17 March. We had our last ultrasound on 5 May 2010, just last week, at around 27 weeks. There was no medical reason for this ultrasound. We wanted confirmation on the gender, and when the doctor suggested another ultrasound, we saw no reason to decline. We also were hoping for a nice view of Alexa's face, since it should have a little more fat on it now and look more like a baby than a skeleton. However, she absolutely did not cooperate with that. The picture above shows a side view of the position that she stayed in pretty much the whole time. Her legs are up, in a pike position, so that her legs and feet cover her face. We can't even get a side view of her face because her arms were blocking it. During this most recent ultrasound, we didn't even get this view. We got the view that showed us her backside and the backs of her legs, hiding her face. I don't feel comfortable posting that picture online, because her backside is clearly discernible, and even though she is still in the womb, a lady is entitled to her modesty. She did shift position just enough for the doctor to say that she is definitely a girl--either that or he's "imagining things," in his words. He seemed confident enough this time to reassure me that all of our cute baby girl clothes will be put to good use. (Although I did wake up two mornings later from a dream in which our little girl turned out to be a boy who had to go nameless for several days because we hadn't picked out a boy's name.)

So there you have it--a sampling of the glimpses we've been given of Alexa's development so far. I don't think we'll have any more ultrasounds, unless something unexpected happens, so these will be the last pictures of her until her birth. It looks like the curtains have closed on the window, to take the analogy too far :) But I always will be grateful that during this, our first pregnancy, we were able to watch as our baby developed from a tiny bean-shaped embryo into a full-fledged baby.

Surprise!!

2010-04-19T07:33:00.000+02:00

Last Thursday evening, Jeff and I attended an end-of-the-year potluck supper for our life group. We knew it would be fun--life group get-togethers always are--but we had no idea just how fun it would turn out to be.

It started out pretty much as expected. We arrived, we chatted, we laughed, and once everyone had arrived, we ate. While we ate, we chatted and laughed some more. After dinner, I was not surprised that those who finished first took their own dishes to the kitchen and then returned for the dishes of those who finished later. As one of the last to finish (I was talking too much), I was mildly surprised that two different people almost took my plate before I had finished. Strange, but I chalked it up to overeagerness to be helpful. It turns out that I should have chalked it up to a determination to keep me out of the kitchen!

Jeff finished even later than I did (he had seconds) and made it to the kitchen without being intercepted. I found out later that after he was already in the kitchen, across the room from the door, placing his dishes by the sink, he noticed that the two or three ladies who were in there at the time were looking at him in horror. At the same time, he noticed the cakes on the counter. He quickly whipped his head around in the other direction and said something along the lines of, "I didn't see anything!" He said later that he was surprised that he didn't turn from the sink to see the ladies lined up in front of the counter; they said later that they were frozen in shock and couldn't think quickly enough what to do.

Not too long after that, our hostess stood up to make a short speech. In it, she revealed that our life group had been talking about us behind our backs--planning a surprise baby shower! Then the games began. First up was a "descrambling" game. The group was divided into two teams, each of which was shown a scrambled word at the same time. The first team to descramble the word got a point. The words all were pregnancy- or baby-related, like "high chair" or "diapers." My team won by a huge margin.

Then there were races. For one, a couple from each team had to put a cloth diaper on a baby doll--using only one hand each. They were judged both on time and on how well the diaper was on. Other than banging the doll's head against the table--which both teams did at some point--both teams did well. There also was the "Who can drink a bottle of juice fastest?" race (we forgot to specify that it was against the rules to untwist the cap and guzzle it, so that's what the winner eventually did) and the hanging baby clothes race, in which a representative of each team had to multitask by simultaneously holding the baby, hanging baby clothes on a clothes line, and telling a story into a mobile phone. That one was funny because of the stories people came up with and the poor little baby doll who ended up with her face in a man's armpit while he held her in a basket.

After that, it was time for gifts. Wow, what a haul!

I don't know if you can see everything clearly in the picture, so let me tell you what's in there: We have three stuffed animals, massage oil (a gift for Jeff that I'm going to appreciate greatly!), a onesie/skirt set, a short set, a hooded winter suit with cool foldover arms and legs, and more assorted onesies and sleepers. We also have a wonderful variety of bibs, diaper covers, wash/burp cloths, a navel protector, and onesies that were embroidered just for us by one of our friends. And the circle pattern that you see peeping through in the middle is a tiny bit of the nursing cover that will be so incredibly useful as I learn to nurse modestly in public (think 14+ hours in airplanes and airports on the trip to Cairo). Oh, and I know you probably can't see this in the picture: there's also a bouncy seat. It's up at the top, at the corner of the "Drool is Cool" bib and the nursing cover. Okay, so it's just a picture in the picture, but the APO mail system has been slow lately, so the real thing didn't quite make it here in time for the shower. But from the picture, I think Alexa is going to enjoy it. And I like the looks of it--it has safari-type animals on it, sort of an unofficial, accidental theme in the bedding and such that we've picked out. (We didn't pick a whole matching set, just some separate sheets, blankets, and a mobile, but it definitely is turning out to be a safari theme.)

We have great friends, don't we?

After the gifts, we had a time of prayer. Our group prayed for us, for Alexa, and for the two couples in our group who will be leaving Cairo permanently this summer. That part was bittersweet--life as an expat has many more good-byes than life back in the States had. But at the same time, we would never have met all these wonderful people had we stayed at home, and the joy of the relationships definitely outweighs the sadness of the good-byes. It's even possible that we'll see one of the couples again.

After this more serious time, we got back to the lighthearted bits--it was time for cake. Two of them, to be precise. And they both tasted as wonderful as they look. You can't really tell from the pictures how large they were--we ended up taking home half of the chocolate one, at the insistence of the person who brought it. Only about 25% of the white one was eaten that night--it was huge--and the rest was divvied up among all the guests. We took home a paper-plateful of it, too. Both remained tasty over the next several days.

After cake, everyone started winding down. It was getting late; I wasn't the only one whose eyelids started drifting downward. After the other guests had left, our host and hostess kindly walked with Jeff and me back to our place--we live maybe 2 blocks from them--to help us carry our cake, presents, and dishes.

It was a good night. The potluck part was fun; the shower was hilarious. And most importantly, it was a time of great fellowship with great friends.

Sharm el Sheikh

2010-04-15T07:15:00.014+02:00

Toward the end of February, Jeff and I took a mini-vacation and spent a long weekend in Sharm el Sheikh. (I know, I've taken my sweet time writing about it, but what else is new?) Some friends were spending a week there to dive, and we decided to join them for the last part of their vacation. We arrived on a Wednesday evening and flew back to Cairo that Saturday.

Because our friends were diving, we knew that they were both getting up and going to bed early. When we arrived Wednesday night, they very well may have been asleep already. So we checked in, unpacked a little, then went in search of the restaurant we had chosen for dinner: El Kababgy, the Oriental restaurant on the resort. (Here in Egypt, what we would call "Middle Eastern" is labeled "Oriental," in accordance with the way the word was used before Europeans became aware of the Far East. So an Oriental restaurant is not Chinese or Japanese, but local, often serving Lebanese and/or Egyptian food.) We got a little lost on the way, but that was due to the darkness and our own exhaustion more than anything else, I think. It was worth the effort to find the place--the hummus, shish tawook, and kofta all were delicious.

After dinner, we headed back to our room for some sleep. On the way, though, I stopped to take a couple of photographs. The lights of Sharm across the bay from our resort were beautiful, although I couldn't get any pictures of that to turn out well. I also was fascinated by the traditional lamps that were used to provide the (sparse) lighting on the stairs and walkways.

The next morning, Jeff and I slept late. Then we found our way to the main restaurant (I forget the name) where the breakfast buffet was held. There we found an omelet station, a fruit bar, a bread bar, an Oriental corner (which boasted fuul and some other local breakfast dishes), and a variety of egg and sausage dishes (not pork sausage; that's very unusual in Egypt). Most importantly to me, there also were the usual fresh, delicious juices--orange, apple, and hibiscus. After enjoying a leisurely breakfast, Jeff and I took a walk around the resort to see what was available. Then we headed to the pool, where we spent most of the day relaxing and reading.

That evening, we met up with our friends for dinner. Their dive team had told them about a good steak restaurant in Na'ama Bay, an area not too far from the resort, and we were up for anything. We took a couple of the hotel taxis to the area where they'd been told to go, but we had issues finding the exact restaurant that had been mentioned. We were able, however, to find another steak place that was very good. The best part about the restaurant was the atmosphere--it looked like a jungle in there. There seemed to be trees growing inside the restaurant. The lighting was dim, mostly candlelight. The music was unfortunately loud, but it didn't detract too much. After a very nice dinner, we rolled ourselves out of our seats and began heading back.

I must say, it was interesting watching our friends--who are living outside of the U.S. but not in Egypt--negotiate a taxi fare. There was quite a bit of discussion about exactly which taxi we would be getting into, as it wasn't the drivers who were negotiating. There was a long line at the taxi stand, and those drivers at the front of the line wanted outrageous prices because they had had to wait so long to get to the front of the line. It was set up so that once a driver was in the line, they couldn't pull out, so the order in which they received passengers was fixed. Passengers who didn't want to pay the large prices could negotiate with representatives of other drivers, who may be parked across the divided highway, a long walk down the road, or who may not be parked at all--they may just cruise by and illegally stop to pick us up. I'm not sure how many taxis were rejected for fear of crossing the busy road. It was a new situation even for Jeff and me, since nothing is that organized in Cairo; we just flag down a taxi and negotiate right there on the street, no matter how many horns are honking behind us.

The next day, the group all met for breakfast. Our friends weren't diving that day, as they were flying the next and needed a day between diving and flying for safety reasons. We decided to spend the morning relaxing by the pool. While the others headed there, I grabbed my camera and made another round of the resort. There were just too many beautiful sights that I hadn't captured yet. After my detour, I rejoined the others and spent the morning reading and relaxing.

Around noon, we decided to leave the resort for lunch. Our friends confessed that every day as they traveled to and from the dock, they had been eying the McDonald's down the road with longing--it's funny the things you start to yearn for when you live in a country where they aren't available. We were going to take a taxi there, but the hotel taxis were inflexible in their pricing, and they were going to charge us as much for a 2-minute drive as it would have been for a 15-minute drive, so we decided to walk. It really wasn't that far, and we thought of it as a preemptive strike on the calories we were about to consume. So we walked to McDonald's and thoroughly enjoyed the absolute glee with which our friends attacked their burgers. Afterward, a few of us walked two doors down to Starbucks (mmm, Frappuccino!), while a couple more went to the nearby convenience store to stock up on snacks for the next day's plane ride. Unfortunately, one of our number started feeling badly--I think she's allergic to wheat and unknowingly had consumed some in her yogurt--so we postponed the shopping we were going to do and headed back to the resort instead. We all agreed that we were ready for our afternoon naps anyway :-)

A couple of hours later, four of us went out to do our shopping. We went back to Na'ama Bay and allowed the shopkeepers to lure us in, although we disappointed most of them. We did a lot of looking and very little buying. Our friends were looking for t-shirts to commemorate one of the dives they had taken--Thistlegorm, I think, a wreck site that's a really big deal to divers, and justifiably so, from the pictures they took. They also wanted some cartouches, but Jeff and I cautioned them against anyone who would be able to customize them in the time they had left--tourists have been known to discover that the characters were glued on. It also seemed that the vendors were offering lower quality for higher prices than what we've seen, so we offered to simply order the cartouches from our favorite jeweler and ship them. (We still haven't done that, but we plan to do it this weekend, promise!) Then we started looking for "typical Egyptian" souvenirs, and I admit that I had a hard time coming up with something that is typical Egyptian other than cartouches, papyrus, alabaster, and distinctive lamps or mashrabeyya (there's a picture of what I mean here), the last two of which are common throughout the Middle East. We did eventually find a shop that had a variety of authentic--rather than touristy--Egyptian items, some of which even had tags from one of my favorite charity vendors here in Cairo. Better yet, they even had clearly labeled prices, which were reasonable, considering that it was located in a very touristy area. And, when I spoke with the shopkeeper in Arabic and he was curious as to why I was able to do so, I told him that Jeff and I live in Cairo. He shook his head, said "I wish you hadn't told me that," and dropped the prices on the items we purchased by about 10%.

After making our purchases, we headed back to the resort (more fun with taxis!). Later that evening, we met at El Kobabgy for dinner. Jeff and I were the first ones there, so we waited outside for the others. While we waited, we watched a woman baking bread in the traditional oven located just outside the restaurant. She saw us watching and gave us a sample of flatbread fresh from the oven--so delicious! Eventually the others showed up and we all went in to enjoy our last evening in Sharm.

The next day, we all left at different times, some very early, others not until late afternoon. Jeff and I enjoyed a late breakfast, then checked out of the hotel. We got back to Cairo in the early afternoon and had some time to get settled back in at home. I quickly discovered, while catching up on Facebook and with friends' blogs, that we had missed the event of a decade in Cairo--a genuine hail and rain storm, a true deluge! I'm glad that we didn't have to put up with the headaches that our friends here reported--such as stranded metro riders, parking lot roads, and water up to the 12-inch curbs--but I couldn't help but be a little miffed that Cairo finally got real rain, and we missed it. Oh, well, maybe next year ... but probably not.

(Side note for anyone who may want to visit Sharm: we stayed at the Sofitel resort in Na'ama Bay. It was beautiful--all of the pictures throughout this post were taken on the grounds; this last one is of a pattern that was on the ceiling of the reception area. The rooms were clean and mostly comfortable. Our air conditioner didn't seem to be functioning as well as we would prefer; it got hot during the day, even when we left it on all day, but it cooled off quickly in the evening when we opened the main door and the door to our balcony to let a breeze come through. The service and food at all three restaurants that we tried was very good--El Kababgy, the main one, and another outdoor cafe where we had lunch on Thursday. Overall, I would recommend it as a great place to go for a weekend getaway. I don't think I'd want to stay longer than a weekend unless I was diving or had other activities planned, though. Oh, and a word of warning for American prudes like me--there were guests from all over the world, so pool-side attire ranged all the way from niqab to topless bikinis.)

Cute Little Things

2010-04-13T07:20:00.002+02:00

Not too long ago, Jeff spent two weeks back in the Washington, DC, area for work. His hotel was in the same area where we lived before we moved to Egypt--in fact, it was the same hotel in which we stayed for a few days after the movers took our stuff and before our scheduled departure. Jeff, therefore, was able to spend evenings and 3 weekend days (he arrived on a Saturday and left two Fridays later) with friends; he even attended our home church for the first time in almost two years. And even better (from my perspective, though not from his), he was able to spend a full weekend visiting Babies'R'Us, Target, and other brick-and-mortar stores to actually lay eyes--and hands!--on some of the things we've been looking at online and considering for Alexa. Thanks to his trip, we were able to decide on the glider we want for the nursery, and he was able to give me guidelines within which I can pick out any crib, changing table, and dresser I want once I go back this summer. He also made a decision about the baby carrier that we'll purchase for his use (I had already chosen mine--turns out he'll get the same kind, or we may even share) and the new digital camera we'll use to record those cute little moments of Alexa's life. It was a good, productive time, in addition to fun for him--watching March Madness live, eating at his favorite restaurants, seeing friends, and in particular, spending lots of time with his "bestest buddy" from college (who again earned his "bestest buddy" status by accompanying Jeff on the baby shopping expedition).

But Jeff did not content himself with doing the bare minimum that I had requested for Alexa. He dragged his buddy not only to the furniture department, but to the clothing department. Unbeknownst to me, he was on a mission to show me in a tangible way that he's excited about our coming daughter and that he wants to be involved in her life and in the decisions that we have yet to make before her arrival. This is what he came back with:

I'm not sure if you can read it or not, but the onesie says "Daddy loves me." I think that says it all, doesn't it?

Jeff wasn't the only one thinking of our little Alexa while he was home. Another good friend--friends, actually, a husband and wife couple--sent a gift back with Jeff. When we opened it after his return home, we found these adorable little items:

Again, I'm not sure how well the details will show up in the picture. The onesie in the middle (which does have sleeves; they're just folded back so you can see the other onesies too) has a teddy bear and a duck on it, and the one on the right has a giraffe. The left one has a pattern of teddy bears, giraffes, ducks, and sheep. And of course, the sleeper has frogs :)

I've also purchased just a couple of things for Alexa here in Egypt. At a charity bazaar, I bought a hooded towel and a board book that I remember fondly from my own childhood:

And then there are all the wonderful gifts that we received at a surprise baby shower a couple of nights ago--but I think I'll hold off on sharing those. I may write a post about the shower itself, so if I do, I'll share pictures then.

I think it may be a good thing that I'm not in the States right now. Baby items are just such cute little things--in the States, it's entirely too easy to go to the mall or to Target or to [insert your favorite store] and spend entirely too much money on them. Here, I'm sure that there are stores that have the same cute little things, but I've had no reason to find them before now, and I'm doing remarkably well at resisting the impulse. It's allowing us to save the money we'll need for the larger baby purchases I'll make this summer ... and maybe have enough left over to buy some more cute little things too :)

What's In a Name?

2010-04-10T19:16:00.000+02:00

What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet.

-- William Shakespeare

It is true that the name of a thing doesn't change the essence of the thing. A rose really would smell just the same whether it were called a rose, a cloud, a lamp, or a grave. The essence of the rose would not differ just because of its name. In fact, the reason why most of us probably consider the word rose to be pleasant is because of the thing that it names--rather than the name affecting our perception of the thing, the thing affects our perception of the name. We probably would not have such a positive attitude toward the word rose if it described, not a fragrant flower, but a putrid body odor.

The same thing holds true with human names. There are names that I never particularly liked, until I met some wonderful person who happened to have that name, and now I have a more favorable opinion of the name itself. There are names that I used to love, until I met some arrogant or cruel person who happened to have that name, and now I dislike the name itself. But to some degree, the opposite also holds true with human names. The names that we give sometimes seem to affect the character or personality of the child who is named. Of course, it may just be that certain types of parents give certain types of names and also engage in certain parenting behaviors that tend to result in certain types of children--a mother who names her child "Elizabeth" or "Matthew" will probably raise that child in a much more traditional way than a mother who names her child "Apple" or "Thor." Human names also can affect the way people view the person who carries the name--we tend to have a stereotype of "Martha" that is very different from our stereotype of "Delilah."

Given names are not the most important attribute of a person, but they are important, for the reasons stated above. Naming a child is one of the great privileges--and great responsibilities--of parenthood. It can be a difficult decision, but it's also one of the more fun tasks, provided that Mom and Dad both go into it with a positive and flexible attitude.

Yes, Jeff and I have been discussing names for our preborn daughter.

Yes, we have come to a decision. (No, we have not yet chosen a backup boy's name, just in case the doctor's "pretty certain" turns out not to be certain enough. We will choose one, but we haven't done it yet.)

Yes, we're announcing that name today.

No, not quite yet--you'll have to keep reading if you want to know :)

The first bit of the name that we decided on actually was the middle name. Jeff mentioned long ago--before we even married--that he would love to name his firstborn daughter after his paternal grandmother. He used to go visit his grandparents on their farm for the summer when he was a child, and he has wonderful memories of the time he spent there. Later, his grandmother moved into an assisted living facility near his father's home, and Jeff visited her as much as he was able. She died a year or so before we married, and it was a very difficult time for Jeff. So when he said that he would like to name his daughter after her, it didn't occur to me to refuse. However, I did negotiate with him--I asked if he would accept his grandmother's name as his daughter's middle name rather than as her first name. I freely admit that my preference was due to a superficial--but important to me--factor. His grandmother's name starts with the letter R. When I was a child, I had to attend speech therapy because my Rs sounded like Ws. I speak more clearly now, but there have been moments throughout my life when the R sound just wouldn't come out correctly, and I was teased unmercifully by a few schoolmates. I often feel slightly self-conscious when saying words beginning with R, so you can imagine my chagrin at the thought of going through the rest of my life with an R-named daughter! Luckily, Jeff was fine with the request, even before I explained why I made it.

Because we already had the middle name picked out, all that was left to us recently was to choose the first name. It was important to me that the name we chose be pretty and meaningful. I also would like for it not to be too common, but all of my favorites were more common than I prefer, so I focused instead on the meaning and on how it sounds with the middle name we chose and with our last name. I love the idea that names' meanings could influence the child's character, and I greatly appreciate the meaning of the middle name we chose: it means friend.

I considered several meaningful first names that sounded nice with the middle and last names our daughter will have. Jeff considered a few. I got stuck on one of the first ones that I considered--a name of Greek origin that means defender. I love the idea of my daughter being a defender. A defender of truth, of justice, of any younger siblings we may eventually give her. And I like how it combines with her middle name: defender-friend. A defender of her friends, a friend of those who defend. Someone strong and principled enough to be a defender, and caring and personable enough to be a friend. In my mind, it was perfect.

Eventually, Jeff agreed with me. So we have a name. Would you like to hear it?

Alexa Ruth.

Our daughter, the defender-friend. I can't wait to meet her.

Dreams

2010-04-04T17:51:00.000+02:00

I hate dreams.

Oh, not the inspirational "I have a dream" goal-and-aspiration kind of dreams--I'm a big fan of those. No, the ones I despise are the ones that come when you sleep, when you're most vulnerable and defenseless. I've hated those as long as I can remember.

I have good reason, too: They've never been kind to me. As a child, I would wake with night terrors--those middle of the night awakenings that are filled with unexplainable fear, the remnant of nightmares that you don't remember even as you wake up. Sometimes I would remember the gist of the nightmare (it had "something" to do with vampires, or with demons, or with evil people trying to hurt my little brother--who actually was littler than me at the time--and only I was there to protect him; but I had no specifics, just the general awareness of who the bad guys had been). On very rare occasions I would remember more details, at least for a few minutes, until I was fully awake. Most often I didn't remember anything at all about the dream. Once my father told me that it would help if I talked about my nightmares, but I was ashamed to admit that I was still so terrified and didn't even remember what I was afraid of, so I made up a nightmare to tell him. I developed my own little mantra-like prayer that I would repeat over and over every night until I fell asleep--and every time I awoke in the night. "Jesus, help me. Let me fall asleep quickly and sleep all night. Don't let me have any bad dreams. Don't let me be afraid. Please help me, Jesus." I said it well into my 20s.

The blessing for me is that I don't remember my dreams. As I've gotten older, there have been times when one of my friends would tell me about the wonderful dream she had. I assume that there is no way all of my dreams could be bad, and from time to time I became determined to remember a good one. So I'd be sure not to set an alarm clock, and as I slowly woke up, I would focus on remembering. Without exception, every time, the dream I remembered would be scary or sad. Eventually I just thanked God for removing the memories of my nighttime fears and sorrows, and I stopped trying to remember. For me, there is no such thing as a good dream.

When I became pregnant and started researching what to expect, it didn't take long for me to find the little tidbit about dreams becoming more vivid. "Ha!" I thought. "Not a problem, I don't remember them anyway, and that's the way I like it." Famous last words.

So far I've remembered three: the gist of one of them and some details of the other two.

The first two weren't really that bad. They were both early on in the pregnancy, either the same night or within a few nights of each other. For the first, in the dream, I was very close to my due date, still here in Egypt (although that won't be the case in real life), when Jeff told me that he was going on a sailing trip with a friend. (No, Jeff doesn't sail, but in the dream he did, and the friend desperately needed him to go for some reason that was not explained to me.) I cried and begged him not to go, sure that something would happen and he wouldn't come back. He went anyway. In my dream, it was like one of those movies, where you see the person sitting still and time passing all around her--I sat on the sofa and did absolutely nothing the whole time he was gone, which I think was several days, possibly weeks; I didn't even eat. I just sat there, numb and abandoned. Then he came back and asked me what I had done while he was gone. I couldn't tell him; for me, it was like he had just walked out the door. I had shut down and I couldn't explain where the time had gone. He was very concerned. Then I woke up. This dream was miserable while I was in it, but as soon as I woke up, I was fine. I decided that apparently I had a fear of being abandoned, but even my subconscious knew that Jeff would never abandon me, so I shrugged it off.

The second dream is the one I only remember the gist of. In this dream, I left. I didn't want to but I had to. I was completely alone and afraid, hiding in some abandoned area from something bad that was following me. But in the dream I prayed and somehow knew it would all turn out okay. Then I woke up. I chose to interpret this dream in a reassuring way as well--I know that no matter how I feel or what my situation, God is there and will take care of me. Not so bad for me. Downright pleasant, considering my usual nighttime horrors.

Then there was the dream I had last night. It was, without a doubt, the worst dream I have ever had. And I remember way too many details. Way too many. In the dream, I was with my husband and my mother when my mother told me that my sister had committed suicide. (In real life, there is no indication at all that she would ever do such a thing--she isn't even depressed.) I remember feeling the numbness that can be such a blessing in times of horrific news, the numbness that shields the mind from having to take it all in at once. And then I had to say something. My mind skittered across the questions that I knew I eventually would want--or need--to have answered. Why? How? As soon as I thought of a question, I recoiled from it, knowing that I couldn't handle the answer. Finally I settled on a question I could handle: When is the funeral? But as soon as I opened my mouth to ask, I lost control. I started sobbing and buried my face in my hands, trying to hold the emotion in until I could stuff it away somewhere. Then suddenly I was somewhere else, with someone else, who I don't know, other than that she was female. We were walking along a wide asphalt path with manicured lawns on either side. She was chattering on about some inane topic like people do when they don't know what to say about the thing that really matters, but I wasn't paying attention to what she was saying. I felt a burning need to know when my sister's funeral was, and I knew that this other person could tell me. But again, when I opened my mouth to ask, I lost control. That time, when I covered my face with my hands, I woke up.

I woke up gasping for air. I looked around my room, realized it was only a dream, and burst into tears. That's never happened to me before. I've woken up crying and even yelling before, but as soon as I realize it's only a dream, I'm able to let it go. Always--that's a skill I've spent a lot of time learning, and I've gotten really good at it. But this time I couldn't. I was struggling so hard to hold it all in, to stay quiet and not wake up Jeff, that it physically hurt. I got up and went into the bathroom, where I just cried for a good ten minutes. When I thought I was okay again, I went back to bed, but before I even lay down, I started crying again. Back into the bathroom I went. Eventually I calmed down enough to go back to sleep, but when I woke up again this morning, it was still there--which is very unusual; even if I do remember when I wake up at night, I don't remember the next morning, not more than the gist of it. But this one, I still remembered so clearly. I started to tell Jeff about it but started crying again and decided that maybe if I just didn't think about it, it would go away. It hasn't. It's lingered all day, making me tired and teary-eyed. I took a nap this morning, because I know that the more tired I am, the more emotional I get. It didn't help.

So now I'm writing about it, hoping that if I express it in this way, I'll be able to release it. I don't understand why this one is hanging on so tightly. There is no truth in this dream that I can discover. There is no reason to fear that my sister is suicidal. There is no reason for me to remember this dream. This dream has been haunting me all day--and on Easter, for crying out loud! It needs to go away already.

Which leads me back to the beginning, with some modification.

I do not merely hate dreams. I utterly despise, abhor, and loathe them.

Sugar and Spice

2010-03-21T17:08:00.000+02:00

Sugar and spice
and everything nice
that's what little girls are made of

Sunshine and rainbows
and ribbons for hair bows
that's what little girls are made of

Tea parties, laces
and baby doll faces
that's what little girls are made of

~ Anonymous Author

I have a feeling they're also made of spit up, poo, tears, and wails, but also coos, cuddles, smiles, and laughs.

I guess we'll be finding out come August.

That's right--we had our 20-week ultrasound last Wednesday. The doctor wasn't totally sure, because Baby was being modest, but he was "pretty certain" that we have a daughter. We'll try to confirm at our next ultrasound in early May.

So how do we feel about having a daughter? We're both very happy, of course! Jeff told me in the doctor's office that I was beaming. He's always said that as long as our child is healthy, he'll be happy--I think the exact words were "Ten and ten and I'm good"--even as he consistently used masculine pronouns with regard to Baby. (He accurately pointed out that as long as the sex is unknown, it's grammatically correct to use masculine pronouns.) Meanwhile, I've used feminine pronouns all along, spent more time and energy putting feminine names together, and daydreamed about our little girl. I've been well aware of the fact that I would be very happy with either a boy or a girl, but I somehow couldn't think of this child as a boy for more than a couple of hours at a time.

Now we officially get to start picking out our daughter's name! I've been looking at and playing with names for a long time, since well before we started trying to have a baby. I was ready to pick a boy name and a girl name beginning the day we got the positive pregnancy test, but Jeff would have none of it. "Why do the work twice?" he asked. He refused to consider names until we knew the baby's sex. Of course, even now, I'm planning to have one of each picked out, just in case Baby surprises us on her birthday by being a him--it's been known to happen, folks. But for now we'll focus on the girl name first, and then I'll work on getting Jeff to see the wisdom of picking out a boy name too--although if the next ultrasound confirms her status as a her, it'll be an uphill battle.

That's all for today--I just wanted to share the news. I'm hoping before too long to put up a post showing Baby's development through ultrasound pictures, since we've had so many ... but maybe I'll wait until after the May ultrasound to do that so I can post a complete set. For today I'll just share my favorite sonogram so far--one of the ones taken during the nucal translucency ultrasound on 30 January. I love how Baby looks so much like a teddy bear in this one, and how the placenta or whatever that is by her side appears to be cradling her.

Have a good week, everyone!

Aswan

2010-03-18T14:48:00.000+02:00

The last full day of our Nile cruise started with an excursion to a couple of sites in Aswan. It was a beautiful day in Aswan, sunny, cool, and windy. Like every other day on the cruise, the absence of air pollution was divine--we breathed deeply and admired the bright blue sky.

Our first stop was the Unfinished Obelisk--an obelisk (the same shape as the Washington Monument) still lying uncompleted in the granite quarry. It originally was supposed to be 42 meters (almost 138 feet by my calculations, although Wikipedia says 120 feet) tall and would have been the tallest obelisk had it been completed. It was abandoned when the granite cracked. Its presence in the quarry apparently has helped egyptologists figure out how obelisks were made and transported in ancient Egyptian times. This website has a nice description of how the obelisks--which each were made from a single huge piece of granite--were removed from the ground. It concurs nicely with what I remember being told by Hesham: A harder stone was used to dig a row of holes around the intended obelisk, and wood was placed into those holes. Then water was poured over it, causing the wood to expand and split the rock. Heated bricks and cold water were used to smooth the sides. I'm not sure how they actually raised the obelisk from the quarry, but it was transported to a boat and from there to whatever site it was intended for. Once at the site, a hole was dug at the intended location for the obelisk's base to sit down into. Then sand was removed from beneath the bottom of the obelisk so that it slid into the hole and ended up standing upright--as a precaution, a hill of sand had been built on the other side, so that the obelisk wouldn't tip over too far as it fell. Once the obelisk was securely in its location, the hill was removed.

After visiting the Unfinished Obelisk, we traveled by boat to Agilika Island to see the Temple of Philae, a temple to Isis. It was a beautiful trip that didn't last long enough! We walked from the bus to the docking area, which was crowded with a dozen or so small motorboats. The motor

boat drivers all tried to fit their boats into the area right beside the dock--an area large enough for only a few of them. Boats that were dropping off passengers gently nosed empty boats out of their way as they slowly edged toward the dock; empty boats did the same, as the drivers hoped to pick up passengers; and full boats pushed their way through the throng trying to get away from shore. It was classical Egyptian transportation, except that in the boats, it was perfectly okay to make contact with the other vehicles--a practice that is frowned upon when the vehicles in question are cars! Once our group was settled in a boat and clear of the throng, we enjoyed a short ride to the island. We passed other islands on the way and enjoyed the lush greenery and stark rock formations.

The spectacular views continued once we were on Agilika Island. Hesham led us to a side area where we sat while he explained the history of the temple we were to see. The Temple of Philae got its name from its original home--the island of Philae, located about 550 meters (1800 feet) from Agilika. It was built there because
Philae was believed to be where one of the pieces of Osiris was buried, and where his wife Isis found it in order to reconstruct his body and bring him back to life. Apparently temples to Isis were built in each of the traditional locations where Osiris's pieces were hidden. Philae actually was a little too small to hold the temple that the builders wanted to create, so modifications had to be made to the traditional design. The modification that I remember is that, whereas most temples were built with the halls and sanctuary in a straight line, at Philae there was a slight offset, because the temple would not have fit on the island had it been built in a straight line.

So if the temple was built on Philae, why did we go to Agilika to see it? Because it was moved. Philae, already a small island, was partially submerged when the first Aswan dam--the Aswan Low Dam--was completed in 1902, jeopardizing the temple. When the construction of the Aswan High Dam was begun in 1960, it was obvious that the island would be flooded even more, making it even less likely that the temple would survive and cutting off access to the soon-to-be submerged temple whether it survived or not. So UNESCO started a project to save the temple, as well as other sites located on what was to become the floor of Lake Nasser. Dams were built around the island to relieve the flooding. The temple was recorded and measured carefully to ensure that it could be reconstructed accurately in its new home. Finally, the buildings were dismantled--creating around 40,000 pieces--and moved to Agilika, a larger and higher island where the reassembled temple would remain above the waterline. Below is a picture of what's left of Phileo from Agilika.

The information I couldn't remember about Philae and the temple was found at: Wikipedia and Egypt Travel.

After our tour of the temple and its outbuildings on Agilika island, we returned to the ship for lunch. Then we enjoyed a felucca ride on the Nile that afternoon. The ride was nice, as we passed by several beautiful sites, but it definitely was odd. We wore life jackets. In Cairo, I'm not sure the felucca guys would recognize a life jacket if someone smacked them upside the head with it--they're just not used. In Aswan, we were required to wear them. Of course, that was an Abercrombie & Kent requirement--we were told to bring the life jackets from our cabins--not a felucca guy requirement. But it still made it feel less like an authentic Egyptian experience. It quickly became more authentic, however, when the two felucca guys brought out their satchels of souvenirs for sale before we went back to the dock.

That evening, we had our "farewell banquet." The next morning after breakfast, we checked out of our cabin. Several passengers headed straight for the airport, some to go home and others to fly to Abu Simbel to see the temple there. Jeff and I relaxed in the public areas of the ship until noon, when we were picked up to go to the airport. Our original itinerary had shown the cruise not ending until lunch, so our flight to Cairo left in early afternoon. Had we been notified of the change in itinerary, we may have booked a morning trip to Abu Simbel, but it also was nice just to spend some more time relaxing on the ship. I was a little templed out at that point. I hear that Abu Simbel is amazing, so I'd hate to see it in a less-than-eager state of mind--hopefully we'll be able to get down that way again before we leave Egypt.

Maybe a Lake Nasser cruise early next spring?

Edfu and Kom Ombo

2010-03-14T14:18:00.000+02:00

Now returning to our Nile cruise after an inexcusably long break ...

I must begin with full disclosure. On this day of the cruise, I was unaccountably exhausted. Most of the information provided by our guide, Hesham, did not register with me at all that day. The weeks since the trip have further dulled my memory. As a result, most of the information in this particular entry is from various websites, rather than from my memories of the tours themselves.

We started out with an early morning sail, departing from Luxor and heading to Edfu. We had the opportunity to be woken up to view the ship's passage through the lock at Esna, where the ship had to be raised to a higher water level, but Jeff and I chose to sleep through this event. It was uncertain when it would occur--as early as 3am or as late as 6. In either case, we decided that sleeping late on vacation was more important than watching an event that, while probably fascinating, occurred just too early in the morning.

At a much more reasonable time that morning, we docked at Edfu and went ashore to tour the Temple of Horus, possibly the best preserved temple in Egypt. It was built during the Greco-Roman period, with construction beginning in 237 BC and continuing until 57 BC. Horus was the falcon-headed god and husband to the goddess Hathor, whose temple we saw at Dendera. There are images of Horus and Hathor engraved on the facade of the first hypostyle hall.

As we approached the temple, we could see the remnants of the carvings on the facade. The carvings were symmetrical, with the same scene mirrored on each side. The scene shows the pharaoh holding captive enemies by their hair and killing them in the presence of Horus.

Further in to the temple, in the sanctuary, we saw a reconstruction of the ceremonial barge--called a barque--that would have been used once a year to transport the statue of Horus to visit his wife Hathor in Dendera. From what I understand, Hathor visited Horus once a year, and Horus returned the visit once a year. In this way, the married god and goddess maintained their relationship. The statues even were left alone together at night so they could engage in sexual activity!

Sources for information about Edfu: Wikipedia, Egypt Travel, and Sacred Destinations.

After our visit to Edfu, we returned to the ship for lunch and a lazy afternoon, during which I again tried to stay awake. Early that evening, we docked in Kom Ombo and went ashore to tour the temple there, which was dedicated to two deities: Sobek, the crocodile god of fertility, and Haroeris, or Horus the Elder, the sun god of war. This temple is symmetrical--every room that exists for Sobek on the right also exists for Haroeris on the left. There were two entrances, two sanctuaries, and probably even two sets of priests.

There were three things that I found memorable about this temple, apart from its double design. The first was that crocodiles were kept at the temple in honor of Sobek--the belief was that crocodiles could be prevented from harming the population if they were worshiped. So a captive crocodile was kept at the temple at all times so that it could be worshiped. Hesham told us that it is believed that the crocodiles were young--when they got older, bigger, and scarier, they mysteriously died (possibly as a result of being poisoned by the priests) and were mummified. The crocodile mummies were found at the site.

The second memorable thing about the temple at Kom Ombo was the section that seemed to be dedicated to ancient Egyptian medical practices. There were carvings depicting medical instruments and procedures, even childbirth.

Third, I finally got to see something that I'd heard and read about repeatedly--a nilometer. There's one here in Cairo, but I haven't been to see it. Nilometers existed in various places along the Nile. Their purpose was to measure the height of the river, I believe during the annual floods. The nilometer consists of a cistern dug deep into the ground near the river. It's connect to the river by an underground tunnel, through which the river water enters the cistern. Stairs spiral down the walls so that priests or whoever did the measuring could go down to water level and use a pole or some such to measure the distance from the bottom of the cistern to the top of the water. The water level determined the amount that the people had to pay in taxes. If the Nile was high, it was a good crop year; taxes were accordingly raised. If the Nile was low, it was not a good year for crops; taxes were accordingly lowered.

Sources for information about the temple at Kom Ombo: Wikipedia and Tour Egypt. I remembered the information about the crocodiles, medical instruments, and nilometer on my own, so you may not want to assume that I remembered it all correctly.

After we left the temple at Kom Ombo, it was time to go back to the ship for dinner. Wednesday night was Egyptian night, so most people wore gallabeyyas. Most of them were purchased on the ship for pretty reasonable prices. Of course, I wore the one I bought a year or so ago in Kerdassa, and Jeff wore one he bought at the Khan back in October. The meal was all traditional Egyptian food--the most notable being koshary and schawarma (our favorites). After the meal there was an Egyptian party in the lounge, but I was dead on my feet, so we just went to bed instead of joining in the fun.

Next: the final day of sightseeing--Aswan.

I'm Back ...

2010-03-10T11:01:00.004+02:00

I really did mean to be gone only for a few days. Jeff and I took a long weekend to visit Sharm el Sheikh and meet up with some friends there, and I fully intended to start blogging again as soon as we got back. Obviously, that didn't happen. We had the nice relaxing weekend, and then I'm not sure what happened. I got into one of my reading kicks, during which I spend almost every waking moment voraciously reading my current obsession. Unfortunately, my obsession this time was not a single book but a 4-book series, so it took a few days. Other than that, I really think I've just been lazy.

I do intend to finish the series about the Nile cruise--I think there are only two more days to cover on that--and then I'll do a post about our time in Sharm. No guarantees on the timing, though; I'm beginning to learn better. I'll try to get another post up within a day or two. This one is just to let you all know I'm still alive :-)

Change in Plans

2010-02-21T15:27:00.003+02:00

So remember how I said yesterday that I made no promises about telling you about the Nile cruise today? It turns out that that's a good thing.

Jeff and I have plans for later this week--I'll tell you about it later--and I realized today that I have so much to do in the meantime that I just don't have time to blog right now. I may be able to get in another post or two this week, but it's looking doubtful.

I'll plan on updating you next week ... I promise I'll try not to get lazy about blogging again.

In the meantime, I hope all of you have a great week!

Dendera, Luxor Temple, and A Show

2010-02-20T08:44:00.000+02:00

On Tuesday morning, the Sun Boat IV left Luxor and headed north. "North?" you say. "But isn't Aswan south of Luxor?" Yes, indeed, it is, but we weren't headed to Aswan just yet. We had another visit to make, one that I'm very glad was included in the cruise.

Dendera is home to the Temple of Hathor, which was recommended to us so highly that we were encouraged to spend an extra day in Luxor to visit it if it wasn't included on the cruise itinerary. (Dendera is about an hour's ride by car from Luxor, just across the river from the city of Qena.) It didn't take long to see what all the fuss was about.

The surroundings were absolutely beautiful--lush green fields against the stark brown desert and bright blue sky. The temple compound was large and imposing. Most of it was very well preserved, the exception being some images of Hathor that were defaced by Christians who hid in the temple during a time when they were being heavily persecuted by the Romans. Before we went inside the temple, we spent some time walking around it, seeing the carvings on the exterior walls. The carvings told stories of Cleopatra and her son offering gifts to the gods, particularly to Hathor, the goddess of love, music, and fertility.

After seeing the outside of the temple, we went inside. Hesham told us to look up. We did, and were amazed. One half of the roof was pitch black; the other half clearly showed artistic patterns complete with bright colors. The colored half of the ceiling has been restored--not repainted, just cleaned. The black half shows how the temple was found. Apparently, when the early Christians lived in the temple, hiding from persecution, the sand had partially covered the site, making the ground close enough to the ceiling that the soot from their fires turned the ceiling black. But the colors underneath hadn't faded; all it took was a good cleaning to reveal them in all their splendor. The pictures were beautiful, and the colors were vibrant. The colors were most vibrant where they had been restored or where they had been covered with sand; they were least vibrant on the unrestored portion of the ceiling (obviously) and on the parts of the walls that had been touched by way too many tourists. Here are a few pictures of some of the vibrant designs:

After seeing inside the temple, we went onto the roof and into a smaller chamber up there, a small temple dedicated to Osiris. In that room is located one of the highlights of this temple: the circular zodiac. Unfortunately, the original zodiac is not there; it's in the Louvre. However, there is a replica zodiac that at least looks like the original looked when it was found--unfortunately, they didn't realize that there probably were colors underneath the black exterior, so the replica also replicates the layer of soot over the colors.

After that, we headed back to the ship for lunch and a leisurely afternoon while the ship traveled back to Luxor. Jeff and I spent the time on the sun deck, reading, sipping lemon juice (me) or water (Jeff), and enjoying the fresh air and beautiful sights. Of course it probably struck some as funny that we were up on the sun deck, and I kept shifting seats to stay in the shade ... but I didn't want to wear sunscreen or get burned, so shade was my only remaining option.

After tea, we went on an evening excursion to Luxor Temple. It's located on the east bank of the Nile, so it was a temple for the living. It was dedicated to the god Amun-Re, his goddess wife Mut, and his god-son Khonsu. I have to be honest here and admit that I was tired, a little chilly, and probably didn't pay as much attention as I should have to what Hesham told us about this temple ... I wish now that I remembered more of it, but I don't wish it quite enough to do a lot of research about it. I'll settle for linking to a few websites that contain information about the temple and showing you some of the pictures we took.

After we visited the Luxor Temple, it was back to the ship for dinner. But after dinner, the fun wasn't over--we still had a show! That night, a belly dancer and a whirling dervish both performed in the lounge. I wasn't as impressed with the belly dancer as I expected to be--I'm not sure if it was this particular dancer, or if I'm just not a fan of belly dancing in general. (It was my first time seeing a belly dancer, so I have nothing to compare it with.) However, the whirling dervish was amazing. I was very impressed with his balance and endurance.

This first video is part of the belly dancer's performance. It's about a minute long.

This next video is part of the whirling dervish's performance. It's around four and a half minutes long. It starts getting more interesting just shy of the 1-minute mark, and it starts getting even more interesting just before the end (sorry for the inopportune ending time).

Tomorrow (hopefully, no promises): Day 3 of the Nile cruise, including a visit to the Temple of Horus at Edfu and the Temple of Sobek at Kom Ombo.

Luxor With Hesham

2010-02-19T09:04:00.000+02:00

Full disclosure: This was the longest day of sightseeing, and therefore, this post is pretty long. If you don't have time, you may want to read it later, just skim it, or skip it altogether.

On Monday, the first day of our Nile cruise, we got up bright and early to check in. Shortly after checking in and getting settled in our room, we headed back down to the reception area for our morning excursion--a tour of Karnak Temple. As we entered the reception, we were directed to a group that was led by Hesham, who would be our guide throughout the cruise. Here's a picture of Hesham that was taken later on, at the Unfinished Obelisk in Aswan:

Once we were joined by the rest of our group, we left the ship, climbed the stairs to street level, and boarded our tour bus. It didn't take long to get to Karnak Temple, but on the way Hesham gave us the crucial information--how long we'd be gone, water is available for free on the bus to take with us, cameras and video cameras are allowed at Karnak for no additional charge. Once we arrived, he passed out the tickets and we entered the site.

After passing through a large open square, we entered the Avenue of the Sphinxes. This is a road, lined by sphinxes on both sides, that used to connect Karnak Temple with Luxor Temple. Over time, the sands covered the avenue, as well as partially to completely covering most or all of the ancient sites. Before the avenue and its path was discovered--or maybe just before people started caring about it, I'm not sure which--several buildings were built over parts of it, including mosques, a hospital, and Luxor Museum. Apparently the Ministry of Tourism is trying to figure out whether and how to relocate these structures so that the complete Avenue of the Sphinxes can be excavated.

Just past the Avenue of the Sphinxes is the temple's facade. Hesham pointed out that temples always were built from the back forward, so the facade is the newest part of the structure. The temple complex was not built on the command of a single Pharoah; around 30 of them contributed to this massive compound. I think Hesham said that Ramses II was a major contributor. After passing through the facade, we entered an open courtyard, which contained a temple for Ramses IV, a couple of smaller temples for the goddess-wife and god-son of the main god Amen-Re (if I'm not confusing this temple with one of the many others we saw later), and a collection of sphinxes that had been moved from the Avenue of the Sphinxes for safekeeping.

After passing through this courtyard, we entered the Great Hypostyle Hall. This hall is 50,000 square feet and contains 134 columns arranged in 16 rows. The central columns are 69 feet tall! The columns used to support a roof over this hall, but the roof is long gone now. These stunning columns were described by Hesham as the "paper" for the temple--they were carved top to bottom with hieroglyphs. There also were a few more recent additions--graffiti left by early explorers, with their names and the dates they were there. It was interesting to see the different heights at which the graffiti was left, reflecting the differing depths of the sand cover at various times.

Through the columns, we could see two obelisks rising from the temple's ruins in the next part of the temple, the Obelisk Court. These obelisks are each carved from a single piece of granite. At least one of them was erected by Queen Hatshepsut, possibly both of them; I don't remember. Hatshepsut's stepson (or was it her son?) erased monuments to her by defacing her cartouche (the pharaoh's name carved inside a border that was reserved for pharaohs alone) and then having his own cartouche carved in its place, but he couldn't do that on the obelisk. Granite did not accept corrections--once it was defaced, that was it; there was no carving over it. And because obelisks were monuments to the gods, there was no way a pharaoh would deface it and leave it that way.

Passing through the Obelisk Court, we entered the central court. There wasn't much left to see there, so we quickly walked around the side to see something far more interesting: ancient Egyptian bookkeeping. One of the ancient pharaohs wanted to keep track of the offerings to the gods that were presented at this temple, so a carving was made on the wall. Each vertical slash indicates "1," the inverted Us indicate "10," and the funny little staff thing indicates "100." Each column represents offerings of a certain type that were given throughout the year, and the bottom row is the total. For some of the columns, it's hard to see if the math is right because of the missing row in the middle, but it seems to be accurate.

After that, we quickly saw the sacred lake and some other artifacts in the area, then returned to the ship for lunch. Following lunch, we took a motorboat to the west bank (we were docked on the east bank) to see the sites over there. Hesham explained that the west bank was considered the land of the dead, because the sun sets in the west, whereas the east bank was the land of the living, because the sun rises in the east. So temples built on the east bank were for those who were alive--the pharaohs and high priests would offer sacrifices, and the people would be allowed, on rare occasions, to enter. On the west bank, there were tombs and mortuary temples for the mummification of the dead.

Our first stop on the west bank was the Valley of the Kings. Cameras weren't allowed at this site, so I have no pictures to share with you. For around 500 years, pharaohs were buried in tombs at this site. A single ticket gains you access to the three tombs of your choice; men are stationed at each tomb to punch a hole in the ticket when you enter a tomb to keep track of how many you've seen. You can enter the tomb of King Tutankhamen for an additional fee. From the outside, the tombs don't look spectacular. Once you enter them, though, you can see wonderful hieroglyphs and paintings on the walls and ceilings. It's also interesting to see the steps that were taken to foil grave robbers--one king's tomb had three separate security measures, although I only recall the first: a sudden, unexpected turn that made it look like the tomb ended in an already-looted chamber. If you're interested in detailed information about the Valley of the Kings, including pictures and maps, I would suggest that you check out this website.

Our second stop of the afternoon was the Valley of the Queens, similar to the Valley of the Kings but smaller. We only visited one tomb at this site, as time was short and the tombs weren't as impressive anyway. This site held the tombs of the pharaohs' wives and youngest children--I think Hesham said that boys under 12 were buried here, whereas boys over 12 were buried in the Valley of the Kings.

The third stop, and the first where we could use the cameras, was the Temple of Hatshepsut. Hatshepsut was one of the few female Pharaohs. This temple was impressive for its size and the grandeur that it apparently had before her stepson defaced it. The temple was approached via a 100-foot causeway, which includes 3 terraced courtyards. There were statues of lions at some of the ramps. The walls are covered with depictions of Hatshepsut's life, including her purported divine birth (a requirement to be a pharaoh), her trip to Punt, and her offerings to the god Anubis. There also is a depiction of Hatshepsut being suckled by the goddess Hathor. This depiction is the only one of Hatshepsut that was not defaced by her stepson; I don't recall why it survived, if it was oversight or if there was a particular reason why it would have offended the gods for that one to be defaced. Here are a few more pictures of this temple:

Our final stop of the day was a photo stop at the Colossi of Memnon. These are two huge--colossal, if you will--statues of Pharaoh Amenhotep III. The mortuary temple that used to be at this site is pretty well gone by now. If you want more information, you can look here. There's not too much else to say, so I'll just show some pictures of the colossi and the surrounding area. It was starting to get dark by that time, so some of the pictures have deeper shadows than we'd prefer, but you can get the idea.

Next stop on our Nile cruise: the Temple of Hathor at Denderah. Hopefully I'll be telling you about that tomorrow, but no promises.

Sun Boat IV

2010-02-18T09:23:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I told you about our afternoon in Luxor, the day before we actually went on our Nile cruise.

Today, I want to tell you about the ship and the service. I'll tell you more about the actual trip later, but for now, I just want to share my awe.

We boarded the Sun Boat IV on Monday morning in Luxor. At the time, it was docked at the end of a long long line of cruise ships. It shared a dock with two or three other ships. The ships in Luxor dock parallel to the shore, with a gangplank from the shore to the nearest ship. To get to the ships that are further out, you simply walk through the reception area of the first ship, out the door on the other side, and then step across a short gangplank onto the next ship. So we saw at least the reception areas of several ships throughout this cruise, as we walked from ship to ship on our way to and from the shore. Judging solely from these reception areas and what we could see of the other ships' decks, I have to say that the Sun Boat IV is the most luxurious ship on the Nile River.

Here, take a tour with me:

This is the dining room, framed by its own doors as they open. The breakfast and lunch buffets were set up on the center island and table, and we had assigned seating for the duration of the cruise.

This is the lounge, where we had afternoon tea (I feel very British saying that!) and where the belly dancer and whirling dervish performed. There also was an "Egyptian Night" party, but we didn't go to that--I was inexplicably exhausted that night and just went to bed instead.

This is the shaded deck--which, incidentally, is on the back half of the same deck where our cabin was. We had breakfast and lunch out here on the one day when it wasn't too windy.

This is the Sun Deck. On days when we spent the morning or afternoon sailing from one location to another, most of us spent a good bit of time up here, sipping drinks, reading, and watching/videoing the beautiful scenery. It was so idyllic!

This is our cabin. The bathroom was off to the right and was about the size of a very large shower stall. The shower stall itself seemed microscopic at first, but it worked well enough. If it hadn't, the bathroom was designed so that you could leave the stall door open and use the entire bathroom as a shower with no problem.

And the service was everything you'd expect in those surroundings. We never carried our luggage anywhere; it miraculously appeared in our rooms. The service in the dining room was phenomenal, especially after the staff found out from our guide that I'm pregnant. Before they knew, I received the best service I've ever received anywhere (with the possible exception of Condetti, with which the service tied); after they knew, I never carried my own plate or slid in my own chair, and I often wasn't even allowed to go get my own juice from the breakfast buffet!

The service wasn't all that was excellent in the dining room, either. I gained 5 pounds that week, and I'm pretty sure the pregnancy had nothing to do with it. For breakfast, there was a buffet with a variety of hot and cold dishes--potatoes, sausages, fuul, pancakes, cold cereals, and fruit, among other options, which varied from day to day. You also could order off a menu--omelets, waffle, Eggs Benedict, and more. Jeff and I both ate an omelet, a waffle, and a few dishes off the buffet each and every morning ... looking at our plates, it seemed like so much food, but we were hungry again by the time lunch came around. Then it was another buffet with all sorts of delicious options. Afternoon tea consisted of tea, coffee, or fruit juice, plus fresh fruit and sweet pastries. Dinner was a more formal affair--we were given a menu each night. We chose our appetizer, main course, and dessert, usually from three options of each, and we also had a soup course. The one exception was Egyptian night, when we had a buffet of traditional Egyptian foods such as schawarma and koshary, not to mention hummus and tahina (similar to hummus but with a different taste). I'm gaining more weight just thinking about it!

The service was exceptional throughout the ship. Our room was cleaned, with fresh sheets and towels, every day. While we were at dinner, someone came in and turned down the bed. If we were on the sun deck, it was rare to not be offered a drink, and even when there wasn't a waiter, there was a cooler full of cold bottles of water to which we could help ourselves. When we came back from shore excursions, we always were met at the door by a man with a tray of warm, wet towels so we could wash our hands and faces. After the longer excursions, there also was a man with hibiscus or lemon juice.

Speaking of excursions, the system for that made the cruise feel like a small, intimate affair. There are 36 cabins and 4 suites, so I think a total of 88 passengers can be accommodated, but we were put into groups of 12 to 14 people who all spoke the same language. Our group was assigned to the same tour guide, Hesham, and we were together throughout the cruise. Our dinner companions were members of our group, too. I know that there were many people on the cruise other than the ones in my group--I noticed at least a few of them, and there were significantly more than 14 people at dinner each night--but in many ways it seemed like the only other people on board were the members of my group. The whole experience was made more enjoyable because I never felt lost in a crowd or overwhelmed by the number of people.

So that's the ship ... hopefully tomorrow I'll tell you about our guided tour of Luxor's most important sites.

Luxor On Our Own

2010-02-17T13:29:00.010+02:00

I realized last night that it has been a good bit longer than I realized since I last posted anything here. I have good (or at least semi-good) reasons for it, I promise! First I was out of town for a week (more on that below), and then when we got back I was ... not particularly quick ... at getting back into anything resembling a routine. In fact, I'm still not there. It may have something to do with the fact that I wasn't in anything resembling a routine before I left, either, what with the first trimester exhaustion and all. But now I'm not as tired and I need to get myself on some sort of schedule to keep me that way--I've realized that if I just laze around, I stay tired, but if I'm active (even if only intellectually by typing away online), then I have more energy. All that to say that I'll try to do better about that--primarily about the routine and activity, but that will include posting here more frequently again too.

So now that's out of the way ... on to today's real topic!

I was out of town from 31 January to 5 February because Jeff and I were on a very special trip--a Nile cruise! We booked this vacation last fall, I think, well before we got pregnant, so I was very relieved that pregnancy and its symptoms in no way interfered with our trip. In fact, in some ways, it made it better!

Let me start at the beginning. Several of our friends have gone on Nile cruises, and they all highly recommended (1) that we go on a cruise and (2) that we go on a ship owned and operated by Abercrombie & Kent. Because we had so many recommendations for this particular cruise line, we didn't even bother to check out any others. I've since heard that Movenpick and a few others are good too, but most everyone agrees that A&K is top of the line. So we picked out dates and contacted a local travel agency to handle the details. We decided on a 4-night cruise from Luxor to Aswan, with a night in a hotel in Luxor so we didn't have to get up early enough to fly from Cairo to Luxor and be at the ship by the 9 a.m. check-in time.

On Sunday, 31 January, we took the hour flight from Cairo to Luxor, where we were met at the airport and driven to our hotel, a wonderful place called the Steigenberger Nile Palace Hotel. Both of us breathed deeply the moment we stepped off the plane--the last few days in Cairo had subjected us to particularly "crunchy" air, and Luxor had clear blue skies with no hint of pollution. We arrived around lunchtime, so after we checked in, we went in search of food. But not before checking out the view from our large balcony.

Nice, isn't it?

Anyway, we decided to just get lunch at one of the four or five restaurants in the hotel rather than taking the time to go find something somewhere else. We chose the Lebanese restaurant, where both the service and the food were excellent. We appreciated it even more that night when we got around to looking at the hotel information in our room and realized that we'd sat at one of their tables and been served with no problems over an hour before they actually opened!

After lunch, we went back to the room, where Jeff kindly agreed to put the sightseeing on hold while I took a nap. He sat out on the balcony with his book while I slept for an hour. Then, refreshed and ready to go, we decided to walk out to the Corniche (I assume that's what the road along the Nile was called, at least the part that had the wide park-like strolling area; that's what all such roads in Egypt seem to be called) and see what was there. As we left our hotel and walked down the road, we saw hotels on the left (the Nile side) and shops and restaurants on the right. Taxi drivers and horse-drawn carriage drivers alike asked if we wanted a ride; many promised "Five pounds! Five pounds tour of Luxor!" We didn't fall for it. We just kept walking, and soon enough we came to the Corniche.

We walked along the Corniche for a while, all the time looking for a stand or someplace where we could reasonably buy just two bottles of water without being expected to buy an entire meal. We saw a vast number of feluccas on our left and the ruins of the Temple of Luxor on our right. Eventually we decided to go down a set of stairs to the narrower walkway that was closer to water level--signs indicated that there were shops down there. We quickly found some bottled water and, refreshed, kept walking along. We tried not to look at the shops we passed; the vendors were even more aggressive than those in the Khan! As usual, I was unable to resist giving some response; I'm a nice Southern girl, after all, and I was raised to have manners. So I kept responding "La, shukran" or "La, mish ayziin" to their pleas for us to come in and look--after all "No cost to look!"

Eventually one of the vendors slipped beneath our defenses. He seemed genuinely impressed that I was responding in Arabic. He asked us where we were from, and--conscious of the dislike that often flows toward Americans abroad--we replied that we live in Cairo. "Ah! My brother! My sister!" I'm not sure what it was about him, but before we knew it, Jeff and I were in his shop, trying to explain that although I would love to accept his hospitality and have some tea, my pregnancy prevented me from drinking it. He showered us with congratulations about the baby, seeming even more delighted with us when he asked what we do for a living and I replied that I'm a sett beyt (housewife). He showed us pictures of his beautiful wife and adorable children. Eventually we made our excuses and left, and I honestly believe that he had enjoyed our chat and didn't mind that we hadn't bought anything.

As we continued down the walk, we allowed our experience with this friendly man to lull us into complacency. We soon found ourselves in another man's shop. While he also seemed genuinely friendly at first, he quickly turned on the pressure to buy. We left his shop disgruntled and ready to be done with the shops for good.

At the next stairway, we went back up to the street level, where the only vendors were selling taxi, carriage, or felucca rides. These were much easier to ignore. We walked a little while longer, then sat for a while on a bench overlooking the Nile when I got tired. Not too long after that, we took a taxi back to the hotel.

That night we ordered room service and went to bed early--I was still so tired I could barely think straight. We were offered, and considered accepting, an early morning hot air balloon ride, but we turned it down. We had decided that we wanted this trip to be a vacation (characterized mostly by rest and relaxation) rather than an expedition (characterized more by a sense of adventure and constant activity). In retrospect, I'm very glad we turned the balloon ride down. The next day was the longest and fullest day of the vacation, and I wouldn't have made it had it been any longer. My mother-in-law also pointed out that balloon rides are not exactly recommended for pregnant women, a fact that I should have considered but that frankly didn't even occur to me at the time.

The next morning, we had a delicious breakfast--included with the reservation--at the hotel, then were ready and waiting for our pick-up and transfer to the ship. But of course we had to get one more picture first, from the balcony.

If we make it back down to Luxor again, we'll have to plan to be on one of those.

A Momentous Day

2010-01-27T14:38:00.007+02:00

It was Sunday. It started off pretty normal, I think. I was exhausted--partly because I hadn't slept so well the night before, due (once again) to too many trips to the bathroom. I also was anxious. I knew that the day had the potential to be pretty momentous, and not necessarily in a good way. We had an ultrasound scheduled for that afternoon.

It was a routine ultrasound, for routine screening of genetic defects, of which we are not particularly at risk. But two things were stuck in my mind: When researching nucal translucency online, I had run across a sentence saying, in effect, "some people who go in for this ultrasound discover that the fetus has no heartbeat." And a few nights earlier, I had woken up with particularly painful cramps in my abdomen. The cramps were not accompanied by any blood at all. They actually were similar to cramps that I've had in the past when dealing with constipation (not a pleasant topic, but face it, it's common for many people and not just during pregnancy), and I had pretty well convinced myself that that's what they were. I didn't call the health unit, didn't consult with any medical professionals, didn't even tell my husband. But there was still that niggling worry in the back of my mind ... what if it was more? What if the ultrasound showed that the fragile little heartflutter that we saw before had disappeared altogether, rather than turning into the fragile little heartbeat that it should now be? You can see how quickly I go back and forth between trusting God with my worries and taking them right back upon myself. I have a feeling that the struggle to leave this little one in God's eminently capable hands is going to be a long one ...

Anyway, in addition to dealing with the anxiety, I was dealing with exhaustion. As I mentioned, part of it was due to too many nighttime excursions to the loo, as my British friends would say. But there's more to it than that. No matter how long I sleep at night, how well I sleep, or how few times I have to get up, I'm still exhausted during the day. I accepted that up until recently, but I'm coming out of the first trimester now. I'm supposed to be getting my energy back, and I'm not. I can easily sleep 12 hours at night, then take an hour-long nap within three hours of getting up in the morning, and still be ready for bed by 8pm. Friends have told me how tired and pale I look; one former labor and delivery nurse called me up just to ask if I'd been taking my iron tablets--she tried to be nonchalant, but it was clear she was concerned. I told her that I didn't have iron tablets, but I'd been taking my prenatal vitamins daily. She agreed that they should have an adequate amount of iron, so I should be okay. But this conversation made me curious, so I did what I always do when I have an unanswered question--I turned to the internet.

On Sunday afternoon, before the ultrasound, I started researching pregnancy and anemia. At first, everything seemed like old hat--there was nothing that What to Expect When You're Expecting hadn't already told me (great book, by the way; I highly recommend it, although I think I ended up with a British version--but I picked it up locally, so it's not too surprising). Then something clicked. It was something I'd read a million times but hadn't really applied to my prenatal vitamin. All the websites that talk about dealing with anemia and getting enough iron while pregnant caution readers that the body's absorption of iron is inhibited by calcium and is promoted by Vitamin C. I had skimmed over that important information so many times--and then it hit me. In order to disguise the nasty taste of my vitamin, I had been taking it with milk. As in high calcium, low Vitamin C, exactly the opposite of what I needed. I've probably prevented my body from actually using all that iron that the prenatal vitamin is providing. So I decided that I needed to start taking the vitamin with grape juice (low calcium, 100% RDA Vitamin C). That alone would have made the day momentous--I still don't have much energy, but it takes a while to replenish iron in the body, so I expect to feel better before too much longer. I also fully expect to be told by my doctor tomorrow that I'm anemic, based on last month's blood work, and I intend to explain what I'd been doing and see what other changes I need to make to replenish the iron as quickly as possible. So hopefully, one problem turned the corner and began being solved on Sunday, before it could do serious harm to me or the baby.

With one concern relieved (although I was beating myself up over my apparent inability to connect the dots earlier), I headed off to the hospital for the ultrasound. Jeff was able to meet me there, and we followed the instructions we'd been given as to where to go and whom to talk to. In no time, I was lying on the table with the cold goop on my abdomen, Jeff standing beside me. The doctor, whose English was perfect--he'd spent a few years in New York--was surprised that we wanted a nucal translucency ultrasound. He wanted to know why we were worried. He accepted that it's routine screening now in the United States, and seemed to have the typical Egyptian attitude of "well, if you want it, you can have it, although it does blow my mind that such an expensive procedure is routine, even for low-risk pregnancies, in America." (The ultrasound cost LE150, roughly $30, which is a big deal in a country where the average citizen survives on around LE10 or $2 a day.)

And then came the second momentous event on Sunday--by far the more momentous of the two. We saw our baby. And he* looked like a baby. A real baby, not the bean-shaped blob of former ultrasounds. The head was clearly a head, although disproportionately large, as expected at this stage of development. The body was clearly a body. I never did see the legs, although the doctor insisted that all the major body parts were present. But the baby was waving at us. You could clearly see his little hand sticking up above his head. And then he decided to greet us--or maybe to protest the ultrasound--in a more visible way. With the doctor holding the ultrasound wand perfectly still, we saw the baby's entire body shake, then lift. After that, baby did not take a break; he was jumping around for the rest of the ultrasound.

The doctor pinpointed the heart and showed us the little heartbeat, although by that point, I didn't need to see it. The baby's movements were enough to convince me that our little guy is still alive and kicking. But the doctor had another surprise in store for us. He turned on the speakers. And I heard the most beautiful sound--the rapidly beating heart of our preborn child. We even heard the extra effort that it took to make a particularly high leap in the womb. It was a strong, steady heartbeat that would have reassured even the most anxious mother that her baby was doing just fine.

It was such a special time. I don't know if it was seeing the baby, or hearing the heartbeat for the first time, but something inside me that hadn't fully believed that we really are pregnant finally started to believe. It still doesn't feel completely real yet, but ... I'm not quite sure how to explain it. Even though it doesn't always feel completely real, I completely believe now that there really is a little life growing inside of me. Before, I knew it was true, but I didn't fully believe it somehow. I'm sorry; that's the best I can do. Maybe others who have experienced pregnancy can explain it better than I can.

So there you go. That was my momentous day. I'm sure there will be others during--and after--this pregnancy, and I'll be sure to share them with you as well.

*A note on pronouns: It's still too early to tell the baby's sex from the ultrasound, although we will find out just as soon as we can. I generally use whatever pronoun pops out, although it seems to be feminine most of the time for me, whereas Jeff tends to use masculine pronouns. Some days I say "she" all day; others I say "he" all day; and others, I alternate. But Jeff and the doctor both were saying "he," and that is technically the correct pronoun to use when the sex is unknown and you don't want to use the cumbersome, politically correct "he or she." So for the purposes of this post, I'll stick with masculine pronouns ... although I make no promises about future posts.

The Birth That's Right for Me

2010-01-17T14:28:00.005+02:00

Last night I finished reading a book called The Birth That's Right For You: A Doctor and a Doula Help You Choose and Customize the Best Birth Option to Fit Your Needs by Amen Ness, Lisa Gould Rubin, and Jackie Frederick-Berner. I have to say--I loved this book!

Everyone has an opinion about childbirth. People who have given birth before are adamant that others should (or should not) have experiences like theirs. It seems that the web is full of natural-birth advocates, whereas real life is full of medicated-birth advocates. Doulas and midwives say that the best place to give birth is at home or in a stand-alone birthing center. Doctors and disbelieving lay people insist that the only safe place to give birth is at a hospital. Many people assume that birth will happen in a hospital, with a doctor in attendance, and anything else occurs only if you wait too long to head for the hospital. Others assume that if you go to the hospital, you'll end up with a Cesarian or a cookie-cutter vaginal birth that you weren't really present for anyway, because of the drugs. Even if you go natural, people will push Lamaze, or Bradley, or waterbirth, or hypnobirth ... No matter what the opinion is, it seems like everyone has one, or at least an assumption about what childbirth will look like.

That's what I loved about this book--they didn't.

This quote from the introduction pretty well sums up the philosophy of this book: "The best and most satisfying birth experiences happen when you're able to make choices in labor and delivery that are based on who you are, not someone some childbirth expert tells you that you should be." So if you feel most comfortable giving birth at home, go for it! If a homey birth center is more up your alley, feel free. And if you feel most protected and comfortable in a hospital setting, that's exactly where you should be. Narcotics, epidural, natural pain management strategies--you'll know what methods will work best for you based on how you handle stress and pain in your normal, not-giving-birth-at-the-moment life.

I started this book feeling pretty confident that I wanted a natural birth in a stand-alone birthing center, with a midwife to catch the baby and my husband and a doula to help coach me through it. I wanted a natural birth because I truly do believe that a medication-free birth is best for the baby--narcotics can cause a baby to born sleepy, so sleepy in some cases that the child can't even breathe without help; an epidural is difficult to dose right, and if you're given too high a dose, you may not feel your body's cues to push or be able to push effectively when you try, resulting in the need for an emergency Cesarian, which is major abdominal surgery. I figured that the best way to have a natural birth was to birth in a location where that was the only option--there would be no pressure, no repeated offers, and a major relocation to the hospital if I changed my mind. But I also have to admit--I was pretty scared of the whole notion of natural childbirth. By the time I get back to the States, I may or may not have time for a natural childbirth course. Even if I take one, they often seem to rely on one's ability to relax using visualization, which is not my strong point. And the more I read about birth, the more I am told that fear, anxiety, and an inability to manage the pain of contractions combine to stall labor, resulting in a Cesarian ... which I absolutely do not want unless it's necessary to save the life of my baby.

As I read this book, I started thinking about my natural coping strategies. What do I do when I'm afraid, stressed out, and in pain? My first response, at least to pain: Go to the medicine cabinet. Uh-oh, Houston, we have a problem. Because I really do want to avoid medication during childbirth, yet I also really do have a notoriously low tolerance for pain. And the natural coping strategies that I've read about so far really don't fit my personality all that well, either. I can't visualize to save my life. I do eventually relax in a hot tub or pool, but never until I can be confident that everyone else is engaged somewhere else, and no one is paying attention to me--unlikely if I'm using a birth pool to take the edge off of contractions during labor, with my attentive husband and doula hovering over me. When I'm in pain, I don't "walk it off." I tend to freeze, sink into the couch or bed, and maybe rock back and forth just a little. My main coping strategy is prayer, combined when possible with a generous dose of medication. I haven't seen either of those strategies listed in any natural childbirth books!

So where does that leave me? Someone who wants a natural birth but who seriously doubts her ability to have one? This book helped me realize that it really doesn't have to be an all-or-nothing proposition. I can give birth in a hospital, with a doctor or nurse midwife who is supportive of my preference for natural birth. But if my labor stalls and it starts looking like a Cesarian is in my future, or I just can't handle it, I'm exhausted, and I need to sleep--to remove myself from my body so that I stop fighting the work my contractions are trying to do--I can request an epidural. And the knowledge that I can request an epidural, that I don't have to handle the pain indefinitely if I feel like I can't do it, will allow me to focus on one contraction at a time, which I think I can handle. And if I can't, there's the epidural. After all, if I can't relax enough for my contractions to fulfill their function, I'm headed for a Cesarian. As much as I shudder to think of a needle going that close to my spine, a catheter staying there, an IV pumping me full of fluids to avoid a sudden drop in blood pressure--all of those things will happen by necessity if I have to have a Cesarian. Why not try everything possible to avoid one?

So here's what I'm currently thinking I want in childbirth. Keep in mind, though, that as I do more research on natural childbirth methods, gather information about classes that may be available once I'm back home, and come into more information in general, I may change my mind. And that's okay. But here's what I'm currently thinking:

I intend to deliver in a hospital, with my husband and a doula by my side, using natural coping strategies. However, it will give me peace of mind to know that medication is available if I need it. (I'm still going to have to get myself okay with the idea that I'll probably have to have an IV, or at least a hep-lock, soon after I arrive at the hospital, but that's a compromise I think I can make.)
There is a women's center 30-45 minutes from my hometown that is staffed by two female obstetricians and one female midwife. Seeing as how I've never had a pelvic exam from a male doctor, and the very thought makes me tense up like crazy, I think I need to give them a call on Tuesday (after the holiday), ask a few questions, and see if they could be a good match for me. I don't want a male doctor doing a routine exam to cause me to tense up and stall my labor on the big day--and I know myself well enough to know that I will never be comfortable with a man who is not my husband doing anything "down there." This women's center was recommended by a doula who is a firm advocate of natural childbirth, so I'm pretty sure that they will be supportive of my desires for a natural childbirth. But they also deliver in a hospital, and the doula who recommended them knows that I want the option of pain medication, so I'm thinking that will be an option too. I'll confirm all of this when I talk to them. And I already know that these practitioners are preferred providers for my insurance, which is a big financial plus!
I want to hire a doula who is very experienced in natural childbirth, but who also can function well within a medicated childbirth situation. I have referrals for two women--one a newly certified midwife who still does doula work while building her midwife practice, and one who is in training to be a midwife. I'm thinking they will be comfortable functioning as doulas in any birth situation, but their midwife training will be particularly useful when it comes to helping me keep the birth natural. I've already sent emails to these women, so I'm waiting to see if they're available and how much they charge before I start trying to figure out which of them is the better match for us.
I'm still hoping to find a natural childbirth class that will work for me, and maybe even a last-minute "crash course" for my husband.
My ultimate goal at the end of the day--or the beginning of the day, depending on when the baby decides to arrive--is a healthy baby and a healthy mama. My secondary goal is vaginal birth, as opposed to a Cesarian. (Cesarians are fine for those who need or want them--please don't think I'm saying anything other than that--but I'd really rather avoid surgery if at all possible.) My tertiary goal is a natural vaginal birth, as opposed to a medicated vaginal birth.

So there you have it. The birth that's right for me. At least, the birth that I think is right for me at the moment. Any comments or suggestions? I'm still exploring natural birth options in particular, so if there's something that worked really well (or really not-so-well) for you, I'd love to hear about it.

Pictures

2010-01-13T12:09:00.003+02:00

Okay, so this isn't a real blog post. But I went to Baby Wash on Monday, and on the way back, I saw something that you'd never see in America, so I took a couple of pictures, and I want to share. Here you go:

Not Much

2010-01-05T11:34:00.001+02:00

Going on, that is.

I realized that I haven't posted anything in over a week, and I'm trying to do better about not disappearing for long periods of time, so I thought I'd pop in with an update.

I haven't posted anything lately because there hasn't been that much going on. I'm about 10 weeks along now, with no major problems. I haven't even had any morning sickness, although I do feel a queasiness that comes and goes throughout the day, sometimes slight and sometimes not-so-slight.

My daily routine has pretty well established itself: I get up shortly after 7a.m. to feed the cats, then go back to bed, getting up again around 9. I laze around the house, waiting for my daily dose of energy to arise, eating breakfast and reading online until 11 or so. I get a shower. Then I have a brief productive period--at least as productive as it gets nowadays--when I do laundry, the dishes, and sometimes sweep the floors. Then the exhaustion kicks in again, and I sit. I may read, watch TV, or get on the computer, but it's nothing productive. I try to cook dinner when Jeff comes home ... but as often as not, he walks in the door, takes one look at me, and asks what I want to order for dinner. We eat dinner, watch a little TV, and I'm in bed again sometime between 9 and 10. I wake up four or five times a night to go to the bathroom. Then I get up around 7 to feed the cats, go back to bed until around 9, etc etc.

I feel very lazy. But I'm just so tired--I don't have the energy to actually *do* anything. I don't know how women do it who work outside the home during their first trimesters, or who already have children who need to be cared for, or who can't afford to hire help around the house. People keep telling me that I'll get my energy back in a few weeks. I can't wait.

Of course, there are days when I do have to do something. I have to get up early to go in to the health unit for an appointment, or I have to go to the commissary. Over the weekend, we actually had friends over for a game afternoon--we played Settlers of Catan, which is a really fun game that never gets old. On days when I have to get up early, I take a nap around lunchtime, when the workers renovating the apartment downstairs take their lunch/prayer breaks. On days when I have things going on in the afternoon, I just don't do laundry or anything else. But overall, I'm spending my days in the apartment, doing what I feel like I can do, and waiting to get my energy back.

I also realized that by the time I need maternity clothes, I won't have time to wait for them to arrive from the States, and I really have no idea where to buy special size maternity clothing here (I'm on the large side even without the soon-to-come pregnancy belly). So Jeff and I agreed that I should go ahead and order some stretchy pants, in a size larger than I actually wear, so that my in-between regular and maternity pants are here whenever I need them. The plan is that we'll order maternity pants the day I first need my stretchy pants. They arrived yesterday--now I'm wondering if I'll even need maternity pants, with as big as they are already, and stretchy too. We also ordered a few maternity shirts to have on hand for when the time comes. They shipped a couple of days ago, so they should be here within a few weeks. It would be nice to know that I could just go out to the mall and find things as I need them, but living overseas makes it more difficult to do that. Jeff suggested that I could just go traditional Egyptian in my dress during the pregnancy--I probably could find appropriately sized gallabeyyas and/or abayas. But I'd rather wear clothing that I'd feel comfortable in even once I go back to the States for the birth.

So that's what's going on with me. I'm spending lots of time lying around, trying to plan ahead for things that could sneak up on us. We're also planning to go on a Nile cruise in February--one we'd already booked before we got pregnant--so I'm really hoping that the exhaustion lifts before then. (And for the worry-warts, my embassy doctor has already approved the trip; we'll talk at my next visit about the things I should avoid or be careful of, but she has no problem with me going.)

And now it's 11:30, so I need to go get my shower. Computer time ran long this morning ... but since I'm still yawning, I'm not sure how much productive time I'm going to get today anyway.

Prenatal Visit #1

2009-12-28T16:19:00.004+02:00

This morning I had my first official prenatal visit at the health unit. Finally! It's only the third time I've been to the health unit since I knew I was pregnant ... but it seems like things are on track now. The doctors are acknowledging that there's a baby growing inside me, not just a miscarriage waiting to happen. As the doctor said, "You're never completely out of the woods, but getting that heartbeat was HUGE."

If you go by the date of my last normal period (off by a few days based on when I know I ovulated, but the doctor wants to go with it, so okay), I'm around 9 weeks along now. My official due date is 3 August 2010. I guess that means that officially, the baby is gestationally 7 weeks old, since the date of pregnancy is assumed to be two weeks before a woman actually ovulates and becomes pregnant. So, according to my pregnancy book, the baby should be about an inch long now. He or she should have elbow, wrist, and knee joints; fingers and toes; and external ear folds. Primitive neural pathways are forming. It's estimated that one hundred thousand new nerve cells are formed each minute. Wow! That's 100,000 a minute! What a HUGE little miracle God is working inside me!

Now on to the next big milestone ... early screening for potential problems. There are four options: (1) no screening, (2) an early invasive procedure--I forget what it's called--that risks miscarriage but can be done earlier than other screening, (3) amniocentesis, or (4) nucal translucency ultrasound plus blood tests. This ultrasound focuses on whether or not the baby has a nasal bone and on the thickness of the fluid at the back of the baby's neck. Apparently, this information, in conjunction with my blood tests and my age, is a highly accurate predictor of various problems with the baby, including Down's syndrome.

Jeff and I have decided to go with option #4, the only one that provides information about potential problems without increasing the risk of a miscarriage. We'll need to have it done in late January. We aren't at high risk, but the test is available and safe for the baby, so we've decided that we want to know. Many people want to know early so they can abort if there are problems; that isn't an option for us. No matter what, this is our baby, given to us by God, and we'll keep him or her as long as possible. But if there are problems, we'd prefer to have time before the baby arrives to prepare ourselves as much as possible. But of course, we aren't expecting problems--this is a routine screening that's offered to everyone, although the nucal translucency option is a new one. I don't think we would have had any screening done if the only options were the invasive ones that could potentially cause miscarriage.

Anyway, I just wanted to provide a pregnancy update. I'll continue to post updates as the situation warrants. Please continue to keep us in your prayers--as the doctor said, you're never totally out of the woods. We're so happy to know that so far, the baby is doing well and developing normally. We just pray that the baby continues to develop in a normal and healthy way.

Sandboarding

2009-12-27T12:00:00.010+02:00

On our way back from Whale Valley, the chitchat was all about our upcoming offroading adventure and sandboarding experiment. We flew down the dirt track until suddenly, the driver swerved off the track and into the desert. The ride was still smooth--so smooth, in fact, that the driver started angling the vehicle to catch a few humps and allow us to feel like it actually was an adventure. Every time we hit a bump, most of us groaned as we jerked unceremoniously into the air. The exception was my mom--she loved it. I'm convinced she encouraged the driver to keep it up, but that's okay.

Before too long, we pulled up in front of a large dune and stopped. The drivers and tour guide got out and took a good long look at it, and a couple of us tourists got out and snapped some pictures. Then the drivers and tour guide all returned to the vehicle, rounding up their errant charges along the way, and we were off again. It wasn't until we stopped again that I realized what was wrong with the first dune--it wasn't large enough!

When we stopped again, we all piled out of the vehicles without waiting for permission. I looked in awe at the huge dune. We were supposed to climb that and then race down it on boards?

I wasn't too sure about that ... but there was no way I was going to not sandboard, either, so I compromised. I grabbed a board and headed up the dune, but I only went halfway up. I looked at those crazy people who were going all the way to the top. I may have muttered something along the lines of "I'd break my neck!"

I wasn't the only one who was hesitant to try full-fledged sandboarding from the get-go. A friend and her husband also went only halfway up, and it turned out to be a very good thing for me. We watched from our perches halfway up the dune as our guide showed those brave souls at the top how it was done. About the only thing we could make out was that you sit in the sand, put your feet in the straps on the board, then stand up and go. So I sat in the sand and tried to put my feet in the straps. Much easier said than done! The slippery board kept sliding away from my feet. Finally, my friend's husband stood in front of me and propped my board up with his foot. After that, getting my feet in was easy. But I quickly realized that I would not be standing up on my own. Luckily, the kind man who had just helped me with the board was willing to help again. Offering his hand, he hauled me to my feet and then prepared to send me on my way down the dune. Much to his surprise, I had developed a case of the jitters and didn't actually let go of his arm. As his wife laughed--and Jeff took pictures from the bottom of the dune--he helped me steady myself and eventually convinced me to let go of him.

I started sliding down the mountain ... and suddenly stopped. The front half of my oh-so-slippery sandboard was buried in the sand! Being unable to bend over to wipe it off without tumbling, I hopped around a bit and tried to lift it out of the sand. I slid a few more inches down the dune. Good enough. I stepped out of the straps, picked up the board, and turned to climb back up the dune, not quite sure what I had done wrong.

I went a little higher this time than I had the last time. I sat back down in the sand and tried--unsuccessfully--to put my feet back in the straps. I had no help this time, as my assistant was busy helping his own wife. About that time, I saw the guide fly past me from the top of the dune on his way to the bottom--and he was lying down on his board this time. Facefirst down the huge dune--I don't think so! He was followed by one of the kids, sitting on her board. Hmm ... now that looked like a position I could get myself into. So I positioned the board on the sand and plopped myself onto it.

As soon as my feet came off the sand and onto the board, I started sliding, faster than I had when I was on my feet. Excited, I leaned forward in an attempt to go even faster. The tip of my board promptly buried itself into the sand. Aha! That was the problem--if the weight is on the back of the board, the tip rises out of the sand; if the weight is redistributed to the front, the tip gets buried and the board comes to an inglorious stop, no matter how steep the dune. Armed with this new knowledge, I tried it again, starting from my highest position yet. It worked much better this time, and I got a good fast ride all the way down to where the dune started leveling out.

About this time, Jeff got tired of taking pictures. He grabbed his own board and started up the dune. After a couple of practice runs from halfway up, it became obvious that he was going to the top. I decided that it was time, and I was going all the way up too.

The going was easy enough for the first half of the dune. Then it got steep, and the sand fell away under my feet, preventing me from making upward progress. I had to use the board as a brace, shoving it into the sand ahead of me, then climbing to it. After several minutes of hard work--how did the others make it look so easy?--I made it to the top. I sat down beside Jeff and rested while he prepared for his run. I looked over my shoulder at the other side of the dune, just inches away from me--it was a vertical drop. I wished I had my camera, but it was at the bottom with Mom, who was happily documenting our adventures. Then Jeff was ready to go, and I cheered for him as I watched his ride.

Finally, I felt ready to make my own run. I carefully positioned myself on the board, making sure to keep as much weight as possible toward the back. I lifted my feet from the sand, and I was off! The board followed a path chosen by the contours of the dune, as I never did figure out how to steer. I looked ahead and saw the young daughter of Jeff's coworker, climbing the dune directly ahead of me. "Look out!" I shouted. "I can't steer this thing!" I'm honestly not sure if she managed to get out of the way or if the dune's contours altered my path or if both factors came into play, but I missed her by a good two feet, much to my relief. She just cackled like a madwoman as I passed her, so I knew she was fine. I sped on down the hill, gradually slowing and stopping at the bottom.

I decided that it was a good run to end on, especially since I was still a little out of breath from the climb. (I didn't know yet that I was pregnant, although I wondered why I was having a more difficult time physically than I expected based on my admittedly not-great physical condition.) I joined Mom and took over some of the responsibility for the pictures, watching as the kids in our group quickly became expert sandboarders. A few of the adults learned quickly as well, but most of the adults ended up coming down the same way I did--sitting on the board.

As the sun made its way toward the horizon, we realized that we were still many kilometers from Cairo. Because we were supposed to be back before dark--a goal we already knew we would miss--we decided to head back. Happy, exhausted, and incredibly sandy, we climbed back into the vehicles, wondering whether we'd find the opportunity again to participate in this fun, surprisingly painless (even when falling) sport.

Merry Christmas!!

2009-12-25T17:20:00.002+02:00

This won't be a long post--it will quite possibly be the shortest post ever--but I do want to wish all of you a very Merry Christmas. Jeff and I are enjoying a lazy day at home. I hope that whatever you're doing today, you're having a wonderful and blessed time on this day when we celebrate the ultimate gift.

"For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord" Luke 2:11

Heartbeat

2009-12-20T10:59:00.006+02:00

We have one! I saw the flutter myself on the ultrasound. Hamdulilah, praise Jesus!

Now for the saga of the ultrasound ...

When I made this appointment two weeks ago, the saga showed signs of being more complicated than necessary. In the States, you'd call the doctor, make your appointment, show up, maybe wait a while, have the procedure, and then your various doctors would coordinate amongst themselves so the report ended up where it needed to be. No real surprises.

Not so in Egypt.

First, the health unit people called the local doctor. She told them to call someone named Magda. They tried to reach Magda, to no avail. Eventually they reached Magda. Magda said that the appointment had to wait for two weeks, until I was seven weeks along, and two weeks was too far out to make the appointment.

I like making appointments early.

I called the clinic myself, with the blessing of the health unit people. The operator told me to call back two days later, between certain hours, when Magda would be working. I called back during the set time. Magda wasn't working. I was to call back the next morning at 7:30 a.m. I got frustrated with the incorrect information I had been given previously and tried to clarify whether the information I was getting that time was correct or not. Apparently the operator's English wasn't good enough to deal with the non-Egyptian trait of not accepting what you're told and hoping, insha'allah, that the information is correct this time. I got even more frustrated and hung up.

I called the next morning at 7:30 a.m. Lo and behold, Magda was there! We spoke. I explained the situation and told her that even though I couldn't come in for another couple of weeks, I wanted to make the appointment. She agreed, and we made the appointment. I made it clear that I needed an intravaginal ultrasound, and I needed to take the report with me so I could give it to my embassy doctors. She agreed; there would be no problem.

Fast forward to today. Jeff and I showed up shortly before 9, the time set for our appointment. The receptionist obviously had no idea why we were there. I told him I had made an appointment with Magda. He told us to sit down. A few minutes later, he called us back over and told us that Magda was on the phone, which he handed to me. Magda didn't seem to remember me at first. Then she suddenly asked, "Are you pregnant?" When I answered affirmatively, it was like something clicked in her mind. She said, "Ok, you should sit down and wait. I'll tell them what you're going to have done." I handed the phone back to the receptionist, and Jeff and I sat back down.

A few minutes later, the receptionist called us back over. He told us to go to the cashier downstairs and pay LE100, then go to a different reception area and tell them that we were there for an ultrasound with a specific doctor. So that's what we did.

We were told to wait in the other reception area, which we did for a few minutes. Then the receptionist there came over to me and started speaking in Arabic. I looked at her blankly and said, "Ana mish fahma. Arabi schwayya-schwayya." ("I don't understand. Arabic little-little.") So she motioned me to follow her and led me to the other receptionist in that area. This one told me in English that the doctor I was supposed to see was running very late today, and instead I was to see Dr. Mohammed Someone-or-another. I told her I was supposed to get an intravaginal ultrasound. She agreed and said that Dr. Mohammed would do it. I declined. I told her I needed a woman doctor. Even in the States I have not yet been forced to endure a pelvic exam from a male doctor, and there's no way I will allow it with a male Egyptian doctor, not with the stories I've heard of doctors who apparently ask women to disrobe for no reason other than to see if they will.

Completely unsurprised, the receptionist told me to wait a moment, and she made a phone call. She then told me to go back to the first reception area and wait for Dr. Laila. So we went back and made sure the original receptionist knew we were back. He told us to go to a third reception area and wait for Magda. On the way, we had to pass by the second reception area. The English-speaking receptionist there stopped us and told us to go back to the first area. We explained what the receptionist there had told us. She shook her head, told us to wait, and picked up the phone. After a brief conversation, she told us to go back to the first area.

Back in the first area, the receptionist motioned us to go into a separate area that seems to be reserved for those who have paid. After a short while, we were called in to the ultrasound room. The technician/doctor/whatever she was took the basic information that all doctors apparently want when you're pregnant, then asked if I was still taking a medication that I'd been prescribed previously. I said no, because my research had shown that it was not appropriate for pregnant women. She told me to go back on it in order to avoid a miscarriage. I said okay, mainly to acknowledge that I'd heard her, because I will not go back on it unless my embassy doctor tells me to ... and even then I'd probably want to do more research on my own first. She asked if I was taking prenatal vitamins, then told me to only take them for the first trimester. (Somehow I think I'll be taking them longer than that.) All in all, this woman wasn't really acknowledging that she isn't my primary physician.

Finally, though, we got around to the reason I was there--the ultrasound. She turned the screen so I could see it. She pointed out the gestational sac, which I'd seen on the previous ultrasound (unbeknownst to her, because it was at a local hospital, not the clinic). She showed me the embryo--the baby. She pointed out the fluttering, which is the developing heartbeat. At one point, she had to explain why I suddenly saw two embryos where previously there was only one; apparently it's normal to get echoes. She measured, and I don't remember the size, but she said that the size was consistent with a mom who's 8 weeks along. She said that everything looked normal and good, and the baby appears healthy. At this point, I readily forgave any and all inconveniences that had occurred while making the appointment or earlier this morning.

Afterward, she wanted me to meet with a specific doctor. My choices were to wait today for "one or two hours," most likely meaning three or four hours, or to come back "tomorrow or after tomorrow," when there would be clinic hours. "Clinic" means I come and sit in the waiting room for who knows how long until the doctor gets to me. Um, no, thanks. I've got better things to do and more comfortable places to sit. So I just asked for the report so I could take it back to my doctors at the embassy.

This is the point where my temper almost made an appearance. She said no. I couldn't have the report. What they had done today was for their records. It didn't matter what Magda had said when I made the appointment (which Magda had apparently not actually made anyway, reviving all the frustrations of the morning). If I wanted a report for another doctor, I'd have to talk to the doctor here and ask for it. It wouldn't be a problem to get it, but I'd have to spend untold hours waiting for the opportunity to ask for it. I was ~~furious~~ a little upset to hear this news. But ~~with a heroic effort~~ I easily contained my anger, held onto my temper, and calmly announced that I would not see the doctor today.

My husband and I calmly left the clinic. Once outside, we agreed that, as soon as I got home, I would call the health unit and let them deal with this nonsense. Meanwhile, Jeff announced that unless it is absolutely necessary, we will not be returning to this clinic. I fervently agreed with that judgment.

To make the rest of the story short, the health unit people did their thing. The report will be picked up tomorrow, and I won't even have to pick it up. I will never have to deal with this clinic again.

Still ... they made it possible to see my baby for the first time. And there was a heartbeat. So even though I'm glad not to have to deal any more with their inefficiencies and absurdities, I guess they're not all that bad.

Loosely Held

2009-12-17T17:38:00.005+02:00

We see it all the time with kids. They have something, and they want to keep it. We want to take it away for one reason or another--maybe it's dangerous, maybe they just took it from another child, maybe it's simply time to put the toys away and go to bed. So the child hangs on for dear life, gripping it tightly, curling his body around it, fighting tooth and nail to keep it. I saw it at least once every time I visited the orphanage. Most of the kids did it at one point or another. It always reminded me of that Charlton Heston quote, when he said that the government could take away his gun when they pried it from his "cold, dead hands." That's the attitude you see in children--you can take this toy away from me when you pry it from my cold, dead hands, because I'm not letting go of it while I still have breath and energy to fight.

Adults often have that attitude too. Sometimes it's appropriate. As a conservative, as a gun-owner, as someone who believes that the right to keep and bear arms is what keeps our other rights from slipping through our fingers, I agree with Charlton Heston's attitude. But this isn't a political post, so I won't say more about that. When you're protecting your child or fighting for justice, it's perfectly appropriate to fight tooth and nail, to never let go, to not give up. Sometimes the right thing to do is to grab hold, grip tightly, and fight to keep it.

But sometimes it isn't.

John, one of the first children I met at Mother Teresa's, had a game that he liked to play. He'd walk up to me and hand me whatever toy he had been playing with. He'd hand it over without hesitation, without being asked. Because he knew what was coming. Every time he gave me a toy, I gave John my biggest, brightest smile, and I would say "Shukran, ya John!" ("Thank you, John!") Delight filled my face and my voice as I commended him for sharing with me. His little face would light up with sheer joy. Often he'd laugh. He 'd just stand there and delight in being delighted in. Then, usually but not always, I'd give the toy back to him. He'd wander off, then come back and do it all over again a few minutes later.

A few times, when John handed me a toy, I didn't hand it back. I always smiled and commended him, but sometimes while I was doing that, whatever child was in my lap would pluck the toy from my hand, or it would be time to put the toys away, so I'd put it in the toy box. John never protested when he didn't get the toy back. But if I did give him the toy back, and then another child plucked it from his hand, he would weep and wail and hit and do everything in his power to get it back. If I had to take a toy away from him--one that he had not given me--he tried desperately to keep it. It was only when he'd given it to me freely, and then I chose not to give it back, that he didn't mind the loss. Once he made the choice to give me the toy, he was at peace with whatever I decided to do with it.

I've been thinking a lot lately about John. I think I'm a lot like him, in both good ways and bad ways.

You see, I was an authority figure to John. It shouldn't have mattered if he volunteered to give me a toy or if I told him to; he should have been okay with obedience in either case. I know that's a lot to expect from a one-year-old, too much to expect, but ideally, that would have been the case. But how different am I? During this pregnancy, I've been forced to contemplate the fact that the ultimate Authority--God--may choose to take this baby away from me. I should be okay with that. After all, I know that God wants the best for us, that He loves this baby even more than I do, and that there is no better place for any of us than in Heaven by His side, which is where this baby will go if God takes him or her away from me. But I'm often not okay with that. I weep and wail, internally, if not externally. I vow to do everything in my power to keep this baby--which admittedly isn't much. I rebel against His authority and demand that He do things my way.

But there is another way, a better way. I can give this baby to God, just as John gave his toy to me. When I'm able to do that, to truly give this child up, I feel a peace that can only come from God. I can put this child in God's hands and trust that God will do what is best, whether that means letting me have this baby or not. And I can be content with that. Don't get me wrong; there is still a deep sadness at the thought of losing my child. But there's also peace. There's a confidence--a rock-hard certainty deep in my soul--that if my baby dies, God is still good and God is still in control and, as a kind soul recently reminded me, God still works all things together for good for those who love Him and who are called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28).

So just like John, I have a choice.

I can hold on tightly and fight to not let go. My life can be a struggle to keep what's mine. Even if this baby survives to be born, I can worry all the days of my life about what's going to happen to this child, and if the child lives, I can teach the child to live a life of fear, anxiety, and struggle.

Or I can go to One who is bigger and stronger than I am, and I can say, "Here You go. I trust You. Do what's best." And then I can lift this baby up to Him, loosely held, ready to let go, ready to let God be sovereign. I can have peace, no matter what happens. I can delight in my God and know that He delights in receiving my trust. And if this child lives, I can teach the child to live a life of trust, joy, and peace.

The choice is mine.