Counting Blessings

Every few hours during the past two days, I have heard the police car and fire truck sirens in the distance.  Such is typically life in a big city.  Except in our neighborhood, it's not the norm.  We live far from the hustle and bustle of the skyscrapers and more densely populated areas.  We are surrounded by houses and trees.  On most nights it's fairly quiet, save the occasional crying baby, arguing couple, or tv blaring the news from a neighbor's apartment.

But the past two days have been far from typical.  During the past 48 hours, Hurricane Sandy devastated parts of our city and neighboring states.  Hearing the news of subways flooding and fires raging, hospitals being evacuated and shelters struggling to make ends meet, neighbors losing their homes and being killed by falling trees... it has all been a lot to take in.  It has been a reminder about how delicate life is.  We are surrounded by much sadness and grief.  And we are also surrounded by many, many blessings.    

I am so grateful that the damage from this event wasn't more severe or widespread.  That plans were made to keep people as safe as possible.  I am grateful that people heeded the warnings.  That folks are reaching out to their communities and finding ways to connect and help.  That generosity abounds.  That my family, friends and loved ones are okay.  That S and I, our kitties and our little one, had - and continue to have - a warm place to sleep, access to food and clean water, and the resources to stay safe and well.

The sirens continue to wail tonight.  I'm sending a little prayer out into the universe that we all find the strength and resources we need to recover.  That those who are most vulnerable - the poor, the queers, the elderly, the sick, the disabled, the immigrants - are cared for and treated with the respect they deserve as we all work to heal during this difficult time.

On Health and Pride

I pride myself on being someone who is pretty self sufficient, especially when it comes to taking care of my body and physical health.  I've been blessed thus far with a relatively uncomplicated health history and generally the "buck up and suck it up" approach has worked to get me through the challenges I have encountered.  However, in misguided efforts to not be a burden to anyone, I have a really hard time asking for help or support around my health, sometimes, to my own detriment.   I typically won't go to a doctor when sick, and as those who know me most intimately can attest, it takes some serious pleading to convince me to even pick up the phone to call a medical professional for guidance.

Which is why at 27 weeks pregnant, I'm anticipating that dismantling my own stubbornness around self-care may be my greatest personal challenge during the next 13 weeks. 

The bliss of the symptom-free second trimester is slowly coming to an end.  As I approach the third trimester, I can feel some marked and uncomfortable shifts in my body.  My back is constantly achy.  My belly is stretching and sore.  I'm getting acid reflux.  And this morning, out of nowhere, I experienced shortness of breath and dizziness so strong that I almost passed out on the train.

It took everything in me to suck up my inclination to assume everything was fine and actually respond to my body's needs.  I was standing up and reading when I suddenly realized I was having a really hard time breathing and felt too hot.  My usual self would have just dealt with it and waited for the feelings to pass without "creating a scene."  And that's actually what I did for a few minutes.  But my pregnant self had almost no choice but to react, lest I end up passed out amongst a crowd of unresponsive city folk.  I was scared.  I grabbed a hard candy from my purse, popped it in my mouth, and set my bags down on the floor of the train.  I took off my jacket and rolled up my sleeves.  I was still too hot, and everything around me looked oddly bright, like a movie.  Though I was a mere minute away from my stop, I knew I had to do more.  I contemplated sliding onto the floor.  Instead, I walked over to a seat and asked someone to move so I could sit down.  Once I sat I immediately felt better, and by the time I left the train moments later and got above ground into the cool October air, the dizziness had passed. 

While I was proud of myself for actually taking a seat, I worried about that all-too-familiar feeling of resistance in my chest.  It took me longer to take action than it should have, given the potential risks of the situation.  I want to learn to prioritize my health - our health - over what others may think about my actions.  I want to learn to ask for help when I need it.  I want to call my doctor and ask questions without feeling like I'm weak, or being a burden to her.  I NEED to do these things.   Taking care of my body is no longer about just me and my pride.  It's about the safety of my little one, too.        

Channeling Grandma

This past week, I visited my extended family in the Southwestern U.S. - namely, my maternal grandfather, uncle, aunt, and two cousins.  The last time I had visited their home was in 2009 to attend my grandmother's funeral.  Needless to say, walking into their house was a charged event for me, namely because I could feel my grandmother's presence everywhere.  When she was dying from uterine cancer, I had the opportunity to visit her and say goodbye as she sat on the recliner in the living room.  Years prior, I had come out to her over chai at the kitchen counter.  In visits prior to that, she had taught me to cook mung dal and bhindi masala, watched old Hindi films with me, allowed me to record her life stories on a tape recorder, massaged coconut oil into my scalp and channa flour with turmeric and yogurt into my skin, and lectured me about the importance of praying regularly and attending services at the mosque.  Her spirit still nests in the house.

While we always lived quite a distance apart, the impact my grandmother had on me as a fierce, opinionated, wise female role model was significant.  One of the many things I loved about her was her extensive knowledge of home remedies.  She regularly read Gujarati newspapers and would store away the anecdotes she found like a squirrel.  Then she would offer frequent suggestions for even the smallest of ailments - apply breast milk on the face for acne, drink a few drops of peppermint oil in water for a stomach ache, a little of this for mosquito bites and some of that to make your skin glow.  I remember being annoyed by (and sometimes grossed out by) her directions as a kid, and yet loving the fact that she was caring for me and my wellness by spreading egg whites all over my face.

It was the absence of this wisdom that I was feeling so deeply during this visit.  I had always wanted her to be a part of my pregnancy experience.  Even though my coming out as queer created an emotional wedge between us, she still loved me and I trust she would have shared her advice, prepared concoctions, and pampered me in her stern, tough-love kind of way. 

One night, I asked my aunt if she remembered any of the tips my grandmother had shared while she was pregnant with my cousins.  She gave it some thought but couldn't remember much.  Then she pulled out a notebook.  "I forgot I had written some things down," she said.  We pored over the notes together:

• Kesar, badam and pista in warm milk 
• Papaya 
• During the third trimester methi paak to prepare the body for delivery; also after delivery to cleanse the body   

The notes went on.  With her memory jogged, my aunt eagerly began to share with me her recollections, and even stories about her own pregnancy and deliveries.  The next day, she ran some errands and showed up back at the house with bags of almonds, cashews, pistachios, dates, apricots and raisins for me to take home.  "Just eat a few nuts and dried fruits every day," she said.  "It's good for you and the baby."  Later she ground up a badam-pista mixture.  "You can add this to your soymilk," she said.  It felt so good to be taken care of, to be nurtured and supported.

It was significant to me that the first time I returned to my grandmother's house after her death was while carrying her great-grandchild.  I felt her energy surround me.  While I missed her, I was grateful for the opportunity to spend a few days remembering what a remarkable person she was.  Hopefully, our little one will reap the benefits of her wisdom in spirit. 

Reflections on 6 Months

As of this week, I'm 24 weeks pregnant.  Here are some thoughts on the current state of the bump: 

• A few days ago, I had my first experience of someone offering me seat on the subway.  I was triumphant that finally - finally - I look pregnant enough to compel someone to actually offer.  I'm pretty sure the fact that I was wearing a t-shirt and tight hoodie that emphasized my bump, and I happened to stand right in front of this particular woman's face while doing so, was the reason I was asked.  Most days, however, I'm wearing looser clothing and apparently my modest bump doesn't justify a seat.  I think folks may still be unsure if I'm actually pregnant, or if this is simply what my belly looks like.  Consensus amongst friends seems to be that I look pretty small at six months.   Few, if any people who don't know me have asked when the baby's due, or if I'm pregnant at all. 
• Folks who are in the know seem to think I'm carrying a boy.  Apparently the bump is high and pointy which indicates a boy, rather than low and round, which indicates a girl.  The super of our building did some math based on my age and the date of my last menstrual period and also concluded I am having a boy.  I've had a pretty strong feeling I know the sex of the baby as well - but based on a non-specific feeling, simply a "sense," nothing more. 
• I am really enjoying being pregnant.  And I'm still marveling at that fact.  Several years ago a close friend of ours was pregnant with her first child, our beautiful godson.  I remember her saying that she felt she was "born to be pregnant."  Before and during the pregnancy, she seemed just so certain of herself, so comfortable in her skin, so ready, so clear that she wanted to carry, nurture and birth her child, and that her body was equipped to do so.  I clearly remember thinking that wouldn't be my own experience.  I was certainly willing and ready to get pregnant, but I never anticipated I would enjoy the experience as deeply as she.  For much of my life, I wasn't someone who anticipated wanting to give birth; in fact, I assumed if I were to have a child, it would be through adoption.  Pregnancy just wasn't an experience in which I felt particularly interested or to which I felt connected.  Yet now that I'm going through it - as I've grown physically during the last few months, as I've felt the little one move, and as we rapidly move closer and closer to the day I will actually birth a child into the world - I've spend more time being present with the fact my body has known exactly what to do along the way.  My instincts - about resting or moving, about eating more of this or less of that, about the limits of what I can and cannot handle physically and emotionally - have been dead-on throughout the process.  Every time I read a chapter of one of the week-by-week pregnancy books on my nightstand, I'm pleasantly surprised to find that my body has been guiding me well.  The experience of trusting myself to do what's right for me and our little one has been profound. 

At this juncture, I simply want to remember that at six months pregnant, I am feeling calm, grateful, and grounded.  I am in awe of this magical process and moved by the fact that I have the opportunity to be pregnant. The experience is changing me in ways that I don't yet understand or know how to express.