Tolga will never make you feel bad about yourself. I find that an amazing quality. I make people feel bad about themselves all the time. I make myself feel bad about myself.
Or maybe I'm just contrasting Tolga with my family.
Not that we are deliberately mean, but I know I don't hesitate to say if I see something wrong, or "be honest" about my opinion on something. I can be gracious and sensitive at times - ignoring my feelings or sensations for a greater cause . . . but not often enough.
For example - hair grosses me out. Even my own hair that falls out everywhere when I brush it, and especially other people's hair. When we were dating, Tolga would return home and find strands of my hair in his suitcase. I said to him, "Sorry about that." He replied,
"No. I love it. I kissed it and put it in my pocket."
Total acceptance. Imagine that.
Granted, we were in love - but this is how Tolga lives. He sees people's mistakes, but will only gently point it out if necessary. One day, my niece introduced Tolga to her class as her grandpa. Tolga giggled at her mistake, but didn't correct her because he didn't want to embarrass her in front of her friends.
I find myself tallying people's faults. I wish I could blame it on hormones, or evil in-laws but Tolga's family is a good family. This is not a new thing for me, for some odd reason it do it to all people I love most. I don't do it consciously, but I'm realizing over time I have this list of things I want to change. I want life/circumstances to improve, bad habits to be broken, and heathy living all around.
I want Baba to stop using salt and sugar and medicines. I want him to get his ears checked. I want Anne to learn signs of her own body and health, to stop making things worse for herself. I wish I could make everybody here learn and practice more hygiene and budgeting.
But then what, after all these things are accomplished - when I have a financially smart household filled with health conscious, clean shaven, freshly showered, cleanly clothed and brushed teeth - then will I love and accept them like Tolga? When everybody lives as I see fit?
I see the problem, and I'm hoping to change that too...
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
newborns
I didn't think it was possible to live on a couple hours of sleep (maximum) for an extended period of time . . . (what about REM, true sleep, etc? Will I go crazy?) ... but I guess this is another amazing motherly adjustment. I feel rested after a 45 minute nap. I wake up usually just before him, and it's worth getting up to feed him every 3 hours . . . it's our son! What an amazing thing to be able to say.
I'm learning Teoman's sounds. Especially at night. At first, it was really hard to fall asleep because all his little noises made me pop out of bed to find out what was going on. Or, if he didn't make any noises I felt just as worried. I constantly had the urge to get up and make sure he was okay, check his breathing even. It doesn't help reading all this vague information on the unknown danger known as SIDS.
Eventually I would sleep out of exhaustion, and now I can tell if he's just working out gas or if he's hungry. Sometimes when I check on him, his eyes will be wide open . . .just staring. I want to stay awake with him and stare back at least. He is so precious.
My Anne takes him in the morning after I've been up with him on-and-off through the night so I can get a good nap in. I think she's missed him through the night too and waits kind of excitedly for me to hand him over. She always says to Teoman, "Kurbam olsun" - I could die for you. She wraps him up tight in a blanket so by the time I take him back I have to strip him down out of fear that he's overheated. Baba will then come over and yell (because he's deaf and excited) "Nerede seni benin olgum? Kyma, Kyma! Yavri benin" - Where are you my son? Kyma is the word used to described the cream on top of the milk, the richest part. My dear one. Baba also keeps insisting that Teoman wears a hat "because he's cold, I know this." Mind you, Baba likes to wear a wool knit cap around the house himself. We've tried to explain to him that the doctor said it wasn't necessary, that its a SIDS risk, that the head is the only way for him to cool down if he's overheating. Baba doesn't believe us. And, when Teoman sneezes, he says, "See, I know. He's cold." And he places the burp cloth over his head.
Gokhan will take Teoman throughout the day too - they all love on him so much, kissing him, talking to him. Gokhan is also in the habit of telling me every time Teoman passes gas or poops. "His bottoms dirty. Should I look? Should we change it? Ohh, Rachel, he really did it now." I can't quite translate my thoughts on the topic to Gokhan - I started off changing him every time I heard a noise too, but its impossible to keep up that pace, and in the end . . . you get poop and pee on your hand because your changing him too soon. So I just say, okay, I know, thanks.
Tolga is my biggest help. Always. He turns on classical music for us. He changes him. He comes and checks on us. I'm glad we're doing this together, as a family.
I'm learning Teoman's sounds. Especially at night. At first, it was really hard to fall asleep because all his little noises made me pop out of bed to find out what was going on. Or, if he didn't make any noises I felt just as worried. I constantly had the urge to get up and make sure he was okay, check his breathing even. It doesn't help reading all this vague information on the unknown danger known as SIDS.
Eventually I would sleep out of exhaustion, and now I can tell if he's just working out gas or if he's hungry. Sometimes when I check on him, his eyes will be wide open . . .just staring. I want to stay awake with him and stare back at least. He is so precious.
My Anne takes him in the morning after I've been up with him on-and-off through the night so I can get a good nap in. I think she's missed him through the night too and waits kind of excitedly for me to hand him over. She always says to Teoman, "Kurbam olsun" - I could die for you. She wraps him up tight in a blanket so by the time I take him back I have to strip him down out of fear that he's overheated. Baba will then come over and yell (because he's deaf and excited) "Nerede seni benin olgum? Kyma, Kyma! Yavri benin" - Where are you my son? Kyma is the word used to described the cream on top of the milk, the richest part. My dear one. Baba also keeps insisting that Teoman wears a hat "because he's cold, I know this." Mind you, Baba likes to wear a wool knit cap around the house himself. We've tried to explain to him that the doctor said it wasn't necessary, that its a SIDS risk, that the head is the only way for him to cool down if he's overheating. Baba doesn't believe us. And, when Teoman sneezes, he says, "See, I know. He's cold." And he places the burp cloth over his head.
Gokhan will take Teoman throughout the day too - they all love on him so much, kissing him, talking to him. Gokhan is also in the habit of telling me every time Teoman passes gas or poops. "His bottoms dirty. Should I look? Should we change it? Ohh, Rachel, he really did it now." I can't quite translate my thoughts on the topic to Gokhan - I started off changing him every time I heard a noise too, but its impossible to keep up that pace, and in the end . . . you get poop and pee on your hand because your changing him too soon. So I just say, okay, I know, thanks.
Tolga is my biggest help. Always. He turns on classical music for us. He changes him. He comes and checks on us. I'm glad we're doing this together, as a family.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
my birth experience
Tolga and I drove to the hospital at 6:30 in the morning on February 6th - my due date. The normally packed hospital was empty and I waddled my way through the emergency entrance; Tolga hauling our suitcase, car seat, and diaper bag. We already looked different.
Today was the day I would experience one of my biggest fears - planned, purposeful pain. Hours of suffering for one big reward. I think my subconscious must have been compiling all of the information I've read and feelings I've felt about having a baby and it all peaked with the first prick of a needle . . . because I nearly fainted. It was a simple hep-lock being placed, something I'm normally not bothered by, but gray spots clouded my vision, the room began to tilt even though I was lying down. I told Tolga I was fainting, and I broke out into a sweat. The nurses said it was normal. They say that about everything. Fainting is not normal. It wasn't until I began heaving that they decided to recheck my blood pressure. They said vomiting was normal too. In my opinion, there's nothing normal about vomiting either.
And I hadn't even started to labor yet.
My doctor started Pitocin and around 3pm I decided I was feeling labor pains. I wasn't sure what I was feeling before, but when the pains were consistent - I knew it was labor. The pain wasn't what I expected - I guess in everything I read, no one described the pain other than a hardening of a stomach. I'll be more specific. It reminded me of when I had a bad virus that attacked my stomach and made me feel like I was going to throw up, but had horrible diarrhea instead. No one explained labor like that to me, but that's exactly what if felt like. A sickening diarrhea-like cramp.
Just before 7pm, the contractions were coming every 4-6 minutes, and they were painful. My doctor stopped the Pitocin for the night because I had only progressed 3 cm, but other signs of my body preparing for delivery had improved (effacement, etc.) My contractions continued on their own, just not as hard or frequent. I had a restless sleep form 11pm-12pm, but from then on, it was just too painful to sleep.
Tolga slept no problem. I was only a little resentful of this. I watched the second hand go round through the contractions. The minute hand go round from one contraction to the next. The hour hand go around and around so slowly, bringing me closer to more pain and more scary experiences. I thought of the different "birth positions" that were to help bring the baby down. But I wasn't sure I was ready for the baby to come down. I thought of words from a book, and from my friend to "relax" and "embrace the pain."
I decided embracing pain was a bunch of nonsense and I would like to punch anyone in the face who says relax through the pain just to see if he/she can relax through it too.
Around 5:30 am, they called my doctor in because my contractions were a regular 5 minutes a part. But when she checked me, I was only 5 cm. It was disappointing but it meant I could get an epidural now. She set up the epidural and then Pitocin to speed up the progress.
I was terrified of the epidural too. Needle. Spine. Pop. They wouldn't let Tolga come with me. Language. Alone. I rarely sweat, except when I'm nervous, then I sweat a lot. I had my shirt off and I was dripping with sweat and shaking from nerves or cold or fear. "No movie!" the anesthesiologist said to me. She scrubbed my back, gave me a local anesthesia and then the epidural. It made a sickening pop as the needle went into my spine. I could feel her thread the catheter through. It hurt some, but it was my fear that was worse. "No movie!" she said again. She was sniffling a lot and I could feel blood running down my back. I could understand her enough to know she was wondering why I was bleeding so much. Apparently it didn't work, and she had to do it again. She scoured my back and I could feel her scraping the skin off. This time I jumped when the needle went in. "No movie!" I didn't mean to jump, but I was picking up on her frustration and I was wondering just exactly what were the risks of an epidural gone bad? She had to do it a third time, and scoured my back this time it seemed just out of spite. I was considering walking out of the room, but my legs had cramped up from tension, and we were still having to pause for my contractions. The third time it was in, and the doctor sprayed alcohol on my raw skin. I felt that.
By now, my doctor had come to check on me. I teetered out of the room, unsteady but feeling much better. By the time I got to my room, I could tell my right leg was entirely numb, but my left leg was fully functional. The epidural hadn't been inserted right. It helped relieve some of the pain anyhow, and they called an assistant in to fix the catheter. Apparently, he just pulled it all the way out. Within a ten minutes, I was feeling the force of each contraction magnified by Pitocin, again. Another assistant came in to confirm that the epidural was out of place, and a new anesthesiologist came in to replace it. This time, it worked.
I had about fifteen minutes of pain free rest. My doctor came in to check me and I was already 9cm dilated. She broke my water, then asked me to push with the contraction, when I felt the pressure. I did because I felt the pressure quite a bit. It was more painful to push, but I continued with the push because of her encouragement that the baby was coming down, and I could feel him coming down - coming closer to being born. But then she left, with the instruction, "Keep pushing."
What? Keep pushing? I could see myself birthing my own baby. I had forgotten pushing can take over an hour and I wasn't to sure about this pushing business. In the meantime, the prepared to transfer me to the delivery room. I kept half-heartedly pushing, but still not convinced I should until someone was ready to catch the baby.
I changed beds so they could wheel me into the delivery room and I was starting to lose my senses from the pain. I watched a video today of a woman who delivered with an epidural and she couldn't feel anything. They had to tell her when to push and there were only a couple of people in the room. That was not my experience. Tolga disappeared, then reappeared in a pink gown and mask. I was on the table for all the world to see with three doctors, each accompanied by at least two nurses a piece. It was a crowded room.
I kept thinking afterwards, if its this painful with an epidural, what would it have been like without one? When I've hurt my shoulder in the past, my muscles contract and my bones feel like they are going to snap and the pain takes my breath away. Nothing felt like it was going to snap, even though the pressure was tremendous. They kept saying it may feel like I had to go poop, but there was no mistaking for me - at one point I was mortified at the thought of having a bowel movement during delivery - but at this point, there was no room for other feelings other than get this baby out so the pain will lessen. It was a deep internal ache that I couldn't pinpoint. I moaned and groaned just like all the TV deliveries.
I didn't stop pushing because the baby in the birth canal was an even worse pain. My doctor said she would have to do a slight episiotomy. Something I told her I didn't want, but at this point, didn't care. I needed local anesthesia as I was feeling her pokes and prods. I felt panic and a nurses pat on my shoulder or Tolga's words were encouragements that I desperately needed. When Tolga told me he saw the head, I was re-energized.
I expected when the baby was born to feel a complete and immediate release from the pain, but it was gradual. I think in the end I was given another drug because I felt a little loopy - or maybe it was a natural high from the pain release. I can't be exactly sure of the next order of events but when they put a warm purple slimy body on my belly I gasped. For a second I wasn't sure what to do - I slowly reached for him and stroked him and couldn't believe he was ours. He had only given two cries and already his eyes were open looking at me. The nurses were shocked and giggling that his eyes were open. They swooped him away to do the initial measurements and shots while my doctor delivered the placenta. I remembered a friend saying what great relief it was to have the placenta delivered, and I was watching, but then again forgot what was happening, being distracted by the baby. He only have a couple more cries and they brought him back, wiped down and bundled to suckle for a moment. The nurse squeezed my breast and just like everyone said, the pre-milk was ready to be served. This time I was ready for him - Teoman latched on, the nurse holding him and his eyes wide open, alert, watching me while he sucked. We were all giggling now. I said to Tolga, "I can't wait to take him home with us."
In the meantime, my doctor had called in her boss because I had a hematoma that had broken and was bleeding. I was mildly distracted by fears of bleeding to death, but they assured me it was nothing - they would stitch it right up and I would be fine. The room slowly emptied of all the people except for me, Tolga, my doctor, and maybe a nurse. She was finishing stitching me up and I started gagging while laying on the table form the feeling of mucous coating my throat. ("It's normal" they told Tolga again).
I was wheeled back to my room and we passed the nursery. Tolga and I could here our son cry as they continued with their measurements. Teoman joined us shortly. His eyes were still open, looking around like he had been wondering and waiting for this moment and wasn't going to miss it.
It took me a few hours before I could stand up as I almost fainted again with the first try. My throat seemed to have burst some blood vessels and was scratchy, probably from the groaning. I was exhausted and looked pretty wasted in the one picture I have.
But the one feeling I didn't expect was pride. I felt really proud. Proud that I made it through a natural birth. Proud to be a mother with my husband, now a proud father. Proud to have a beautiful son.
And humbled by such a miracle.
By now, my doctor had come to check on me. I teetered out of the room, unsteady but feeling much better. By the time I got to my room, I could tell my right leg was entirely numb, but my left leg was fully functional. The epidural hadn't been inserted right. It helped relieve some of the pain anyhow, and they called an assistant in to fix the catheter. Apparently, he just pulled it all the way out. Within a ten minutes, I was feeling the force of each contraction magnified by Pitocin, again. Another assistant came in to confirm that the epidural was out of place, and a new anesthesiologist came in to replace it. This time, it worked.
I had about fifteen minutes of pain free rest. My doctor came in to check me and I was already 9cm dilated. She broke my water, then asked me to push with the contraction, when I felt the pressure. I did because I felt the pressure quite a bit. It was more painful to push, but I continued with the push because of her encouragement that the baby was coming down, and I could feel him coming down - coming closer to being born. But then she left, with the instruction, "Keep pushing."
What? Keep pushing? I could see myself birthing my own baby. I had forgotten pushing can take over an hour and I wasn't to sure about this pushing business. In the meantime, the prepared to transfer me to the delivery room. I kept half-heartedly pushing, but still not convinced I should until someone was ready to catch the baby.
I changed beds so they could wheel me into the delivery room and I was starting to lose my senses from the pain. I watched a video today of a woman who delivered with an epidural and she couldn't feel anything. They had to tell her when to push and there were only a couple of people in the room. That was not my experience. Tolga disappeared, then reappeared in a pink gown and mask. I was on the table for all the world to see with three doctors, each accompanied by at least two nurses a piece. It was a crowded room.
I kept thinking afterwards, if its this painful with an epidural, what would it have been like without one? When I've hurt my shoulder in the past, my muscles contract and my bones feel like they are going to snap and the pain takes my breath away. Nothing felt like it was going to snap, even though the pressure was tremendous. They kept saying it may feel like I had to go poop, but there was no mistaking for me - at one point I was mortified at the thought of having a bowel movement during delivery - but at this point, there was no room for other feelings other than get this baby out so the pain will lessen. It was a deep internal ache that I couldn't pinpoint. I moaned and groaned just like all the TV deliveries.
I didn't stop pushing because the baby in the birth canal was an even worse pain. My doctor said she would have to do a slight episiotomy. Something I told her I didn't want, but at this point, didn't care. I needed local anesthesia as I was feeling her pokes and prods. I felt panic and a nurses pat on my shoulder or Tolga's words were encouragements that I desperately needed. When Tolga told me he saw the head, I was re-energized.
I expected when the baby was born to feel a complete and immediate release from the pain, but it was gradual. I think in the end I was given another drug because I felt a little loopy - or maybe it was a natural high from the pain release. I can't be exactly sure of the next order of events but when they put a warm purple slimy body on my belly I gasped. For a second I wasn't sure what to do - I slowly reached for him and stroked him and couldn't believe he was ours. He had only given two cries and already his eyes were open looking at me. The nurses were shocked and giggling that his eyes were open. They swooped him away to do the initial measurements and shots while my doctor delivered the placenta. I remembered a friend saying what great relief it was to have the placenta delivered, and I was watching, but then again forgot what was happening, being distracted by the baby. He only have a couple more cries and they brought him back, wiped down and bundled to suckle for a moment. The nurse squeezed my breast and just like everyone said, the pre-milk was ready to be served. This time I was ready for him - Teoman latched on, the nurse holding him and his eyes wide open, alert, watching me while he sucked. We were all giggling now. I said to Tolga, "I can't wait to take him home with us."
In the meantime, my doctor had called in her boss because I had a hematoma that had broken and was bleeding. I was mildly distracted by fears of bleeding to death, but they assured me it was nothing - they would stitch it right up and I would be fine. The room slowly emptied of all the people except for me, Tolga, my doctor, and maybe a nurse. She was finishing stitching me up and I started gagging while laying on the table form the feeling of mucous coating my throat. ("It's normal" they told Tolga again).
I was wheeled back to my room and we passed the nursery. Tolga and I could here our son cry as they continued with their measurements. Teoman joined us shortly. His eyes were still open, looking around like he had been wondering and waiting for this moment and wasn't going to miss it.
It took me a few hours before I could stand up as I almost fainted again with the first try. My throat seemed to have burst some blood vessels and was scratchy, probably from the groaning. I was exhausted and looked pretty wasted in the one picture I have.
But the one feeling I didn't expect was pride. I felt really proud. Proud that I made it through a natural birth. Proud to be a mother with my husband, now a proud father. Proud to have a beautiful son.
And humbled by such a miracle.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
our son
Tolga keeps saying (in a quote from the movie Up): "I've just met you and I already love you."
Sunday, February 5, 2012
what to expect in labor and delivery
This is my take-away from the book:
- have a birth plan, but things probably won't go as planned
- each labor, each person is different. Some fast, some slow, some hard, some relatively easy - there is no way of predicting how yours will be, so just relax.
- tips for the coach: you may need to massage your partner one minute, but not touch her the next. You should be her cheerleader, unless she thinks you're annoying which she may after as labor gets harder. Sometimes you should talk to her and distract her, but sometimes you shouldn't. Basically, read her mind or be ready to flip you actions from one extreme to the next in a matter of seconds.
- in the end, you'll have a baby in your arms and you might feel any emotion and this is normal.
- we wrote this book because we know most women have type-A personalities and want to control this uncontrollable event, so this book is really a ruse for your mind so you can feel like you know what to expect, even though you really couldn't ever imagine or predict how your experience will be . . . so good luck.
My added Turkey-factor:
- I'm not sure all these people who say they're coming to visit realize that I may not have the baby tomorrow, I could be one of those marathon labors. Oh, I hope not.
- Tolga's mom thought she was coming with us to the hospital. What did she think she was going to do there?
- Tolga's dad also thought he was coming with - what exactly do they imagine labor and delivery to be like? He thinks we will be embarrassed because we are all alone . . .
- Sometimes, I already feel alone.
- Communication is going to be hard, even with my husband because that's what stress and pain and language barriers do.
- Did you know they don't give the baby a bath after he's born? Just a random ending note.
- have a birth plan, but things probably won't go as planned
- each labor, each person is different. Some fast, some slow, some hard, some relatively easy - there is no way of predicting how yours will be, so just relax.
- tips for the coach: you may need to massage your partner one minute, but not touch her the next. You should be her cheerleader, unless she thinks you're annoying which she may after as labor gets harder. Sometimes you should talk to her and distract her, but sometimes you shouldn't. Basically, read her mind or be ready to flip you actions from one extreme to the next in a matter of seconds.
- in the end, you'll have a baby in your arms and you might feel any emotion and this is normal.
- we wrote this book because we know most women have type-A personalities and want to control this uncontrollable event, so this book is really a ruse for your mind so you can feel like you know what to expect, even though you really couldn't ever imagine or predict how your experience will be . . . so good luck.
My added Turkey-factor:
- I'm not sure all these people who say they're coming to visit realize that I may not have the baby tomorrow, I could be one of those marathon labors. Oh, I hope not.
- Tolga's mom thought she was coming with us to the hospital. What did she think she was going to do there?
- Tolga's dad also thought he was coming with - what exactly do they imagine labor and delivery to be like? He thinks we will be embarrassed because we are all alone . . .
- Sometimes, I already feel alone.
- Communication is going to be hard, even with my husband because that's what stress and pain and language barriers do.
- Did you know they don't give the baby a bath after he's born? Just a random ending note.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
our artistic home
The due date is February 6th - but I've been expecting our son every day since the 37th week began. It's an amazing thing to comprehend: he's coming. I don't let myself get too excited for trips and different events because things change, things get cancelled - but in this case, Teoman is coming. Maybe today, maybe in two weeks - but surely he is coming. It's exciting to have something so sure to hope for.
I've been walking to meet Tolga at his work. I concentrate really hard so that I don't waddle, but it's getting harder these days. The roads are icy too. It's not like America where sidewalks are mandatorily cleaned and salted - here it's at your own risk. My Anne makes Gokhan walk with me to be sure I am safe.
Yesterday, I met Tolga halfway and we took a cap to Kizilay. Tolga got his salary and was going to buy me a surprise - a sort of birthing gift I guess. I suppose he could have surprised me when I got home, but I also call him Mr. Instant. He got his salary and wanted to immediately get the gift. He kept his mouth closed about where we were going until we arrived at a music store. I haven't really seen many music stores around here, and I saw guitars in the window. Inside, in the back room though, they had pianos. That's when I started getting really excited. They had real pianos. We weren't planning on getting a real piano for many practical reasons, but it was a real piano store. I had said one day I would get a digital piano on a solid stand - one that looked and felt like a real piano, but was 1/4 of the price, easily portable, and not as finicky. I didn't need any fancy tones or digital tricks - just something that sounded like a piano, but I could plug earphones into it if I wanted to practice quietly.
We found a piano for a better price than we had thought, and thus had enough left over to buy a guitar. They delivered the piano that night. Tolga told his parents that he had bought me a gift and it would be delivered. Baba immediately guessed, "Is it a piano?"
They set the piano up, and I played some classics from the music book I had bought. Baba grabbed Annne's hand and danced.
I've been walking to meet Tolga at his work. I concentrate really hard so that I don't waddle, but it's getting harder these days. The roads are icy too. It's not like America where sidewalks are mandatorily cleaned and salted - here it's at your own risk. My Anne makes Gokhan walk with me to be sure I am safe.
Yesterday, I met Tolga halfway and we took a cap to Kizilay. Tolga got his salary and was going to buy me a surprise - a sort of birthing gift I guess. I suppose he could have surprised me when I got home, but I also call him Mr. Instant. He got his salary and wanted to immediately get the gift. He kept his mouth closed about where we were going until we arrived at a music store. I haven't really seen many music stores around here, and I saw guitars in the window. Inside, in the back room though, they had pianos. That's when I started getting really excited. They had real pianos. We weren't planning on getting a real piano for many practical reasons, but it was a real piano store. I had said one day I would get a digital piano on a solid stand - one that looked and felt like a real piano, but was 1/4 of the price, easily portable, and not as finicky. I didn't need any fancy tones or digital tricks - just something that sounded like a piano, but I could plug earphones into it if I wanted to practice quietly.
We found a piano for a better price than we had thought, and thus had enough left over to buy a guitar. They delivered the piano that night. Tolga told his parents that he had bought me a gift and it would be delivered. Baba immediately guessed, "Is it a piano?"
They set the piano up, and I played some classics from the music book I had bought. Baba grabbed Annne's hand and danced.
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