It sounds dramatic, but it isn't. In Turkey, most people go to hospitals for regular check-ups. I wanted a private doctor's office, but no tests can be done at an office - just recommendations for tests to be done at hospitals - so it is just easier to go straight to the hospital. I had to go to the hospital for Teoman's 2-month check-up, but it was complicated for a couple of reasons.
First, Tolga was away. My doctor claims he can speak English, but he rarely bothers, and important details rarely get translated well. Secondly, Teoman's doctor is in the same hospital that I gave birth - but the hospital was under some sort of renovation, so I had to go to their other hospital for his 2-month check-up. I had never been to this hospital so I was rather nervous about finding everything. Lastly, Teoman had to get his shots - and I was dreading this.
You never have to wait long in a private hospital. I was directed to the 5th floor to see my doctor, the 1st floor for a blood test, the third floor to see Teoman's doctor, the basement to get an ultrasound of Teoman's hip (it's something they require in Turkey to check for hip development or dislocations), and back to the third floor.
His shots were the last thing. I was a little panicked about this. I tried to exude calmness because babies are like horses I think - they can sense your fear. So I talked to him while he smiled so hugely, looking at me with such love and trust until the shock and horror of the needle . . . three times . . .
Teoman had to get his shots to protect him from disease, and I would do anything to get rid of those diseases so he wouldn't have to experience the pain of a shot - heck, I don't want him to experience any pain. Ever. What was I thinking bringing a life into such a broken world?
I couldn't hold him while they did the shots, but I put my cheek next to his after his body spasmed with each shock of the shot to try to give some comfort. It think he produced his first true tears.
I nursed him afterwards and he calmed quickly. I brought him out and buckled him in his car seat.
He smiled at his Gramps and Gigi, even while the tears were still wet in his eyes.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
mom's suitcase
When my parents came to Turkey - they brought a lot of things for us. A lot of it, I ordered and had shipped to their house: Some clothes we ordered online for both of us, a camera, a video monitor, chocolate chips, maple syrup, baby thermometer, diabetic sugar testing strips for Tolga's dad, specific deodorants, razors, makeup, cologne and sunblock that we like, and so on.
My mom also brought many gifts: Minnesota shirts for everybody, my aunt's honey, Minnesota wild rice, about fifteen outfits/pajamas for Teoman - ranging from 6 months to 2 years old, a dress for me ("For Easter!" she says enthusiastically),
She also brought washcloths. She gave me one, and said it was cleaning rag for me, "Because you can always use cleaning rags."
She packed packets of Kleenex. Seven economy size packages that holds ten packets each - totaling to about 70 packets of individually wrapped tissue packets.
She packed at least six bottles of travel-size hand sanitizer and five bars of soap.
An extra new toothbrush for me - "Because I thought you might need a toothbrush."
And several huge packages of wet wipes for the baby.
With all that, it was surprising that they had fit any clothes in their bags - they did, however, mom is constantly using the suitcase excuse to buy new clothes in each city we visit. ("I didn't bring many clothes because I wanted to make sure to bring all your things.")
My mom also brought many gifts: Minnesota shirts for everybody, my aunt's honey, Minnesota wild rice, about fifteen outfits/pajamas for Teoman - ranging from 6 months to 2 years old, a dress for me ("For Easter!" she says enthusiastically),
She also brought washcloths. She gave me one, and said it was cleaning rag for me, "Because you can always use cleaning rags."
She packed packets of Kleenex. Seven economy size packages that holds ten packets each - totaling to about 70 packets of individually wrapped tissue packets.
She packed at least six bottles of travel-size hand sanitizer and five bars of soap.
An extra new toothbrush for me - "Because I thought you might need a toothbrush."
And several huge packages of wet wipes for the baby.
With all that, it was surprising that they had fit any clothes in their bags - they did, however, mom is constantly using the suitcase excuse to buy new clothes in each city we visit. ("I didn't bring many clothes because I wanted to make sure to bring all your things.")
Sunday, April 22, 2012
the rockstar
I brought Teoman to school the other day - to present him to everybody and for my parents to see the school.
Everybody was in class, but my progression through the school was slow because teachers saw me through windows and came out to greet us with hugs, kisses, oohs and ahhs. I made it to the end of the corridor and met the new assistant principle disciplining one of my difficult students. She stopped to say "hi" - I'm sure she needed the momentary distraction.
In my department's room my cheeks hurt from grinning so big. I couldn't help it. I've seen the look on new parents before. Pride, awe, weariness, happiness radiating off their presence. My colleagues swarmed and tut-tutted. Oohing and awing "çok tatli" "çok sukur", fixing his sweater, patting the spit off his mouth, kissing his hands and feet, offering to hold him or keep him for me for a while. Word spread around the school that I had arrived with Teoman, English teachers, Turkish teachers, the secretary and students trekked in and out of the room to see him.
"He's so sweet!" they'd say.
"I know!" I'd respond.
A colleague laughed and told me I'm suppose to say thank you . . . but how can I say thank you for something that just is? There's nothing he or I did to make him who he is - he's a gift, a miracle - and I guess the only appropriate response is thanks to God.
My parents had been pushed to the background during the whole affair. The Americans in the room kind of stayed in the background as well - working hard. The American that replaced me only said "hi" in order to ask me a question about the lesson plans I had left her with. At one point, my mom said, "We better go and let everyone get back to work." But here in lies the cultural difference: the Turks are working - socializing, stopping to fawn over a child - these are all actions that are part of a work day. The Americans (including myself) tend to isolate themselves and focus on projects for long periods of time, not stopping for tea, or cigarettes, or lunch. But this of course, is why we never adjust culturally - its hard to loosen your grip on that Protestant work ethic.
My parents ate lunch at the school. My mom loved it. I've also noticed that my mom has turned into somewhat of a glutton. She fills her plate then adds all sauces available along with pepper and salt and mixes it all together. She eats carefully and slowly, but the sauce still collects at the corner or her mouth along with her lipstick. She kept saying how wonderful the food was - but I think a week later, she may say otherwise as the food turns quite the trick on the stomach until you acclimate to all the oils here.
When we finally prepared to leave, it was a slow parade to the door. I had intended to come and go while students were in classes, but I was kind of dazed by the whole affair. We were leaving after lunch while the students were going to their classes. They surrounded us and we moved as one mob towards the door in their excitement over the baby - babies are loved here unconditionally and with great expression
Everybody was in class, but my progression through the school was slow because teachers saw me through windows and came out to greet us with hugs, kisses, oohs and ahhs. I made it to the end of the corridor and met the new assistant principle disciplining one of my difficult students. She stopped to say "hi" - I'm sure she needed the momentary distraction.
In my department's room my cheeks hurt from grinning so big. I couldn't help it. I've seen the look on new parents before. Pride, awe, weariness, happiness radiating off their presence. My colleagues swarmed and tut-tutted. Oohing and awing "çok tatli" "çok sukur", fixing his sweater, patting the spit off his mouth, kissing his hands and feet, offering to hold him or keep him for me for a while. Word spread around the school that I had arrived with Teoman, English teachers, Turkish teachers, the secretary and students trekked in and out of the room to see him.
"He's so sweet!" they'd say.
"I know!" I'd respond.
A colleague laughed and told me I'm suppose to say thank you . . . but how can I say thank you for something that just is? There's nothing he or I did to make him who he is - he's a gift, a miracle - and I guess the only appropriate response is thanks to God.
My parents had been pushed to the background during the whole affair. The Americans in the room kind of stayed in the background as well - working hard. The American that replaced me only said "hi" in order to ask me a question about the lesson plans I had left her with. At one point, my mom said, "We better go and let everyone get back to work." But here in lies the cultural difference: the Turks are working - socializing, stopping to fawn over a child - these are all actions that are part of a work day. The Americans (including myself) tend to isolate themselves and focus on projects for long periods of time, not stopping for tea, or cigarettes, or lunch. But this of course, is why we never adjust culturally - its hard to loosen your grip on that Protestant work ethic.
My parents ate lunch at the school. My mom loved it. I've also noticed that my mom has turned into somewhat of a glutton. She fills her plate then adds all sauces available along with pepper and salt and mixes it all together. She eats carefully and slowly, but the sauce still collects at the corner or her mouth along with her lipstick. She kept saying how wonderful the food was - but I think a week later, she may say otherwise as the food turns quite the trick on the stomach until you acclimate to all the oils here.
When we finally prepared to leave, it was a slow parade to the door. I had intended to come and go while students were in classes, but I was kind of dazed by the whole affair. We were leaving after lunch while the students were going to their classes. They surrounded us and we moved as one mob towards the door in their excitement over the baby - babies are loved here unconditionally and with great expression
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Parents
I love my parents - I do, but they are more exhausting then a newborn child. They came March 31st, and just picking the up from the airport was exhausting. They had a long flight, waited in Istanbul, and then their flight was delayed to Ankara. There domestic landing somehow rerouted them to International arrivals so we missed each other in the airport. The message board said they had arrived, butTolga and I had been waiting for about 3 hours. I had started making a list of all the cities that started with an "A" that they might have confused Ankara with and ended up on the wrong plane.
Fortunately, my father borrowed someone's phone and called us. They were waiting in a lost luggage line to fill out forms because apparently many people that day had lost their luggage. He sent mom out to meet us, but we lost her because while we were walking over to international arrivals, she was wandering around the airport looking for Gloria Jeans - the fallback meeting point we had told them.
When my father finally made it to the front and the attendant tracked their luggage, they learned it had arrived in the domestics - where they should have been all along. When I finally saw my father, he forgot to look at his new grandson because he was too busy following the attendant. Tolga was looking for my mom. At one point on the long empty way the sight was:
A mad attendant, my father trailing 20 feet behind, my carrying Teoman 40 feet behind him, Tolga walking the other direction about 100 feet away, and my mom appearing over the balcony of the 2nd floor hollering, "Where's the Gloria Jeans? I've been looking all over for it!"
Eventually, we rounded up everybody and everything.
Fortunately, my father borrowed someone's phone and called us. They were waiting in a lost luggage line to fill out forms because apparently many people that day had lost their luggage. He sent mom out to meet us, but we lost her because while we were walking over to international arrivals, she was wandering around the airport looking for Gloria Jeans - the fallback meeting point we had told them.
When my father finally made it to the front and the attendant tracked their luggage, they learned it had arrived in the domestics - where they should have been all along. When I finally saw my father, he forgot to look at his new grandson because he was too busy following the attendant. Tolga was looking for my mom. At one point on the long empty way the sight was:
A mad attendant, my father trailing 20 feet behind, my carrying Teoman 40 feet behind him, Tolga walking the other direction about 100 feet away, and my mom appearing over the balcony of the 2nd floor hollering, "Where's the Gloria Jeans? I've been looking all over for it!"
Eventually, we rounded up everybody and everything.
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