It is a girl!

About a month before my delivery, my co-workers thew me a shower with a cake that read "It is a girl!"  

It was comforting to go into this with experience.  With Teoman, I was induced and it was long and painful and unproductive.  I remember just watching the second hand going around, and the minute hand going around, and the hour hand going around - all night through the harder contractions.  Tomris started at five in the morning with bad cramping (I thought 'I'm in labor, or ....I ate something really bad').  My in-laws were still in Kusadasi - they were coming the next day by bus.  Tolga left for work a few hours later, by then I had decided they were contractions because I was sweating (unusual for me) but they were so irregular I told Tolga to go to work and I would call him if I need him to come.  I was alone, but not afraid, and I was starting to get excited.  The contractions were pretty painful but not as torturous as the ones with Teoman through the night.  These ones, I couldn't stand, and I could hardly sit, but the pilates ball in my home finally got some real use.  So with Teoman running around and occasionally on me, I sat on the pilates ball and turned on the season finale of Downton Abbey. Around 11, I put Teoman down for his nap, and then laid down and I was able to sleep in between contractions (I was REALLY tired).   One particularly strong one got me up and to the bathroom where I noticed I was bleeding some, and that was around 1pm.   

I wasn't concerned but I sent Tolga and email knowing he would call the doctor right away and the doctor would probably want me to come in. I sent Tolga and email because I didn't want to talk to him - I was annoyed that he was sitting at his desk all oblivious and relaxed while I was laboring and "playing" with Teoman who was up now ... Tolga called me anyhow and I was real snappy with him (he was asking me about the email I sent him - I told him "read the email!" in gritted teeth).  He had called the doctor and she said to come in.  Tolga came home and was so efficient getting our bags and stuff to the door.  I, on the other hand, said, "I'm taking a shower!"  He was a little shocked but didn't argue with his crazed wife.  We drove to the hospital and went to my doctor's office - she checked me and said "congratulations, you're 5-6 cm".  My appointment was at 4pm.  They wheeled me upstairs, gave me an epidural and some Pitocin to speed things up, and I had Tomris at 6:05pm.   

Just like that.  On June 21st, 2014 Tomris Mae was born weighing 3.9 kilos, healthy and with a full head of black hair.  

The epidural worked this time too - the anesthesiologist did it in one go, and I could hardly feel a thing until it was time to push (whereas Teoman, now I know it hardly worked).  I had read some birthing books with Teoman, and they were so encouraging I went from wishing for a C-section to considering a natural at home birth with candles in an antique claw tub and all that.  In some ways, I was more prepared, but truthfully, all I wanted was a healthy baby - so while every book said to have a birth plan, my only "plan" was anything for a healthy baby.  So while I'm sure it wasn't necessary for Pitocin and another episiotomy, in the end - I wasn't going to argue or stop anything.  

I don't know how long I pushed, I suppose it wasn't long.  Tomris came into this world with cries.  They didn't put he directly on me and I was anxious until they did - she cried, they cleaned her nose, dried her body, and took initial measurements before they brought her back to me for brief nursing.  

My girl.  My baby.

I went to the delivery room and felt nothing.  I understand now why they have to turn the medicines now so you can actually push because I had no feeling.  And in retrospect, the speeding up of everything with drugs probably wasn't the best thing for my body. I few hours afterwards I got really sick - bleeding, vomiting, passing out - I scared Tolga and the nurses at one point because I couldn't make it back to my bed, my eyes stared straight ahead and I made a noise like death rails during one of my fainting episodes.  It was a terrible feeling.   They brought the doctor back in who gave me some more medicines and by midnight I was fine again.  They had massaged my uterus and by morning I felt like I had been punched in the stomach a hundred times.  I hadn't realized I could still use my epidural - not until the woman took it out the next day.   

It's funny/strange - in America we try to control everything, you know - knowledge is power.  But here, everything when it comes to medicine seems to be vague and a big question.  It's hard for me to get straight answers about anything (i.e. a friend was pregnant and had to stay in the hospital for 5 days - when I asked why, she said because she needed some "serum".  Um... like in the 50s? 5 days?  But that was all the info I got).  The majority of people in Turkey have voluntary C-sections, and even those who intend to have a normal birth end up with C-sections for questionable reasons.  So, I've had to let go a lot of my need to know/control to a point - thankfully, my doctor was able to deliver now two babies from me normally.

Tomris was not sleeping well from the beginning - I think she preferred the womb.  Me too - nice and safe with everything you need.  I checked out of the hospital within 24 hours - it was so quick, and to come home with a new baby is like nothing else in the world.  

It was our first night away from Teoman.  He met us at the door in his pajamas and I bent down to show him his new sister. He seemed to understand it was important, and maybe even believed we were bringing her home for him.  He ran and got her a toy.  Sixteen-and-a-half months old and he was already taking on the role of abi.  

Thank you Lord for such miracles.   

life now

I put a hold on my writing for a while because I intended on renewing my blog and finding a new angle - or finer focus.  Instead, I just stopped writing for over a year.

For Mother's Day, last week, I was remembering my mother and how we would ask her things like: "what was my first word", or "when did I start crawling", and so on - and with our daughter's every milestone, I'm realizing that I don't exactly remember my son's milestones.  This is partly because the "milestones" aren't always clear -- when rolling over was accidental or on purpose, or whether a scoot was a crawl, whether baba was accidental or him/her actually calling their father.  Anyhow, it has spurred me continue blogging as is ... maybe it will evolve yet ... but I surely don't want to let these moments with our children to slip away.

Tomris was born June 21st, the first day of summer.  I did actually record this birth experience a couple of months after her birth... so I will post it following this one.

We have talked about having a third child - but it's a tough decision as we are exhausted with the two of them.  Our days, and nights, are FULL.  Forget sleep training and independence and disciplining and anything I ever read our thought about rearing children.

Mine and Tolga's core love and enjoyment of children hasn't changed - maybe its grown, and maybe that's why I have trouble following through on structures I thought I would have in place.  I thought I wouldn't let any kids in the bed, or our room for that matter.  But we do.  Almost every night.  From the moment Teoman learned to stand up in his crib and call "Baba" or "Anne" or "Mamma" - Tolga and I run into his room pick him up - and bring him to our bed.  We used to sit in the big armchair with him, until he slept again - but with Tomris, we were too tired to do any of that - so he comes straight to our bed.  And we kiss him and let him hold and twist our rings on our fingers (that has become his "transitional object", unfortunately).  If Tomris wakes, I nurse her back to sleep.  At some point, maybe I should have - or should - stop this habit but neither Tolga nor I can resist their cries.  We pick them up every time, cuddle and comfort them, because they are our children and we are their proud parents.

We go out, and we usually by them a treat or a small toy - we are spoiling them, and we love spoiling them.  We take them to the malls or parks or simple walks and they are rockstars with their blue eyes, blondish hair, and social personalities.  It is hard and exhausting and all consuming and really really great.  I was ready for this phase in my life.  I have no desire to go out at night with friends, I hate leaving the kids in for short bits.

The only time I really allow myself to let go of them is at work - its a set schedule, I've accepted it, and I know they are in good hands.  Mentally and socially I think its good for me too - I enjoy teaching, I enjoy my colleagues, and I am on a shortened schedule so I can get home for my "milk permission" - a government sanctioned work leave for the mother's in the baby's first year.  I can technically leave work an hour-and-a-half early.  It's different everyday though - sometimes I come late, sometimes I leave early, sometimes both.  I feel somewhat disconnected from my colleagues because of my special permissions I am missing out on a lot of work, collaborating, and extra duties - but it's also a big relief because my days aren't so long and I don't stress too much about leaving the kids.

I said from the beginning that the In-Laws shouldn't be living in Kusadasi for the winter - our summer home had no heating and it wasn't good for their health.  I pushed for my brother-in-law to come as well because he was having trouble finding work and the opportunities in Ankara would much greater.  Tolga encouraged them to come for his peace of mind when he traveled.  That annoyed my independent self but I didn't argue because ultimately I knew he was right.  I keep saying, and telling myself that family should live together - so my mother, father and brother in-law our in our home because community is how we should live.  We help each other out - whether it's financially or emotionally or physically.  And, I'm so glad I'm not the only influence on our children's lives.

Of course it's hard because the grandparents don't follow rules, and the uncle is too soft hearted -- and some days it feels like I'm managing five children because taking care of my children ends up being linked to everything my family does - meals, naps, television, habits... They are my family that some days I resent, feeling as if I'm the only one who thinks to buy bread, or eggs, or whatever we need.  Or the only one who insists on eating vegetables, naps, a bedtime, and censoring the TV.  And this is after a long day at work, a long day at home, and sometimes really long nights too.  But, my heart was so arrogant to ever think we were doing my in-laws a favor having us all live together.  Foolish me.

Especially this year, I've got a good look at just how proud I am.  No, proud isn't a strong enough of a word - disgustingly superior my heart stance has been.  With the birth of Tomris, my back injury, shoulder injury, and Tolga's increasing travel schedule . . . I don't know what I'd do without them.  With every instance, I was confronted with my need for help versus my stubbornness and pride.  Most times I think I just felt frustrated that I needed help, rather than accepting it.  There were many nights when Tomris was first born and I was upstairs in my room in Kusadasi - hot, humid, nursing, and two crying children that I couldn't comfort at the same time.  I was even angry that I needed help.  I didn't want anybody's help.  I wanted to do this on my own.  I don't need anybody.  They needed me, not I them.  And then I hurt my back and I couldn't get out of a chair without help.  Another day I fell down the stairs at work and smacked my head, and then dislocating my shoulder...again.  On top of this, with Tolga coming and going - many times I'm left with only the in-laws.  But, the truth is - I'm not sure I could do it without them.  My mother-in-law is a picture of selflessness.  She loves her grandchildren and puts asides all her ailments to be sure I have the help I need.  Taking the kids from my arms when I shouldn't be picking them up, putting dinner on the table.  I think its her I find myself getting the most stressed about.  When she's depressed, her physical ailments start popping up - her heart, her back, her head, her knee.  But when she's needed - she complains about nothing - and I'm not sure which is more worrisome.

Tolga is endlessly supportive of everybody.  I want his brother and father to do more, to be more - I have a really hard time accepting things as they are.  And I've said it all along too - I'm well aware of the fact that the only person that needs changing here was me.  I suppose I am changing, and that I am thankful for.

mourn for your people

Monday is Youth Day - a national holiday that commemorates the day the Turkish war for independence started.  Later, when Ataturk became the prime minister, he dedicated the day to Turkey's youth - the future.  The day is usually celebrated with ceremonies commemorating Ataturk and aspects of Turkish culture and its youth.

Holidays in Turkey are somewhat fluid.  I never know until the week of an extended holiday whether the government will grant an extra day off, or a half day, or a whole week.  I can't figure out how people plan for holidays either because bus, train, and plane tickets are hard to get during these times, not to mention hotels.

This holiday on Monday has been cancelled.

Two days ago there was an explosion in a mine that trapped hundreds of workers in Soma, Turkey.  Many were able to get out, but they are still trying to rescue trapped workers.  Some were killed with the blast, but more were killed from the ensuing lack of oxygen and smoldering fumes.  There is little hope of rescuing anyone else.  The incident has sparked anger built up at the poor working conditions in Turkey, issues of health and safety, and has simply refueled the discontent against the prime minister and parliament.

The government has called the nation into morning for the 280+ workers that died in the accident.  Many students and teachers today came to school dressed all in black.  It made the sadness of the incident more present.  More tangible.  This wasn't something just on TV - this was our country, our people, or brothers and sisters suffering.  And we were mourning with them.

I think so often we walk around in shock, and we talk about the incident with wide eyes and wonder and anger.  Sometimes we are moved enough to want to do something about it - but how often do we stop and mourn?  Those near the disaster create shrines of flowers, photos and candles - but those far from the disaster share the loss too.  Some write letters, some send money, and some create drives in their community.

But what if we all just stopped, and first gathered mourn?

Imagine if America called it's nation into mourning after such incidents.  Floods, tornadoes, earthquakes, oil spills, shootings, bombings . . . Take these images out the TVs, out of the newspapers and internet, and make it personal.  Don't just lower your flag.  Where black.  These are our people, our nation.  This is our Earth.  The suffering and loss is something to mourn.  Not just t-shirts to where, articles to write, interviews to be had, photos to post - but it is my loss and your loss.  It is not the other side of the world.  It is my neighbor.  It is forcing us to mourn because it is our suffering.  It is letting us mourn.

make it go away

I realized something about my prayers in my greatest moments of fear and panic: my prayers are so childish.

They are embarrassing.

I was driving down the freeway with the kids in the back, on my way to meet Tolga.  Finally, a weekend away.  I was stocked up on toys and healthy snacks and some sweets.  Both kids had napped for the first hour-and-half and I was really trying to be alert and careful. 

I reached into the backseat many times.  Sometimes to push Tomris's head back because I was afraid with it falling forward she couldn't breathe properly.  Sometimes to hand a toy or snack or water to one of the two.  I did it many times and my mind was on being alert to the road, and careful... or as careful as one can be reaching into the back seat of the car while driving.  

What was I thinking?  

It was one of these occasions I was reaching back once again to give Tomris, or maybe Teoman something and pulling my arm back I rotated my shoulder right out of the socket.  

I screamed a muffled high-pitched "No no no no no no, Oh Jesus help me! Aaarrrgh!"

My back was arched, I was sitting very upright and resisting the urge to grab my shoulder with my other arm.   I just kept driving straight, I didn't let go of the peddle, I didn't turn - I was kind of frozen driving at 120kph.  Then I forced myself to breathe and told myself to not crash and tried to focus on getting off the highway.  The shoulder of the freeway was dangerous and I wasn't sure if I could make it to the next exit and lots of scenarios were going through my mind - but when I lifted my eyes off the road directly in front of me I saw that there was an exit in 1000 meters.  I hit my hazard lights at some point and begin pulling over and slowing down.  

The exit was one of those really long (torturous) exits that lead to a toll booth.  I was in the middle booth and saw police cars and a station and slowly pulled over into the last parking spot.  A civilian had just come out and was watching me - and I couldn't give him any indication of my trouble.  I couldn't take the car out of gear, or honk the horn, or unlock the door - I was just frozen.  I tried showing him with my eyebrows that were hidden under sunglasses - he got the point anyhow that I needed help and called the police over.  

They came over and I managed to unlock the door and I don't remember what they said, but I told them right away - olmus çiktii.  The one policeman called 112 right away - the others opened the back to check on the kids.  Tomris, amazingly wasn't crying.  Teoman was calling them abi and saying "Anne. Oof! Oof!"  Another policeman called Tolga.  He kept telling Tolga to come slowly, that they would take care of us - but Tolga was near the freeway himself, and sped the whole way.  

I have dislocated my shoulder many times, and it doesn't get easier, or less traumatic, or less painful.  It's always terrifying. 

I could have been miles away from an exit, hospital, and orthopedist - but I wasn't.  I was 10 minutes from a government hospital that had an orthopedist.  The policeman followed the ambulance with my car and children.  The ambulance worker who helped me was kind and patient - impressive as I was neither kind or patient.  He said, "Do you trust me?" I said no.  Because I know what comes next.  Forcing a sling on me, a bumpy ride on the ambulance, the stretcher wheels banging down, the bumps in the seams of the doors, the doors themselves if they were not careful. Transferring me from one stretcher to another.  Every movement excruciating and the muscles spasming more and more with everything so tight ... and then the pulling begins.  "Trust me," the doctor orders.  And I can't trust him because I know what he's going to do - he's going to pull one direction, another person will pull the opposite, and it may or may not do anything - so they will pull harder.

They did not give me any pain medications - I'm not sure why.  Teoman and Tomris were sitting on the bed near me and the room was full of people.  The kids seemed a little shocked.  I could only glance at them now and then, and I was stressed because of them.  I was mostly worried about Tomris because of her fear of strangers and it was probably time to feed her.  At some point she began to cry.  And at some point they took the kids out of the room - I'm not sure when, but I could hear Tomris crying.  The doctor who had been pulling on my arm had relieved some of the tension - but gave up because he said the muscles were to hard and they would put me under general anesthesia.  At that point - everybody left the room.  A nurse came in with Tomris, crying.  I tried to smile at Tomris, and she smiled with a desperate laugh and lurch for me.  The nurse set her next to me, but Tomris began crying again because I couldn't hold her.  So she picked her up and took her away.  

And then I was alone.  

No doctors. No nurses. No children. No husband. No pain meds.  

I wish I could say I was strong, or stoic, or sacrificing my pain for the kids.  But I'm pretty sure I was whimpering. Begging for help and all of that not so heroic stuff.  

I heard Tolga's voice.  He's popular wherever he goes.  I heard Tomris's cries stop immediately.  I heard laughing.  Tolga came in a few moments later carrying both kids.

Always my hero.  

They brought me upstairs, tried to move me once more to another bed and I yelled in pain.  They anesthesiologist took a phone call from his wife and left the room because I was so loud.  My doctor said "forget it, we'll do it right here."  The nurse started injecting the serum and then they were wheeling me away again.  At some point, I had been knocked out and my shoulder put back in - but I hadn't even noticed the time had passed.  In fact I thought it didn't work, or maybe it was a "conscious sedation" and it wasn't working either because I was still in pain.  I was thinking to myself, they are still not going to be able to put this in. And I told Tolga, but he told me they were finished, and that's when I realized my arm was straight.

Tolga drove me and the kids back to Ankara.  Our nanny called that night to see how my road trip with the kids had gone.  We told her what happened and while we had given her Monday off, she said she would come and help on Monday.

In retrospect, everything that happened was miraculous: we didn't crash, I was taken care of, the kids were taken care of, and Tolga made it. 

I had no blood work done, no pain medications given, no x-rays done - they hadn't even taken off any of my clothes.  It was the fastest it had ever been done.

I always pray in these situations.  (Who wouldn't?)  I pray for Jesus to come and to help me, but I realized for the first time today that what my heart is actually praying is - oh Jesus, make it go away. Fix it.  Take it away.  Reverse time, this is not/cannot be happening. 

I've always been big on pain avoidance.  I'm against suffering.  And I protested many times in my heart whether suffering through labor or - for that matter - Jesus' suffering on the cross is really necessary.  Everything in my being rejects the idea.  I am appalled at the suffering others go through and I have a very hard time listening to justification of suffering.  I can't watch violent movies or even the news - if I catch a scene, or overhear something terrible it haunts me.  I think most people just say, "That's terrible." And they shrug there shoulders, shake their head, and move on.  I can't stop myself from imagining the details of the suffering.  Ugh.  I am sure - if one of these horrors I see happened to me I would be screaming-  no, no, no Jesus!

I had a dream once that I was leading some parents into identify the body of their child - a burn victim.  One of the most grotesque and painful injuries I could imagine.  I went to the foot of the bed, but I shielded my eyes as to not see the body.  I waited for the parents, and accidentally saw the girl's foot and shuddered.  Then the supposedly-dead-girl sat up in her bed and screamed an inch from my face "LOOK AT ME!"  

And there was no way over my dead body I was going to look at this resurrected burn victim screaming in ear.  I had my eyes closed tight and I was trying to out-scream her.

The scream made my whole body vibrate with fear and I woke up shaking and my ears ringing.  I jumped out of bed, turned on the light, and couldn't sleep or hardly think of the dream for a long time.  

It was was YEARS before I even considered the meaning of the dream.  Not because I forgot, because I was afraid.  But I have become more sure as the years go on - it is an embodiment of my refusal to look closely at suffering.  

I was always really afraid to have a baby - I know most women are - and I supposed most women feel as if they are exceptionally afraid.  The fact that millions of women had suffered this only baffles me, not comforted me.  Labor was the consequence of sin in the Garden of Eden - so how do so many women justify this pain as "worth it"?

And then I had Teoman and I still couldn't comprehend the idea that suffering was justified - but it did open my mind.  Until that point, I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that something so beautiful and pure should be the result of such pain and suffering.  Then, a bigger realization: I brought this beautiful and innocent baby into a world full of pain and suffering.  What had I done?  How could I have been so cruel and thoughtless?  I would do anything to save this child from pain and suffering.  

The thought hasn't justified suffering for me - but it's made it more understandable.  And Jesus' night in Gethsemane more human.  His closest friends couldn't understand his suffering.  He felt alone.  He was alone.  He was stressed and probably afraid, like anyone of us, thinking of the the suffering to come.  Jesus prayed for God to take it away, in a sense.  He wasn't immune to these feelings.

We are not alone in these feelings.  

And once the suffering was finished the joy of our son, and later, our daughter has merged the two somehow.  It has made the short cost of their birth nothing.  I was afraid to have Tomris as well - but I was excited too.  It IS a miracle.

My shoulder problems are still terrifying in the midst of it, and I have yet to learn how to handle it gracefully.  I'm not sure I ever will - but I hope that my prayers will change, because "make it go away" may be a natural response, but maybe I can be more brave  . . . I'm just not sure what that looks like.  

Because, terrifying things happen all the time to people all around us.  It's not going to go away.  Things could be worse.  Things might get worse.  Am I really ready to look into the face of this burnt corpse?