Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts

May 10, 2013

Mamá de dos lugares

Ayer tuve dos momentos de confusión y no fue debido al vértigo que he tenido por las ultimas tres semanas.
El primer momento fue por la mañana cuando unas amigas me invitaron a reunir con ellas y los pequeños este domingo que viene. Dijeron algo como "porque el viernes es día de las madres." Pensé, queeeé? El domingo es día de las madres. Y así es, en los Estados Unidos, el segundo domingo de mayo. Pero yo vivo en México, y rápidamente recordé que el día de las madres es el 10 de mayo, lo cual es hoy este año.
Luego, estuve trabajando mucho mas tarde que debía, cuando dos compañeras mexicanas me mandaron un mensaje por Facebook diciendo "Felicidades en tu día mañana!" Y de nuevo me quedé así como, "mi día? de qué hablan? a poco creen que es mi cumpleaños?" Pero esta vez la sensación de confusión desvaneció mas rápido cuando me di cuenta que estaban hablando de día de las madres. 
Si preguntas porque me cuesta tanto recordar que 10 de mayo es día de las madres aquí, puedo decir que por un lado, aunque he estado en México por casi siete años, solo he pasado dos días de las madres como madre aquí, antes de ayer, porque mi hija aún es chiquita. Así que aún no es un día festivo a que me acostumbro ser celebrada personalmente. Y por el otro lado, mi esposo es una persona muy buena, pero por la manera que sus papás le criaron, no tiende a celebrar mucho los días festivos.
Pero les dije gracias a mis amigas de todas formas, y me quedé impactada que unas mujeres jóvenes, sin hijos propios, tomarían la iniciativa para felicitarme aunque no somos familiares. Incluso observé que las mujeres felicitaron las madres de cada una, en un intercambio mutuo de aprecio para las madres que dieron vida a sus amigas. 
Lo último fue algo que jamás he observado en mi país de nacimiento. En Estados Unidos, en mi experiencia, todos sabemos cuando es Día de las Madres, pero celebramos a nuestras propias madres, tal vez abuelas o una tía. Al recibir los afectuosos saludos de parte de mis amigas por ser madre, me quedé pensando en las diferencias de las dos culturas. Llegué a la conclusión que, como había pensado en tiempos anteriores cuando mi hija era recién nacida, que de ciertas formas, ser padres en un país como México tiene ciertas ventajas.
Claro que aún existe el machismo y la desigualdad. Sin embargo,las mujeres han luchado en todos ámbitos a través de las generaciones y yo he observado a más y más padres ayudando con la crianza de sus peques como nunca antes, y eso ha sido una experiencia satisfactoria. 
Incluso hay un fenómeno que nunca deja de impresionarme cuando lo veo: niños adolescentes caminando por las calles agarrando la mano de su madre, o con su brazo en el de ella, cercanamente a su lado. Yo recuerdo en Estados Unidos, siendo adolescente, lo mas lejos de tus padres que puedes estar, mejor. Al ver los niños teniendo tanto aprecio, tanta ternura para sus madres, me siento un alivio sin explicación, y creo que tiene que ver con la esperanza que, posiblemente, mi hija podría no rechazarme tanto como los adolescentes Estadounidenses tienden a rechazar sus padres cuando lleguen a ese edad. 
No tengo las respuestas para explicar las diferencias, y estoy segura que hay otros factores que afectan el balance entre ventajas y desventajas de ser madre en cada una de las culturas. Pero estoy agradecida que tengo la oportunidad de ver otro modelo que él que siempre viví al otro lado. Y aunque ahora estoy muy lejos de mi propia madre, tendré aún mas aprecio por el rol que tuvo en mi vida y mas aprecio por el ciclo qué decidí seguir al tener mi propia hija hace casi tres años.
Les doy las gracias a las dos, a toda la gente que me han apoyado en ese trayectoria. Siendo una madre no es algo fácil, pero es uno de las mejores decisiones que he tomado en mi vida. Ser madre coincidió con muchas cosas nuevas para mí: llegué a ser coautora de un libro de nuevo, conseguí ciudadanía mexicana, y empezé a trabajar mas, para sacar mi familia adelante. Siendo madre me ha impulsado hacer todo lo que hago con más pasión porque ahora no solo tengo una idea teórico de dejar una huella en este mundo, sé que cada cosa que hago será trasmitida a mi hija y quiero que ella tenga la oportunidad de vivir en un mundo lleno con más paz y belleza que violencia y destrucción. Y por eso agradezco cada día que he tenido la bendición de ser no solamente una hija, pero también una madre—independientemente de si el conjunto de felicitaciones sucede a través de dos dias o sólo uno. 

April 16, 2012

A Time for Growth

Time has a way of flying even faster than normal when you get older, and as I've found, especially when I had a baby. What I once noted by benchmarks such graduations, new jobs, weddings, etc. is now measured at a much more accelerated rate. Weeks counted during pregnancy, and then inches and pounds of growth in the first year, all her new behaviors and new words become my new daily reminders of the passage of time. Her growth has almost entirely absorbed my mental attention, except that I also have a partner and work—two aspects of my life that were everything to me before I had a child. Making space for everything has become the new challenge, quality time for my partner, for myself, for everything else that I love to do besides raising my daughter.

The other night I mentioned to a friend and to my husband that one thing I really miss from our single days in California was going out to clubs to go dancing. "There's a time for everything," he replied, which I interpreted as he'd given up on the idea of ever doing that again, in contrast to me, who still holds the hope that we'll carve out that time for ourselves again even if it's not as often as before. But I held off on applying that pressure to an already overworked Dad. "Well, not like there's any great clubs for us to go here anyways," I joked.

Last November, when my daughter was barely over a year old, I had a medical emergency that, for economic reasons, led me to take on some part-time work in addition to writing Amor and Exile. Since then, my daughter is now a year and a half old and I haven't written a single new chapter in the book. It was a difficult task, holding off on writing for what felt like such a long period of time. Nonetheless, I have no regrets about my decision to make us a two income family. Working outside the home forced me to streamline my schedule and reorganize priorities. In addition to swimming twice a week, it gave me some sorely needed time to myself.

On the other hand, I found myself longing a little too much to "get back" to the projects I'd begun to establish since before she was born: finish Amor and Exile, and make progress on environmental projects such as our organic garden and local environmental education efforts. But I still wasn't ready for it to be one or the other—so I dropped down to three days a week, albeit longer hours two of those days, in order to see if I could fit a little more of everything into my life.

It seemed ambitious at first—but after two weeks of spring break where, instead of taking vacation, I worked hard on my next chapter and the garden while also continuing to teach English, I saw that I could indeed make advances in one area of my life without entirely foregoing another. It felt blissful to get back to writing, and the mantra "do what makes you happy" never felt so right, affirming what I suspected this past year, that writing has really gotten under my skin.

Now I'm nearing completion of my third chapter in our book, and we'll be back into collaborative editing in May. As if the silent hand of fate was at work as I simultaneously requested new growth in my life, in this first week of my new schedule, I've already got two appointments scheduled to explore some new environmental education opportunities in the community. At first I just felt really lucky, but I also know that they wouldn't have materialized if I hadn't come up with them as an idea in the first place. Making them happen will also come at a sacrifice—less time to work out, socialize, etc. But if the past is any indication of how good I'll feel knowing that I've actualized something I've set my mind to, I should be okay.

And when my little girl, who was not too long ago a little baby, turns 19 months this week, I'll be reminded that yes, it's often difficult to make the best decisions: it pains me when she cries when I slip away into my home office, but she also sweetly offers her babysitter a kiss goodbye and hugs me even tighter when we're back together. When I see her doing things, at such a young age, like diapering her dolls, reading with her feet, feeding the animals, hanging laundry or watering plants, pretending to talk on the phone, being kind to others, or just simply smiling or wanting to be with us, I also remember that, she pursues the things she most loves in life because she sees her mom doing the same. 

January 19, 2012

Temporary Sacrifices

I have too much going on with my new schedule, that includes a new part-time job, to expect much spare time, much less for blog posts. But given the fact that I spent almost a year turning on the writer in me, it'd be too much to expect that I could just turn that part of me off. When I sit in the armchair in my daughter's room, as I do twice a day for half an hour while I put her down to nap or to bed, the day's events and the context they occur in, interactions I've had, and observations I've made seem to spiral in and out until they start to connect and maybe even make sense or seem like less of a blur. Fairly regularly, I get these things I call "inspirations." Things I'd like to write about, if only I had time. But lately I don't. The regular litany of crazy things that happen here in Mexico haven't stopped happening, I just haven't had enough time to write about them. I've complained about this to several people, and everyone recommends jotting things down or recording them. Maybe if I could get over not being able to let my ideas take me where they want, and realize that this is just a temporary sacrifice of time, I could accept the idea of trying out a new memory device. But I know myself better. I am worried that I'll never get that luxury of time to write in any significant amount back, and I know how many thousands of sheets of paper of interesting things I've simply filed away to be used at a later time. They're called file folders and bookshelves. No, I became addicted to pursuing creative energy, and I am going through withdrawal. But like any labor of love, i.e. I have gone through childbirth and am parenting as I type, I also know that temporary sacrifices are required in order to get to the next stage of things. I told this to a friend who just found out she's pregnant and is worried about how things will go, at every step of the way. I said that even though pregnancy may at times feel unbearably difficult, every trial is a preparation for something bigger that's up ahead as a parent. I was either lying through my teeth or I don't like to take my own advice, especially when it applies to the rest of my life. I suspect it's the latter. 

November 6, 2011

Irony, Missed Celebrations, and Appendix Surgery

Just when I thought I was going to be happiest, celebrating, and relishing a rare opportunity for pure enjoyment, I got shot down. Not literally, but figuratively, by appendicitis.

It crept up on me unexpectedly, as I suppose it does for anyone who gets it. On Halloween night, Margo was working late, and I was still getting over what I thought was a 24-hr bug over the weekend. So we'd opted to replace going out trick-or-treating with the baby on Halloween for going out two nights later (Weds) to see the Dia de los Muertos altars downtown. I was also excited to celebrate receiving my Mexican naturalization that same day. So Margo came home early, and got himself and the baby ready, but I was still languishing on the couch.

What's wrong, he asked. I complained that my belly was so swollen, and I couldn't figure out what was going on with me. I looked up a few things online, and started to wonder if maybe I was presenting symptoms from an old Giardia infection I'd found out I had when I was 9 months pregnant. At the time, I couldn't take the medicine because of its potential danger to the baby, but since I wasn't showing symptoms, it seemed like a non-issue. Maybe it was still in my system. After the pain got worse, I finally accepted the fact that we weren't going out that night, except to get some medicine. The bumps of the road were intolerable, enough to make me wonder if it wasn't a mistake to not go to the ER. Back home, it got bad enough that I called my mother and mentioned it to a friend who knows a pediatrician, and both of them worried that it might be appendicitis.

Now worried myself, I called my gastroenterologist's clinic, the one who's seen me before for other issues (Mexico, unfortunately, has a rather unpleasant characteristic of causing plentiful GI problems). When I described it over the phone, relayed through the secretary, I was told to take a painkiller and wait until the morning. When I checked the compatability with breastfeeding, I discovered that the meds had been discontinued in the U.S and were not OK for lactation, so I toughed it out that night. There were a few intensely painful moments, but not worse than any pain I'd felt before in my life, so I was still optimistic that I'd be better by morning.

When I went in Thursday morning and the doctor checked me, he said he was pretty sure it was appendicitis, but he wanted to run tests to be sure, and put me in observation. I stayed at the clinic in a private room watching TV most of the day, and when he came in to check me again that afternoon, the clinical signs convinced him that it was appendicits. Even though appendicitis is technically a medical emergency because of the risk of rupture and infectious complications, and although my abdomen was quite swollen, the weird thing was, it didn't hurt as terribly as it had the night before but that was probably because I hadn't eaten anything in almost 24 hours. But he explained that some cases develop more gradually than others. The sign for him that clinched the diagnosis was localized pain upon pressure in my lower right abdomen, and more, severe pain upon letting go of the pressure, or Blumberg's sign, which indicated onset of peritonitis. I was in the OR less than half an hour later.

There was some initial confusion about whether I'd stay and be operated on at that clinic, or whether I'd seek surgery at the public hospital where I have free state insurance (Seguro Popular). But since I'd already waited so long and the doctor indicated it was urgent (if I went to the public hospital I'd likely have to wait again), and since it was my first surgery, which scared me, and I really wanted to be able to room in with my family (at the public clinics they separate you from your family), I decided to have it done at the clinic.

On the operating table, I got upset that it'd somehow been my fault. Hindsight is 20/20, but this view was still obscure. Even so, I wished there'd have been some way to prevent this, and felt something akin to failure. The nerves of being put under also crept in and I started to cry, blubbering that I ate well and I'd gotten this far in life without ever having been operated on, so why did this have to happen? But the assisting physician was a woman who spoke English, and she whispered, "It's going to be OK, it wasn't your fault. It could have been some seeds you ate!" At least partly, she was right—I did end up OK. As for what caused this, I may never know, and I may just have to leave that answer to the gods.

The practical moral of the story for me is that I may have to get more regular checkups (even for the rest of my family) to make sure sure we don't have any lingering or unknown infections. I also might have to trust more in the public medical facilities, for a variety of reasons, although I have an equal number of reasons why I'm still hesitant to do that.

As for getting over missing out on my celebrations and starting swim lessons, something I (with great difficulty) had recently carved out for myself (ironically, to improve my overall health) but won't be able to do until I heal, I can only chalk it up as an initiation rite of becoming a Mexican citizen. Oh yeah, and just to be safe, I better get my Day of the Dead altar up on time next year...don't want to take any more chances that I've pissed off any espiritus!

October 5, 2011

Coming Into My Own

The past two weeks have been a challenge because an old problem I thought I'd gotten rid of reared its ugly head. Since the night before my daughter's 1st birthday, I started having terrible lower back pain. Since the pain inevitably affects my life, I posted on my Facebook page that my back was out & what I thought was behind it—a psychogenic pain syndrome. Judging by the response (0 comments so far), either my friends and family think I'm loca, or this is too heavy of a topic for social networking.

But if I were crazy, so would be Jeannette Barber, John Stossel, Howard Stern, and Dr. John Sarno, M.D., as well thousands (if not millions) of people that this venerable but controversial NYU medical professor who developed the TMS theory believes the disorder affects every year. John Stossel, 20/20 correspondent, talks more about the pain syndrome here.

I've been having bouts of incapacitating back pain off and on since the spring of 2002. Back then, I thought my back pain was due to an on-the-job injury. I visited the doctor, who prescribed NSAIDs and bed rest. The pain became practically paralyzing. The MRI said I had bulging discs. The physical therapist prescribed exercises. The bodyworker helped me breathe deeper and visualize a protective shield. This went on for months. Then I saw an acupuncturist, who balanced my energy meridians. Ironically, the stress relief treatments worked better than the pain relief treatments. The massage therapist said I was tense. The chiropractor adjusted me and told me I had an instable SI joint. Still no long-term relief after four years. Finally in 2006, I read the book Healing Back Pain by Dr. John Sarno, which told me my back pain was psychogenic in origin: Tension Myoneural Syndrome.

Reading that book was the only thing that really reduced the length and frequency of my bouts of pain—once I really accepted its role in my life, I went an entire year without a major pain event, and when I did again it only lasted for days, when for the past four years, I'd have at least 3 bouts of pain that lasted from 1-2 weeks every year. To me, the book was the most powerful medicine I'd encountered so far.

On the TMS wikipedia site, TMS is summarized as "a condition in which unconscious emotional issues (primarily rage) initiate a process that causes physical pain and other symptoms. [The] theory suggests that the unconscious mind uses the autonomic nervous system to decreases blood flow to muscles, nerves or tendons, resulting in oxygen deprivation, experienced as pain in the affected tissues." According to Sarno, TMS manifests most commonly as back, leg, or neck pain, but can also lead to disorders such as Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS or colitis) and others. Sarno also considers fibromyalgia to be synonymous with TMS.  The personality characteristics of people who are most susceptible to TMS are, from the introduction to TMS wiki: perfectionists, people pleasers, very self critical, and very ambitious individuals.

This whole topic is both fascinating and embarrassing to me at the same time. Fascinating because although it's not the first instance where I've come in direct contact with the power of our mind, it's definitely the most in-my-face example of how my subconscious can control me, and how I can often take control of my own pain. Because of this, I've made great strides with this and other difficult aspects of my life.

However, telling people that I believe I "have this" condition can sometimes still be embarrassing for a couple reasons: One, there's still that stigma against mental disorders in both the United States where I'm from and in Mexico, where I live—in both countries a psychological condition is often seen as an imagined apparition (it's all in your head) or a personal debility. And there's a part of me, probably that very perfectionist, people-pleaser side, that doesn't want to appear weaker, or anything less than "on top of" my own issues, no matter how hard things get. I can remember a time in high school when we used to mock the concept of psychosomatic disorders, i.e. people who "do it to themselves" or "bring on their own problems." Kids are cruel, adults pretend not to be, but many of us hide our true feelings, which sometimes makes it harder for us to be genuine with each other (or even ourselves). But let's face it—all of us have struggled with unpleasant emotions—anger, jealousy, sadness, frustration, or worse— for our entire lives. To deny it would be ingenuous at best.

Second, I was trained as a biologist and a skeptic in the scientific tradition, and Dr. Sarno's TMS theory is more controversial—it smacks of pseudoscience. Although many prominent alternative physicians support his theory and believe it could relieve a large burden on the payout system for Workers Compensation (of which I was a part of, and back pain sufferers are a majority recipient), Sarno acknowledges that the vast majority of the medical community rejects his hypothesis. This is mainly because a major clinical trial has not been performed. Some researchers claim that his education program, which teaches people that their subconscious repression of unpleasant emotions leads to pain and that learning about the process can alleviate pain, is merely placebo effect.

On the other hand, I have a very open mind. It doesn't surprise me that it's not only hard to test for this effect, but that there's a lot of money to be lost on the chronic pain industry were this theory to be proven (for example I avoid long term use of painkillers).  Just because something hasn't yet been definitively proven through clinical trials doesn't mean it can't exist. Great strides are being taken to demonstrate through Western medicine what Eastern medical traditions have long since known—the intricate mind-body connection and the importance of approach to life in health issues. For example, Dr. Dean Ornish who showed that coronary artery disease could be reversed not only through a vegetarian diet, but also through meditation.

For many years I've self-diagnosed and treated with diet, herbs, and vitamins, and normally I've had a great track record—I'm usually in very good health. But when you're having a recurring problem and it comes down to the nitty-gritty of getting proper professional support with it, it can be a lot harder to heal when you're doing it on your own.

Which might be why, even though I haven't had a bout of back pain in almost two years, I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm still struggling with this problem. August 2007, February 2008, and December 2009 were the last times I had TMS-type symptoms. In Dec. '09, I had a short-lived bout of back pain that both disappeared as soon as I figured out what was stressing me out. Since that was the last time I had actual back pain, I figured I was "cured."

But now I'm realizing that there were two other things that happened since then that very well could have been TMS in disguise: a brief bout of IBS in October '09, severe morning sickness in early '10, and hip pain that started five months after I gave birth and worsened daily until two weeks ago when it suddenly disappeared and the back pain started.

I'm going to save the story of how my hip pain progressed, how I thought it might be a degenerative joint problem, how it "coincidentally" morphed into back pain (and then back again a few times), why I became convinced that it was TMS after all, and what I think I need to do to get "back on track" for another time. But suffice it to say that I have my work cut out for me, in terms of coming into my own, yet again, and finding a way to heal myself.

Because I know I have something to learn from this struggle, and I don't want to needlessly miss out on another moment of enjoying my life.



August 30, 2011

Milestones Along the Road to Normal

Several milestones are happening at this time for my family. Almost a year has passed since our daughter was born. My Mexican naturalization is impending. It's been almost five years since we arrived in Mexico. We need to wait out a ten-year period before we're able to apply for any waivers or pardons on the way to applying for a visa for Margo to legally re-enter the U.S. So in other words, we're "halfway there."

To me, it feels both ironic and "just right" that a lot of these milestones run together. One of the things I used to say before we moved to Mexico, when people listened in horror that we had to wait at least 10 years before we could even apply for his visa, was "if I can last ten years in a foreign country, I may not even need or want to move back."

If you had asked me about that statement the first year, or even my third year here, I'd be hard pressed to imagine being able to stick out even the first half. Even though I was blessed with all sorts of opportunities like building my home, I couldn't see the forest for the trees because of the stress of adjusting culturally. Life was inevitably never going to be the same, and that took time to accept. Reinventing myself professionally was and is an ongoing process, something I'm still working toward feeling comfortable about (no pun intended). Even into my fourth year here, when I fantasized about having a child but couldn't visualize what it would be like, finding out I was pregnant was a crisis for me until I got a caregiver support network in place.

Motherhood brought on a second round of social opportunity, different than the first one I experienced in 2008 when I first started meeting expats here. Several new friends were made through mom's groups—it still amazes me that my daughter led me to be more social before she was even born, and that continues now that she's here. Befriending a couple in town who're here for the same voluntary deportation and "life on hold" problem as Margo and I, made me realize how much I have to offer in terms of just plain "been there" kind of advice.

Now, having made it to "halfway," not just us, but us with a baby in tow, feels like a major accomplishment. Even though we still have our ups and downs, with downs that can still often feel fairly low, the ups are getting more frequent and the spaces in between feel more "normal." My therapist and other friends have always wondered out loud to me: what is normal, anyways, Nicole? A book I read about the emotional adjustments that occur before, during and after pregnancy even has a chapter entitled "The New Normal." The word is often used to refer to an average state of being—an elusive social construct that is often mentioned but rarely achieved.

In my case, "normal" invokes a happier, calmer existence—a state that I've often experienced but couldn't always count on. You could say that distance from family, friends, and the comforts of my homeland, things I miss in NY & CA; contribute to a feeling of disorientation when faced with things that throw me for a loop here, such as a lack of law enforcement, cultural differences, or widespread appreciation for nature that I cherish so much.

And yet, as anyone who's had children or has lived a long-term traumatic situation knows (just for the record, although they're in the same sentence, I don't consider the former to equal the latter!), patience can go a long way in softening your response to life. Even though I hated to admit it before I finally decided to have kids, just the simple act of aging and maturing can increase your capacity to tolerate certain things. Or even to let things happen themselves, maybe with your assistance, but without your direct control. Sort of how the revered and controversial Sikh guru Yogi Bhajan says: "patience pays."

So I find myself incredibly grateful for all the things that have occurred in my life that have gotten me to this point: having the courage to move far from home despite how painful it can often be, having been able to see through the most frustrating moments of adjusting to a new country in order to stay with my husband, even opting to obtain naturalization in that country...having had our daughter, and the good fortune to have a wonderful partner who wants to raise our daughter with a much different relationship than he had with his own father.

I'm grateful for the transformation I was able to make as a very scared, tentative, worrisome expecting woman into a confident, loving mother who makes mistakes but knows that my love for my daughter is the most important thing. I am grateful for the little things. I am grateful that I know that I'll continue to be more and more so as the years go by.

It dawned on me that anyone who's been transplanted around the world or even from one side of town to the other could be grappling with these same feelings. I realized that I knew more than just a few folks with binational family living situations and similar interests, and started an online group with the hope it might connect some of us, or even grow. It might spark something, it might fizzle, but at least the seed was planted.

Which leads me to believe I could be experiencing the beginnings of yet another milestone that, since leaving the States, has felt difficult to regain—what my therapist refers to as "finding my tribe." It's rapidly moving target that's also constantly shapeshifting. But while simply throwing a frisbee around with friends at a beautiful state park this weekend, I declared that doing things like this made me feel "normal." They all laughed at me, but I have a feeling they know what I meant.

June 29, 2011

9 in, 9 out, and Northward Bound

A little over a week ago, my baby girl was nine months old. The date held a lot of significance for me, whether it was because she'd spent an equal amount of time in the womb and out of the womb, because all the pregnancy fitness magazines say you should expect it to take at least that long for you to get your pre-pregnancy body back (I don't quite), or that she's got one more season to go til she's a year old.

Enthused by the auspicious-feeling date, I told Margo it was high time we pulled that placenta we'd saved from the birth, which had been hiding out in the freezer ever since. You may not have known that some cultures consider the placenta a deceased twin. Or that there's a Chinese medicine custom of consuming it in capsules for post-partum or menopausal complaints. Many people give no thought to the fact that many placentas simply fall down trash chutes after birth. Whereas we didn't feel quite the same as the traditional cultures do about our placenta, we also didn't have such little regard for it as to let it get hauled off to the garbage.

So we settled for something in the middle. We said a few words and planted it under a tree in our yard. When I told my midwife friend in San Miguel, whose website was where I learned about the above customs, she said "Cool!" When I told my mom, she said, "Ohhh." (Or was it "eww"?) But no matter—it was our idea that it'd nourish a beautiful mesquite that the baby will someday climb in when she is older. So literally, it will help her put down roots in what's a new land for her maternal lineage (I was fourth-generation Northern Forest girl, she is a first-generation Semidesierto Queretana).

Now that that's out of the way, we're ready to show that we're both big girls. The baby and I will be flying up by ourselves to go visit her grandparents in those verdant landscapes of Upstate New York. I must put aside my misgivings about having to travel without her father, of having this ongoing, frustrating status as a binational family without certain rights and privileges. Although it's impossible for the bitterness to disappear entirely, I will have to find a way to enjoy my time there, for my daughter's sake. She must meet her northern great-grandmother, her uncle, great-aunts and uncles. I want to introduce her to the land where I grew up, where I was inspired to become an ecologist and a teacher. I want to do it with enough gusto to convince her too that it is worth continuing to dream about returning to someday, as an entire family. I pray that the universe will conspire to help me pull it off, because God knows it's not just about me.

May 8, 2011

Motherhood is Cultivating a Life

Every year Mothers' Day comes around, and like every other holiday, the stores rush to capitalize on our our well-placed intents to celebrate our mothers—all the female-friendly merchandise gets put on sale: jewelry, clothes, the like. I half-laugh, half-scowl when I see the stores here that put their entire line of appliances on deep discount. As if what Mama really desires is a mixer—I'm guessing a year's worth of her husband's help in the kitchen might be even more welcome—or maybe not, some ladies here are fierce about protecting their domestic territory—but I digress—some Dads deserve that dishwasher themselves!

Commercial ploys aside, although our attempts to fully express our appreciation for our mothers in a single day out of the year are bound to fall short, Mothers' Day does serve as a focal point for us to reflect on what motherhood really means to us—our regard for our moms, our feelings as mothers ourselves, or how "mothering" extends to more than just the biological maternal.

As a young adult, I spent ten solid years cultivating garden spaces, at some times growing more than 70,000 plants a year in a nursery, at other times raising fewer plants per year but guiding dozens of students, young and old, through their own process of discovery of birth, growth, and death. I observed the beauty of nurturing a being from seed to fruit, and how inspiring that nurturing role can be for everyone.

I owe my love for gardening to my own Mom—who in turn got it from her mom, my grandma. My mom nurtured me in nature's direction, although less didactic than I, regularly through her example—taking us to natural areas for walks. She could tell you I was a precocious child. A somewhat rebellious teenager. Something of an incorrigible daughter. My own husband's mother has a heart attack when a child of hers strays more than a few hours away in distance, and look what I've done to my own—I went and moved 3,000 miles away at the age of 20, then south to Mexico at 28.  These flights from the nest were driven by love, something by which we siblings were abundantly influenced, given my own parents' devoted partnership, as well as some underlying longing for warmer lands that they two would be hard pressed to deny they had a part in inspiring. Even so, the long distances have never ceased to challenge us in our adult relationship. But as she knows and I will remind her today, her influence has never left my side, no matter how far I have traveled!

In fact, it's come home to roost stronger than ever this year, as the family's biggest blessing in a long time was bestowed upon us this past year—the arrival of our baby daughter, and my parents' first grandchild. Although at some points during our relationship we doubted we'd ever have kids, when we did finally decide to, I knew the next happiest people of all would be my parents. Far from being a fulfillment of a "just wait 'til you have kids of your own" type prophecy uttered out of exasperation, motherhood has been everything I hoped for, and nothing of what I dreaded (well, maybe small bladders, labor, and lack of sleep is the pits). Not only has it given me a renewed appreciation for the sacrifices my own mom made for me—not just to birth me but to raise me—but it's taught me more about myself and life than I thought I still had yet to learn. Our daughter has brought out the best in us as parents—this account would be lacking if I didn't thank the Dads in my life (both my own and my husband) for their support in helping me to be the kind of woman and mother I want to be—and I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to be her life's guide.

Finally, motherhood is simply one greater step in a network of care for each other—a deeply personal, perpetual, unconditional commitment to the life of another. The very ground we walk on, the Earth we depend on, comes to mind—our global mother. In this light, I feel called to thank all the people who've supported us in our journey to new parenthood for their generosity, kindness, and good model. Even those who don't have children can play a role in our making a better world for our kids. I recently found out that a good friend, former supervisor/mentor, has made the intentional decision with her partner to not have biological children, but to dedicate themselves entirely as creative professionals in sustainability projects. I was humbled and moved by their awareness of the sacrifice it means that they will not experience that joy—but also that they are aware of the importance of their commitment to their lives' work. I felt a twinge of envy for the extent to which they can immerse themselves in projects that have such meaning for them, wondering myself when my energies would extend back out beyond the walls of my own home.

I even went so far as to lament the dilapidated state of my garden to someone, missing the sight of the fruits of my labors. At which point, they remarked that gardening is simply cultivation, and that's exactly what I've been doing for the last 17 months. Honestly, I don't know how that fact could get lost on me—that reminder filled me with optimism and affirmed what's true, that motherhood is cultivating a life. And what a beautiful flower she is, this daughter of mine. Must be how every mom feels about their child. It's a feeling that can't be confined to a single day—as everyone who cultivates lives on a regular basis knows—it's an honor and a privilege of devotion that never ceases.

February 19, 2011

Treacherous Territory: When a Mother Questions a Vaccination

It's never a good idea to stand between two warring parties, you're likely to get a grenade dropped on you.  That's precisely what's happening to me in my decision to delay the application of one currently recommended vaccine for infants.  On one side are the alarmists who believe all vaccines are unfounded for a variety of reasons, and on the other are the conformists who claim that anything with documented history and a scientific/medical association stamp on it must not be questioned.  Approach either side with a questioning mind and you're likely to get figuratively flogged.

I should start out by saying I am not opposed to vaccines in general.  I myself have received the full palette as a child and more than the typical ones as an adult, for having traveled to Venezuela and for wanting to practice preventative health care measures. I should also say that I have a good relationship with my daughter's pediatrician, one in which we discuss all options and I submit to most of her recommendations while she supports mine.  Perhaps most importantly, I take good care of myself during lactation and my daughter is a happy, healthy child- from conception to present- normal size, height, weight, not been sick, etc.  So I think I'm doing something right.

With that said, I am not afraid to go against certain mainstream recommendations.  I always do plenty of research, talk to my husband, family/friends, and pediatrician first.  I've mostly ended up accepting vaccines, but I have questioned one single vaccine's timing- .  After some thought, research, and discussion, I decided to delay its application until my baby is older.  I underestimated what a hubbub this would provoke.

The vaccine in question for me is Hepatitis B.  Honestly, while I was still pregnant and saw it on my daughter's "at birth" vaxn recommendations and recoiled, I hadn't even looked into the dangers of the vaccine.  It just didn't make sense to me why it was now being recommended for infants on the day of their birth, if it was a sexually transmitted disease, and when she was already getting so many other injections.  When my pediatrician explained that the concern was for mothers' ability to infect their infants or for babies in populated day-care situations, and I responded that I'd previously had the vaccination series and would not be putting my baby in day-care, she supported my decision to delay its application.

When she was first born, I was concerned that by attending a state/federal vaxn program, I might run into problems trying to get an extended/selective vaxn schedule applied to my daughter.   I talked to my pediatrician about getting them with her and she replied that whereas she supported my concerns, the advantages of going with the govt. vaxn program is that it's free and fresher vaccines.  I also read that some pediatricians advocate an extended vaccination schedule meant to lighten the load on immature immune systems and pacify worried mothers, such as that found at http://www.askdrsears.com/thevaccinebook/

It gave me hope that with luck we'd be able to get our wishes respected in our own process. So we decided to go for it,  The first time we went, at one month of age in October, we were able to selectively receive only the BCG (tuberculosis) vaccine (which, by the way, is not even considered a high incidence country, with only 11/100,000 case incidence- although its virulence is increasing because of individuals who begin treatment regimes but do not follow through with them due to a migratory lifestyle) and weren't forced to accept the Hep. B vaccine.

The second time we went, in November, we also were let off the hook with Hep B, and received only the first round of the pentavalent combo of Tetanus, Diptheria, Whooping Cough, Influenza B, and Polio at the recommended two months of age.  Unfortunately, they didn't have enough stock of the Pneumococcus vaccine which was also recommended at that time. So we had to wait a month and take her in December- causing the cycles to be staggered for the following months.

The January 4 month round of pentavalent went fine, except for the fact that our original clinic where we were assigned for free general medical services under the new Seguro Popular had become quite crowded and chaotic because they eliminated the turns procedure they had once had.  But since the govt. vaxn program advertises that you can receive vaxns at any clinic for free, we tried to go to another closer to our mother-in-law's house.  This was when more confusion began.  First, they wanted to know why we had gone there.  Next, they were concerned that the Hep B series had not been started, but ultimately relented when I reminded them that vaccines were voluntary, not obligatory.  Finally, they told us to go to yet another clinic in February, when she'd get her Pneumococcus booster.  So we did so.

That was yesterday.  Unfortunately we arrived at 9:15 am and were told all the turns for vaxns were finished- to come back Saturday am at 8:00 am.  So we got up at 6:00 am to be able to be in line early.  When we got there at 5 to eight, they were still readying the premises, dusting off desks and placing out vials of deparasitization antibiotics, which they also offered us after giving us a short talk about their benefits, which we politely declined.  There was only one woman in front of us, but it wasn't until 8:35 that they finally sat us down to register us.  There was a complaint that we were at the wrong clinic, and a complaint that we hadn't received the Hep B schedule. I repeated what I always do at the other clinics, but the head nurse was not having it this time.  Pardon me, but vaccines are obligatory, she said. OK, if that's really true, I thought, then why are folks not being fined for not bringing their kids in for vaccines?  In the end, they only applied the single Pneumococcus vaccine after she spoke to the head doctor and I promised I'd bring a letter to absolve them of any responsibility for us having skipped the vaccine.  She withheld our new vaccine card that they'd issued the baby for that new clinic, and told me we couldn't have it until we brought the letter.  Then told us we needed to go to the original clinic for all services.  Why, why, why?

Margo was angry that she withheld the card and sent us back to the original clinic.  I suspected it had to do with them not wanting to deal with my special requests.  Every clinic feels so uncomfortable (except, ironically, the original one downtown that first saw us but now has the unreasonably long lines) with my attitude.  I get treated condescendingly although I am very polite and firm.  I resist my sarcastic and arrogant urges, and remember this is just about my basic rights.  I am simply practicing my right as a mother (also educated as a biologist) to inform myself and choose intuitive, practical preventative care, like other mothers who question blanket vaccination like in http://mothering.com/jennifermargulis/tag/monkey-study.

However, on the way home, my usual rock of support, my husband, showed signs of wearing down under the constant pressures to conform to the government system.  After a brief shared bout of complaining where we agreed that the clinics aren't really as concerned with protecting babies as they are with covering their backs, his tactic suddenly turned.  Well, the real problem is that you don't want them to give her that vaccine, he said, essentially blaming me for this issue.  I got upset but then remembered a discussion about hospital procedures we had with our midwife after the birth itself.  Basically, because of a perceived hierarchy among the practitioners in the room (that diverged from how I'd hired them to act), and the fact that my husband and doula had not stood up for my requests about a position I wanted to be in, I had ended up being my strongest advocate while I was busy pushing out my baby, and that had upset me.  That's when they both confessed that here folks don't really feel comfortable standing up to authority. 

At first I reacted badly to his comment about my issues with this vaccine, but instead I decided to back myself up.  So I went online and found out that there is more to the issue than just my instincts that it's just a little too early to get the Hep B series applied.  Others share my concern that the implied necessity of the vaccine at birth is overblown, such as those shared at http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2002/01/23/hepatitis-vaccine-part-three.aspx.   Even so, there are still those who feel, quite vitriolically, that any attempt to question mainstream recommendations is unscientific (isn't that paradoxical?). Even though the issue will probably continue to resurface in various guises throughout my daughter's childhood, this has given me a little more resolve to try and not fall into either category- neither exceedingly alarmist nor conformist.   At least my headache has subsided somewhat for the time being.

January 3, 2011

Selected Blog Archives from 2006-2010 (Yahoo)

These posts encompass the time from when I first moved to Mexico with my husband Margarito, to our first winter with our daughter.  Together, they cover a lot of territory!

2006
2007
 2008
2009
2010