tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55141709752509883102024-03-14T00:09:51.062-07:00Our Life By The MediterraneanUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger389125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-69823000300738471822014-09-01T00:43:00.000-07:002015-05-06T00:43:35.951-07:00New life, new blog<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
After 18 months in the US, we came back to the Middle East in September, 2014. You can follow the adventures of our family on our new blog, <a href="http://kantandkids.blogspot.com/">Kant & Kids</a>.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-30440940242407010422013-06-19T00:17:00.001-07:002013-06-19T00:17:37.866-07:00Believe it or not, we are finally west bound!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My new passport never arrived in Beirut. But that’s OK,
because I got a ten year multiple entries US VISA in my current passport, so I'm good to travel. My new passport will be sent to the Swedish consulate
in Atlanta instead, and I can pick it up there. Because that’s
where our home will be over the next year: Georgia!<div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Most of our personal belongings are packed into a storage
closet in our apartment. Our suitcases are packed: clothes, shoes, my Swedish cheese cutter - the essentials. I have a few loose ends to
tie up today – finish up the kitchen, say good bye to friends, pick up August’s
passport (he had to get his residence permit renewed in order to be allowed to
leave the country, go figure), pack up the baby bed, etc. But if nothing
catastrophic happens, we’ll be on a plane tonight.<o:p></o:p></div>
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First we’ll visit friends in Boston, then family in Indiana,
and then we’ll drive down to Georgia to start our new adventure. </div>
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<a href="http://westbounds.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Follow us here!</a> </div>
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(This blog will resume once we are back in Lebanon, a year from now.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Happy summer!</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-61381676366435132942013-06-15T08:28:00.001-07:002013-06-15T08:28:53.314-07:00Sign of life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am here, we're great; in the middle of transferring to the US for a year - with a baby and three boys, right? - but otherwise fine! Ha.<div>
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I dare you not to smile while looking at these pictures.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpu0s_zPdhxM-MO7W9iWj5bOAiETUUM3UZbNAXWsTDfzeeDiEsFAaauT8kWCf9XvGFpBSAKi0PYlcyevCYbvLuQCTUtZtXT9uLrzenjMdH87aE003TV2KvGC4FGEwAfW9EJZ2r-6Pb33Zt/s1600/max+smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpu0s_zPdhxM-MO7W9iWj5bOAiETUUM3UZbNAXWsTDfzeeDiEsFAaauT8kWCf9XvGFpBSAKi0PYlcyevCYbvLuQCTUtZtXT9uLrzenjMdH87aE003TV2KvGC4FGEwAfW9EJZ2r-6Pb33Zt/s320/max+smile.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Anyways.</div>
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He's smiling. A lot. Every time I look at him. Which is ALL the time. Which makes it very, very hard to pack. Because, you know, he smiles every time I look at him... :)</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-13062487634219069792013-05-31T08:39:00.003-07:002013-05-31T08:47:32.518-07:00Attached to physical possessions much?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Today I cleaned out our closets.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When you move a lot, like we do, you can’t keep stuff. You
can’t keep clothes you don’t wear, thinking you might wear them one day, or
your kids might, and you don’t hang on to things “just in case,” because
shipping fees are really not favorable like that.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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So since we are going to the US for a year and have to pack
everything away that we are not bringing, I went through all our clothes today.
The idea was that we’d only keep things we were prepared to bring to the US,
and anything else would have to be pretty darn special to be kept in a box. We
already don’t have a lot, but this means that the few extra items that we do
have, are extra hard to part with. But, you know; they're only things (or in this case, clothes). So I was doing pretty well, until I got
to Maximilian’s drawer.<o:p></o:p></div>
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He’s two months old now, and it’s a steady +80 F degrees
outside, which means there are clothes that he has grown out of, and there are
clothes that although they fit right at the moment, he will never wear, because
it’s too hot. One of these items is the very first baby suit I ever bought. I
was pregnant with August, our oldest, and although I didn’t know the gender or
our baby, I had a feeling it might be a boy, so I got this soft, very nice baby
blue outfit at Inno department store in Leuven. I thought that even if it wasn’t
a boy, a baby blue outfit would at least be an original first outfit for a
girl. Well; August was a boy and he wore it all throughout those first couple
of months, and then William wore it, and Abraham, and Maximilian wore it a few
times before it got +80 F outside. And now, I don’t need it anymore, because I
will never have a baby again that small.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And as this thought struck me, I stopped stuffing clothes into
charity bags and sat down with the outfit on our bed, touching it, smelling it,
and I caught myself shedding a tear. A sentimental, silly tear.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Our last baby. Ever.<o:p></o:p></div>
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No need to keep any of our baby newborn clothes any more; not even the ones that have made it all this time, through moves across three
continents. The blue outfit, along with the Peter Rabbit one that my friend Ann
got me; and that grey one I picked up when I was due with William – they are
not needed any more, ever again, by us. </div>
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Oh my.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Just as I looked over at the charity bag, my husband walked
in and saved me, “Why don’t we keep just that one, or maybe one for each boy?
They can maybe use them for their children, or if not, at least we saved the
outfits for them, and they can throw them away during their own transcontinental move?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yes! Leave it to our kids to take care of our most
sentimental items. Thank you. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I put it in a box.</div>
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Do you keep things around? Why?</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-66321930239388964792013-05-30T12:44:00.001-07:002013-05-30T12:52:44.238-07:00You want to WHAT?!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Submitting to my wonderful OBGYN’s<s> hints that it was time
for me to move on and bother another doctor</s> recommendation to see a
specialist, I finally went to an appointment today with an expert in wound
healing: a plastic surgeon. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I don’t know exactly what I was expecting. I was afraid he
would say that there was nothing he could do, however my OBGYN had indicated
that he might be able to cut away the bad scar tissue in the shape of a vertical eye,
and sew me back up again, much nicer than before, so I think I was hoping for
that. I even glanced at my calendar on my way out, to see what day next week
would work best for us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The plastic surgeon seemed like a good doctor – young,
intelligent, friendly, confident – much like my OBGYN. After pulling out a
couple of stitches that had made their way up, out of my abdomen, and were
poking out of my skin (I know, right?! I mean, really?!) and inspecting my
wound, he however gave me some pretty bad news: he can’t do anything until I am
100% and beyond healed, which will take at least six months.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Six months of looking like a freak?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sigh.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And I won't even be here in six months, so it will be
more like in a year.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Double sigh.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But then he told me the good news: when I come back in six
months or a year (even better, he said) he will give me a full tummy tuck,
getting rid of the scar entirely. Our insurance will pay for it, because of my
wound history. I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t even sure what a tummy tuck
was, and his brief description did not entice me, since surgery right now isn’t
exactly at the top of my Things I Want To Do list. But then on my way home I
thought about it and how nice it would be not to have to look at this huge,
ugly scar all the time. I texted a friend who also has carried and given
birth to four children, and her response made me think that maybe it’s
not the worst outcome, <i>“A tummy tuck?! You are SO LUCKY!! I want one too!!!”</i> In
fact, I thought, if you ask any woman who bears the marks of multiple
pregnancies on her abdomen, “How would you like for me to give you a 25-year
old’s tummy again?” a lot of them would probably answer in the positive. Then I
ran into another friend who made all kinds of exciting exclamations when she
heard my plastic surgeon’s name. Apparently he’s quite famous in the region,
and people come from abroad all the time just to have him operate on them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So maybe it’s fine.<o:p></o:p></div>
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What would you do?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-15015921576150250142013-05-28T03:08:00.002-07:002013-05-28T03:08:40.073-07:00Cyprus: veni, vidi, vici!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I was a little nervous; about checking in, about going through
passport control, about renting a car, getting to Nicosia, managing to pay the
passport fee at a bank, finding the embassy... Once we got to the airport and
through passport control however, I relaxed. This time I came armed with
a residence card for Max and his father’s signature, and was allowed to leave
with him - without my master/husband.</div>
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The flight went well, as did the car
rental. There was a moment there, however. Did you know that in Cyprus, people drive on the left side? Well, I didn't. Thanks for adding that, there, God. As if the whole trip wasn't challenging enough. I am very grateful for my friend, who so nicely came with me for
practical and moral support, because driving alone on the left side with a baby - who hates car seats - in a car seat in the backseat would have been... stressful.
It took both of our full concentration to navigate from Larnaca to Nicosia; my
friend did the actual practical steering of the car, while I directed, <i>“OK, to turn right, you have
to turn all the way over to the other side. There, aim for that phone booth!
You need to drive right past that sign! Stay on the left side! Here, over here! [gesticulating] Turn around the corner here, and follow the curb.” </i>It really was a
work for two. When we finally arrived at the hotel in Nicosia, it was late; we
were both exhausted and extremely wound up at the same time. After check-in we
went out for some food: pork kebab, tzaziki, taramasalata, Greek bread - and
then headed to bed. </div>
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I hadn't slept very well, still a bit anxious to get the
paperwork done in the morning, but everything went well. I applied for Max’
Swedish citizenship and a new passport for myself. The Swedish embassy on
Cyprus is really small, and the personnel was very friendly and helpful. We were
done and back at our hotel room a bit after 10 am, leaving some time for a rest
and packing before check out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Our flight was leaving in the evening, which left us an
entire afternoon to visit IKEA (we enjoyed some Swedish food and I bought wine
glasses) and go to the beach. It was crowded – a lot of Swedes and Norwegians,
burned like lobsters, drinking beer and swimming in the sea – but the sand was
soft and the water fresh. Even Max got to dip his little feet in the water. For
supper we tried finding a nice restaurant in Larnaca, but ended up driving to
the airport and grabbing a bite there. We were both tired and wanted to make
sure we had no problems getting home. When we successfully returned the car
without a scratch, my friend and I high-fived and hugged from joy and relief. The
rental guy looked at us funny. What an adventure.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was such a short trip, but it felt long, probably because
of the stress, and it was great to come home. I walked in the house with sandy
feet and a big smile, and Abraham yelled at me for going to the beach without
him, but the Swedish candy I had brought quickly made up for it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My new passport will not arrive for another couple of weeks –
it <b>should</b> arrive before we leave for the US, but of course I’m a bit nervous
about this – and my VISA interview at the US embassy is tomorrow. I’m praying that they will not give me a hard time and deny/delay my VISA because of my passport
situation. We’re anxious to start our adventures, and in light of recent events
(the rocket hits), we’d like to leave as scheduled. Wish me luck!<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-25694815386259369622013-05-09T06:20:00.000-07:002013-05-09T06:20:01.457-07:00It's always five o'clock somewhere<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It’s one of those days where I find myself cleaning up after
breakfast around 11 am – hours after anything was consumed - dead tired. How do they make such a mess every time they eat? When I
– to the soundtrack of yelling kids and a fussing baby - put the almost warm
milk back in the fridge (hoping it has not gone bad), I find myself eyeing the chilled cooking wine in the door. Oh sweet release.<o:p></o:p></div>
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***</div>
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I didn’t *really* consider having a drink of course, but I
thought it would be funny to write (if I ever got a moment); it’s the kind of
thing other blogging mothers of lots of kids write at times when things get a little too
crazy...<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-79174524638326188802013-05-09T06:05:00.000-07:002013-05-09T06:05:24.220-07:00Four boys<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
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You are not hearing from me much, because this baby will not
let me put him down. As soon as I place him anywhere – a chair, my bed, his
cot, in the car seat - no matter how asleep he is, he will cry within minutes.
In someone’s arms, he is the happiest baby ever. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a
strong advocate of baby holding/carrying, but sometimes I just need my hands,
you know, to help the other boys, or go to the bathroom, and although the boys
are always volunteering to sit and hold the baby, sometimes this defeats the
purpose if I’m for example putting Max down so that I can help them with their
school work.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Abraham has been a little more demanding than usual these
past couple of weeks as well. He’s generally so independent that sometimes it’s
easy to – almost – forget about him, but he obviously still needs me; not
enough mommy-time is reflected in his behavior. As for the older boys – they’ve
been the center of attention a bit lately since we’ve been trying to catch up
on school and get them motivated to work among all the distractions. It’s
difficult, I know – how can you work when a cuddly little cutie is yelling for
you to hold and kiss him all day long? - but they’re getting better at it.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-71355395048826768242013-05-06T12:39:00.000-07:002013-05-06T12:39:32.242-07:00Our perfectly constructed paperwork plan, our beautiful card house<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Last week our little baby’s passport was finally ready, and
my husband went to pick it up. As soon as I had it in my hand, I purchased
tickets for myself and baby to go to Cyprus. No, not as in “Yay, vacation time!”
tickets, but as in, “Next step in the paperwork process” tickets. You see, the
Swedish embassy in Lebanon and Syria is located in Damascus, and for obvious
reasons, this embassy has been closed since, you know, things got heated in Syria.
Now, because I only have a Swedish passport and because next time I enter the US I will want to stay for more than the three months the regular visa waiver program allows, I
have to apply for a visa before we can leave for the US, and to get a visa, I
need a passport that is valid for the entire visa period. My passport is due to
expire at the end of this summer. </div>
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In short; I need a new passport before I can get
a visa, which I need before we can leave for the US. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And to go get a new passport, I had to wait for the baby to be born, because remember how I’ve
basically been on bedrest since before Christmas? And then once the baby was
born I had to wait for him to get a passport, because obviously, I could’t travel
without him. </div>
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Once he had a passport I set up my trip to Cyprus, and then I went ahead and applied for a US visa, paid for the
application and got my visa interview (which can’t be changed). You see, it will take up to three weeks for me to get my passport, and there was a three and a half week wait list for the visa interview, so I would have my new passport just in time for the interview- and then I would get my visa in time for us to leave for the US as planned. It was going to work out perfectly.</div>
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Until this morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Last week when we got our baby’s passport we asked the
university to get his residence permit sorted so that he could travel with me. (I
remembered from our time in Cairo that it was very important the baby had an
entry stamp in his passport to leave, even though he was born in Egypt, because
they had just had some problems with adoption fraud.) Our AUB representative
said however that there was no time to get the residence permit sorted before
our departure because of the holidays last week, but that I could just bring
our baby’s birth certificate and passport, and that I would be fine to travel
like that. So I didn’t postpone our trip and this morning I got up at 4:30 am,
nursed the baby, changed my wound and took a taxi to the airport.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Check-in went well but I was stopped at the passport control
and ushered into a smoky, 60’s style office. Bare dirty walls, and a big poster
of Hariri with Arabic writing on it. They asked about the father of the baby.
Did he know I was traveling with the baby? At first I thought, “Surely they’ll
let me go in the end. I mean, I have the birth certificate right here, stating
in very offical Arabic writing that I am the mother of this child.” Soon it
became obvious however that they were not concerned about the baby being mine.
The rules and regulations they were following were clearly designed to prevent
women from leaving their husbands with their children. “Only the father can go
with the child,” the security official told me. I was informed that there was a
stamp that I could get at the general security building downtown, which would
allow me to travel with the baby. I showed them the birth certificate, and explained
to them that I really had to go – that I had been told I could. I would be
right back tomorrow. They said that they had no problem with me leaving, but I
couldn’t take the baby. This statement seemed just ridiculous to me. The baby
would have to come with me, since I’m his mom, right? He needs me, if nothing
else physically to survive. Literally. So what were they suggesting? That I
leave the baby? I couldn’t believe they were serious. Oh but they were. At some
point, I found that I had stopped thinking they were just giving me a hard time,
and realized that they were not going to let me leave. I felt a little like
Sally Field’s character in Not Without my Daughter in that dirty, bare security
office – not allowed to leave the country with my child without the presence of
my husband, the father, head of the family; the patriarch. My Sally Field
moment. I still tried to argue though, but a superior and several pleas later,
I was forced to go back through check-in, cancel my trip and return home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Our perfect plan, our card house, has collapsed.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-28796819738945328452013-05-06T10:26:00.002-07:002013-05-06T10:26:57.679-07:00Planning for our junior research leave<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometime during my pregnancy it came to our attention that
my husband’s junior research leave was coming up, and that we needed to make
plans for when and where we were going to spend this <s>free vacation</s>
opportunity. We applied for a few fellowships and research stipends, but thought
in reality that we had as much of a chance getting any extra money as we would
have winning the lottery. So we started planning for a more frugal one semester
visiting scholar position at a university close to family. Around the time the
baby arrived we had set dates, connected with a good university, and looked into
renting a home. We had also found someone to stay in our apartment for the four
months we would be gone. Since we were only going to be away for one semester
we didn’t have to move out, but could sublet, with our belongings remaining in
the apartment.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just when we were about to agree with a contact on renting
his house near our university of choice, my husband received an e-mail from a
reputable university in GA (to be disclosed later) offering him a one year paid
fellowship. What? …What?!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where do we start? First we had to get the approval from the
university for a one year instead of a one semester leave. Then we had to sort
out the housing situation, which worked out quite well – a visiting fellow at
AUB will rent our apartment while we are gone, and we can have it back when we
return. The only trouble is that we have to move out and put our belongings in storage
while away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We are currently trying to figure out how and where we can
store our belongings. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We have no idea how we’re going to pack up this apartment in
just a few weeks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We are looking for a furnished house to rent near the fellowship
university for 9 months. Not as easy as it sounds if your budget isn’t $2,700/month
plus utilities.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our family is searching for a used van that we can buy to
use while in the US. I have absolutely no idea how to buy a car, get it
registered and insured in the US, so thank God for family.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We are working on the paperwork needed for a family such as
ours to relocate to the US for a year (more on this in a different post). You
know how much I love paperwork.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We are in the process of buying tickets, with a return date
over a year from now. Scary.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there: stuff going on here, folks. Lots and lots of
stuff.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-8888822578986975952013-05-03T10:56:00.005-07:002013-05-03T10:56:51.925-07:00Time and Money<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
You knew that eventually I would
have to make this joke: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b>Having a baby is like being in a casino; you lose track
of time and money. </b></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Days go by when I just barely
manage, always a few steps behind. I sit down with the boys to start the school
week on Monday morning, then the baby needs fed and changed, Abraham needs new
clothes and a bath because he spent the morning <s>playing with dirt</s> watering
plants on the balcony, then I make food, do laundry, and next time I look up,
it’s Thursday evening, everyone’s hungry, there are no clean clothes, the house
is a disaster, the boys are behind on their math, Abraham is muddy, the baby
needs fed and changed, and I’m number 13 in line on the phone with the IRS.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just wrote this, and suddenly it’s
Friday evening. I’m telling you; it’s scary.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whatever budget we used to
maintain before this baby has been completely neglected pretty much since
mid-March. Gauze, saline solution, and bandages are very expensive, as are
diapers, wipes, and all the extra chicken I buy because I’m always craving
protein. All the paperwork (birth certificates, translations, passports, transportation to and from the embassy, visa) has probably cost us more than $1000 alone. We have
managed not to order in too much, but have not avoided it entirely. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A couple of
weeks ago my husband started hinting that maybe I felt well enough to start
taking on jobs again, but really, I don’t even have time for everything that
*has to* be done *right now* so sitting down to work has not exactly been an
option. Now I’m starting to feel the pressure, however. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Must. Get back. To
work.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-83515712920967358302013-04-27T05:14:00.000-07:002013-04-27T05:14:06.065-07:00Out of this alive<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was actually starting to think that it would never happen,
but by some miracle, over the past week and a half, we have managed to go from
postnatal chaos to some form of routine again, entailing full school days and on
time bedtime. I’m not sure how, to be honest, since nothing in particular has happened. We just... adjusted, I guess, and I regained some kind of control over
our lives. Don’t get me wrong; there’s still chaos - it’s just not omnipotent,
which means we get through most days in a – somewhat - similar fashion.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mental note to self: after the birth of next baby, don’t
worry about the chaos that follows birth. It will sort itself out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh wait. There won’t be any more babies. Pheuw.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-80190017154383749802013-04-18T02:00:00.000-07:002013-04-18T02:00:25.140-07:00Happy birthday!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
A little over a year ago, as you might recall, I started
changing my eating and exercise habits to lead a healthier and more energetic
life. I was reaching the end of my 30’s and decided that I wanted to run a marathon
before I turned 40, and that I wanted to celebrate my 40<sup>th</sup> birthday
looking (and feeling) great, somewhere special, like on a beach or in Paris. Maybe
my husband would even buy me jewelry? Turning 40 was going to be a big deal!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ha.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel like I was putting a prom dress on, thinking I was going dancing, when I should have been getting my wet suit on, ready for an afternoon in the Red Sea!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Obviously, I didn’t end up running that marathon, and I’m as
far from my ideal weight as I’ve ever been. I spent quite a portion of my 40<sup>th</sup>
birthday yesterday at the American embassy getting birth certificate and
passport paperwork sorted, and as every day these days, I endured a session of
unpleasant open wound care. I spent the rest of the day at home, inside. It was
a rainy and windy day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And guess what? It was a good day. I hugged my children,
nursed a beautiful baby, kissed my husband, had some good food, cake and a
glass of champagne. In light of what has happened over the past year, in the
past months and what we are going to experience over the next year, turning 40
was nothing – no big deal. I mean, really; we have a new BABY! and I just survived
a dangerous pregnancy and birth – a surgery. Plus we have some very exciting
times coming up (I will tell you more about this soon). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Turning 40? Completely overshadowed. By life. And a great one at that.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-87774332612670631542013-04-14T01:55:00.001-07:002013-04-14T01:58:52.399-07:00Bottle feeding<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As you know by now, we are
total hippie parents: we practice exclusive breastfeeding, baby wearing,
co-sleeping, etc. – all those annoying parenting techniques that are continuously
discussed in media and commented on by experts, parents, doctors and anyone
else with an opinion. As I’ve mentioned before, <a href="http://familyinlebanon.blogspot.com/2012/11/attachment-parenting-is-for-lazy-parents.html" target="_blank">our motivation is not always exactly based on any ideological beliefs, but could perhaps be attributed to laziness</a>.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In any case; our parenting
style has meant that we’ve never had any baby bottles in our possession – we’ve
never fed our babies formula, and we’ve never been in a situation where I’ve consistently
had to pump milk to be fed to the baby in my absence. Until now, when I have to
go to the hospital every day. It’s not like I’m gone for a long time – an hour
and a little more at most – but we’ve learned that no matter how little time I’m
going to be away, I should never leave the house without leaving some milk
behind. Maybe it’s a preemie thing, or maybe it’s just normal at this age – I can’t
remember – but it seems our baby wants to eat all the time, so even though I
feed him right before I leave, he still seems to get hungry while I’m gone. We
have a cheap hand pump that comes with a bottle, and it only takes me about 10
minutes to express 4 oz, so it’s not really any trouble (except after several days, my
wrists are quite sore from squeezing the pump!). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning I was gone
exactly 50 minutes, and when I came home, Courtney had changed the baby’s
diaper twice, fed him the whole bottle and lay with him until he fell asleep
(until they both fell asleep, actually). He stayed asleep for almost two hours
after I came home, leaving me time to clean up the house, vacuum, load the washer and
dishwasher, make a big breakfast, and spend some time taking care of my
neglected older boys (bangs were cut, clothes sorted, stories read, music
discussed, etc.). It felt like cheating, somehow: baby was cared for, fed and put to sleep AND I had all that time to go to the hospital AND catch up on other things.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-34193466471886396012013-04-12T12:19:00.002-07:002013-04-12T12:19:21.260-07:00Extended newborn stage<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t get me wrong; although our baby’s preemie behavior
sometimes worries me, I’m enjoying it to the fullest. The older boys so quickly
turned into babies, but this time – not only are we already appreciating every
moment more than ever, this being our fourth and last baby – we get to enjoy
the newborn stage for a few extra moments. The cutest little sounds, movements,
the tiny feet and hands, the curled up legs and arms, and that beautiful,
innocent “fart-smile” as we call it, which is only an involuntary reflex, but
oh so cute. All this usually vanishes between recovery, nursing, paper work and
everything else that happens right after the baby is born, however now, we are
blessed with an extended newborn stage. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Silver lining. Extra sweet edition.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-32452204257543222462013-04-12T04:22:00.001-07:002013-04-12T04:22:13.937-07:00A minor setback<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m really not sure what I said or did, but the surgeon I
saw yesterday obviously has some kind of set idea of what kind of person I am.
I came in with an infected, open wound in my abdomen, very tender to the touch.
He had me lie down on a bed, exposed my wound, got some kind of blunt scissors
instrument out, and said, <i>“Maybe another patient I would give some local anesthetics,
but I think you are fine?”</i> (I’m adding that question mark there myself, hoping that he
meant to pose this as a question, however in reality, there was no indication
that he might be asking me, and actually, what followed pretty clearly suggests
that he assumed I didn’t need numbing.) Without waiting for me to answer, he
started tearing the rest of the wound open (yes, TEARING, with his instrument),
and cleaning it out with hydrogen peroxide (which STINGS!) and gauze, all the
while instructing his students, hovering around me, to not<i> “be afraid to make
contact,” </i>(Ahh! You’re RUBBING the INSIDE of me!) and exclaiming,<i> “Yes, this
bleeding is healthy because it means the tissue is viable.”</i> (you’re making me
BLEED?!) My moans and silent protests were ignored. Eventually my surgeon was satisfied
with his students’ reactions and questions/answers and covered my wound with
gauze (wet-to-dry).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Imagine, I get to go through this EVERY DAY for the next 10
days to 3 weeks (at which point, hopefully, it will have healed enough that it
can be permanently closed). I’m hoping that as the infection goes away, my
wound will be less sore and it won’t hurt as much.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As bad as it is though, I like my surgeon’s attitude. He
called my wound opening up a “minor setback,” especially with my “special case”
in mind, and “considering other possible outcomes.” (Oh, you mean, like,
death?)<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-81017853302994499742013-04-11T08:33:00.001-07:002013-04-11T08:33:50.722-07:00Can't. Catch. Up.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;">To be honest, since the birth, I haven’t been able to do much of anything
besides taking care of my body – and only in the most basic way, as in ‘change my wound
dressing, drink water, take medication and sleep’ – and taking care of the baby.
Everything else – the older boys’ bedtime, daily routines, rooms, clothes &
shoes (I just noticed that Abraham’s sandals (the only pair of shoes he owns)
are too small AND broken!), hygiene, nutrition, school - has deteriorated
and/or got out of control, and what little I am able to get done between gauze
changes and nursing, is more like damage control. I feel like I'm always two steps behind. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;">Except for on days like these, when I feel like I'm three or even four steps behind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;">I've been redressing my open wound every day, following doctor's orders and doing quite well, if I may say. When I got an infection above the open wound last week, I took antibiotics, and it seemed like it was getting better. This morning when I woke up however, the incision above the wound had opened up and was oozing pus. Followed another afternoon in the ER and a visit with the surgeon who worked with my OBGYN during the surgery.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;">The good news is that it can only get better from here on, since all that could go wrong in the healing process pretty much went wrong between the surgery and now. The bad news is that it's going to be another 2-3 weeks until I'm healed, and in the meantime, I have to go see the doctor once/day, every day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;">Thank God for a helpful husband, great friends, and lots of summer days to make up the lost school work.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;"><br /></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-33645310641413720282013-04-07T09:05:00.000-07:002013-04-08T09:13:36.261-07:00 A preemie thing?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our sweet baby - 3 weeks old today - is still a little
yellow, but is eating really well, sleeping and pooping/peeing. He’s so very
fetus-like to me; he really doesn’t do much else that these basic three things,
and he’s all curled up all the time. I don’t feel like he’s very aware or in
control of anything </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPWVDEvMkalwJdZ1LgcGoi9jNO30w-lvZBXfj6jyMmPUZpciiiXBuUy61b60XG_c-LHFviDMXAwi8y2JiBDuy55DspKfGR2TgpFsHN-Z4HI7cbrshKJmIvtVBC7iuF5vEO8qi6A0HvoOgg/s1600/3+weeks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPWVDEvMkalwJdZ1LgcGoi9jNO30w-lvZBXfj6jyMmPUZpciiiXBuUy61b60XG_c-LHFviDMXAwi8y2JiBDuy55DspKfGR2TgpFsHN-Z4HI7cbrshKJmIvtVBC7iuF5vEO8qi6A0HvoOgg/s200/3+weeks.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
either; everything he does is either an unintentional
reflex (he is a noisy sleeper, and moves, squirms, twitches and jerks a lot –
although when I touch him he seems to gain some control and stops), or by
instinct (like rooting for a breast or sucking, and waking up to feed). It’s
hard to explain what exactly I’m expecting him to do at this point, but there’s
something slightly different about him compared to my other boys when they were
a couple of weeks old. I haven’t looked much into it, but I’m hoping these are all
part of a normal preemie behavior. (He does turn his head towards exciting
noises and light, which I guess is a sign of… something.)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He does still have
another week before he was supposed to be born – perhaps after his due date he
will act more like a (newborn) baby?<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-1091770108984382652013-04-06T09:01:00.000-07:002013-04-08T09:03:03.151-07:00Still struggling<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I still have a disturbingly
large hole in my lower abdomen that I have to stuff with fresh wet gauze every
day and cover with an oversized band aid. My open wound is definitely smaller
than it was when the staples were first removed, however this week I had
another setback when my incision site got infected. I developed a fever,
chills, my scar got red, swollen and tender, and the discharge… changed (I will
spare you the details here). My doctor put me on antibiotics. I’ve spent the
past few days trying to recover from this, wondering what else – possibly - can
go wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-38082236281257429572013-03-30T01:29:00.004-07:002013-03-30T01:29:40.375-07:00...and we're back!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has been almost two weeks since our sweet baby's birth. I wanted to
post our birth story earlier, but… you know what it’s like, I’m sure, and as
you will find out, things kept coming up in the way of my recovery (and
writing). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyways; since Thursday I have finally got to stay home and rest with
the baby, and have been able to put something together. I am “back-blogging”
our story, so if you want to read the whole story from beginning to end, you
should start <a href="http://familyinlebanon.blogspot.com/2013/03/day-t-1-to-surgery.html" target="_blank">here</a> (<a href="http://familyinlebanon.blogspot.com/2013/03/day-t-1-to-surgery.html" target="_blank">the day before the surgery</a>) and read forward (by scrolling up) in time.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-41062215810398943412013-03-28T14:00:00.000-07:002013-03-30T03:01:29.797-07:00Open wound care and a jaundiced baby<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was sent home from the ER with very clear instructions: take
a shower every day, and redress your wound right after. Call us if you see or
feel any sign of an infection. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That first shower felt really great – I had not
been able to shower properly before this due to the catheter – but when I attempted
to redress my wound, the whole situation became too much – I might have just
realized that I was stuffing an inch and a half-deep hole in my abdomen with
wet gauze - and I just about passed out. My husband, not much more confident, had
to step in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please keep in mind that this whole time – from a few hours
after surgery – all I ever wanted was to rest with my baby. But first I was in
the hospital with all that this entailed, and then once home, there was a
constant interruption for paperwork and check-ups. But things were about to get
even more complicated. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At our baby’s first check-up, four days after we got
home from the hospital, the pediatrician noted how yellow he looked, and
ordered a blood test. She called back an hour or so later with the results: his
bilirubin level was 17.2 mg, and she wanted us to go to the hospital
immediately to get him admitted for 2-3 days of light therapy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoE2Zg3fyFa9VszigQDV1nebQyW8sWdkasQwCAk7z9p4ssCtFXfKcCJbWIEXr7fFn1ttnUtWrPELH7Gh0T3U-HJpGoBO6ABw3lzoR5lIB1d2U4JisQAhTjVu0U992YmBBVYgqO4rN91j85/s1600/tanning+011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoE2Zg3fyFa9VszigQDV1nebQyW8sWdkasQwCAk7z9p4ssCtFXfKcCJbWIEXr7fFn1ttnUtWrPELH7Gh0T3U-HJpGoBO6ABw3lzoR5lIB1d2U4JisQAhTjVu0U992YmBBVYgqO4rN91j85/s200/tanning+011.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Now, I was a bit
concerned too about our baby’s color, however not overly so, since all signs
told us it was normal physiological jaundice that could be managed with
frequent breastfeeding and some sun. His bilirubin level was high but I felt
like I was just getting the breastfeeding going properly, and that if we could
just have some rest and peace, everything else would follow. 2-3 days in the
hospital would not only be very hard on me physically (the last place a person
with an open wound should be in is a hospital, and I would not be able to get
my much needed rest there), but would completely disrupt our breastfeeding
progress, and hence have a negative effect on our baby’s health. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Too tired to
argue, I had Courtney take this discussion as well:<i> “Yes, I’m afraid we are
going to go against your medical advice here, doctor.”</i> We did have to agree to
come back the next day though to retest, and if his level had gone up further,
that we would consider admitting him for light therapy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Followed 24 hours of
marathon nursing – every 45 minutes to one and a half hours – accompanied by
some naked time in the sun. It was tiring, but I figured that it would be worth
it, not having to go to the hospital. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The blood test the next day showed a
bilirubin level of 13.4 – my effort had paid off. The doctor called back with
the results and advised us to<i> “just keep doing whatever it is that you are
doing.”</i> (That's sound medical advice, right there!) Taking care of our baby, that’s what. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that’s what we are going to
spend Easter weekend doing, at home, in peace.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-53604453160523865322013-03-24T18:00:00.000-07:002013-03-30T02:48:56.250-07:00Open wound<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seven days after my surgery, my husband looked at my wound
and suggested we contact my doctor, since it really didn’t look like it was
healing properly (I still couldn't see the lower part of my belly properly, so I had not noticed). He confirmed that indeed, something was wrong, and told me to
go to the ER. There, a few of his residents examined me, consulted my doctor,
and then sent for the plastic surgeon on call. She examined my wound and told
me the inevitable: there was no return – this wound had to be opened (staples
removed) in the lower part, and I would have to exercise “Open Wound Care” for
the next four weeks. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t know what open wound care is? My advice to you: if
you type in the search term in Google, make sure you don’t accidentally click “images”
or “videos” – it will scar you for life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once my wound has somewhat healed,
they can go in and stitch it up to make it look better, but the surgeon was very
clear: it has to heal from the inside out first.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh boy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To make me feel a little better, my doctor’s team removed my
catheter (a day or two early), but it was little comfort since my main concern was the
recovery time, and it had just been prolonged by four weeks.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-65226443501080541312013-03-22T14:00:00.000-07:002013-03-30T02:45:22.165-07:00Trying to recover<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t believe it has almost been a week. Having a baby
really is like being in a casino: you lose track of time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All three older boys left
for a sleep over last night and didn’t come back until dinner time today. I
spent most of the day in a reclining position watching movies with the baby. My
incision is still bleeding in the lower part – I think because I keep putting
pressure on it while sitting up nursing – and I was hoping that if I took it
extra easy today, the bleeding would stop. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Part of me feels really bad for not
doing anything around the house – most of you know how active I usually am, and
so you can imagine how difficult it is for me to just sit still! – but the fact
that I’m physically constrained by my catheter and that I currently have a body
that is just begging me not to move pretty much make any of my efforts to do
something futile.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-86887676892750856932013-03-21T14:00:00.000-07:002013-03-30T02:42:09.004-07:00Day 5: First day at home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two major events:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Removal of incision site pad. Wow – I really do look like
Frankenstein. When my doctor said he had to close me up quickly, he wasn’t
kidding. But it doesn’t matter. And he knew it wouldn’t. The baby I have in my
arms is worth every scar.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First post-op bowel movement. If you’ve ever had abdominal
surgery, you just closed your eyes in silence, and suffered with me for a
moment, remembering how excruciatingly painful it was. If you’ve never had
abdominal surgery, I hope you never will have to. Your abdomen is inflated with
carbon dioxide gas to facilitate visualization, and for two weeks after
surgery, your body will have to get rid of this gas – it’s unbearable.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5514170975250988310.post-52284756270001252112013-03-20T14:00:00.000-07:002013-03-30T03:00:08.568-07:00Day 4: Going home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Baby and I were discharged in the late morning with a long
list of medications and instructions, the most complicated ones relating to my
catheter care. I had feared before the surgery that I would have to leave the
hospital with a catheter, but once I was on my way home, it didn’t seem to
matter. I was alive, I was going home with a healthy baby, and I had a bladder that might need some time, but that
would recover 100%.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The paperwork was not too difficult (actually, it might have
been, but my husband took care of it), and campus security took us through
campus in a car, all the way to our house. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Best thing about being home? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyIAR8JfAx3giZ3Y9N9tWxYWLKnoPJmLWW9-yeB0W27PiwzQt3BlMeZD37HhmZPjelOZeqULVElJJnZJnuhzhoe2KaY9SnzTGSoEKURrXA3wkQKAiRWELLlTG6aAIIFp__NcdRT3rMR1Jl/s1600/boys+united.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyIAR8JfAx3giZ3Y9N9tWxYWLKnoPJmLWW9-yeB0W27PiwzQt3BlMeZD37HhmZPjelOZeqULVElJJnZJnuhzhoe2KaY9SnzTGSoEKURrXA3wkQKAiRWELLlTG6aAIIFp__NcdRT3rMR1Jl/s200/boys+united.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
My boys! Finally, all four of
them united, and our family reunited, as it should be. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also; free access to our
Nestle water cooler (in the hospital they kept filling up my water bottle from
the water fountain in the hallway, and really, although it might be safe (at
least I hope it is), it’s not very tasty water. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh, and decent food. It’s true
what they say. Hospital food is horrible!<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0