Being at home, and having to be sitting down as much as I do (feeding Nate and all that), has given me a chance to look for some new people to follow. I can't remember how I found Julia, but I think it was through Tertia. From Julia I've also discovered Cecily. This morning I read Cecily's post about how upset she'd been by a marketer's failed attempt to get her to help them out. In the process I discovered that she had fertility issues, then managed to fall pregnant with IVF, only to lose her first pregnancy, with twins, because of severe pre-eclampsia. So severe, in fact, that she had to terminate the pregnancy at 22 weeks.
Just stop for a minute and think about that. You want kids, but can't have them. Then you manage to fall pregnant, only to lose them. And not only that, but YOU actually have to make the decision to terminate. Terminate is such a bland term. As a mother, when you terminate, you know that what you're actually doing is choosing to kill your kid/s. So here is someone who desperately wants a child choosing to kill one. Or rather, being forced to choose.
I'm not for a moment about to go down the route of the usual pro-lifers arguments. If I were in her shoes, I would have made the same choice. I'm just stunned, shocked, appalled by the choice she had to make. The babies weren't viable, one had already died in utero, and then she had to make the choice of whether she lived or whether possibly she AND the baby died. Not a great set of options there.
As I went back and read her archived story about those horrible days, I could picture it all so clearly. Although our circumstances were so very different, we experienced such similar emotions. I remember what it was like when I couldn't feel Zoe move - the panic and terror, the confusion, and trying to quash those feelings. I remember the moment when I was told there was no heartbeat. The sense of incredulity. The last ditch attempt to hold onto hope and sanity. The feeling of overwhelming panic and the deepest, coldest, darkest fears bearing down like a physical weight. Then grief so deep and physical I started to vomit. I cried as I read her story. I can only imagine how her grief at losing two precious children was compounded by the knowledge that she had been forced to kill one.
In life we are faced with so many choices. Some are of little consequence (unless you buy into the butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil causes a hurricane in Africa theory); others are life changing. Some aren't really choices at all, it's just choosing the lesser of two evils.
In the past few weeks since I've been home with Nathan, I've found myself having the same reaction I had after losing Zoe. As I held her in my arms on that horrible day, one of my first thoughts was that I wanted another child. I wanted to try again immediately. I didn't want my last experience of pregnancy to be one in which there was no positive outcome. As it happened, we had to wait nearly 18 months for financial reasons. Not a week went by in that time though, that I didn't think about our deadline - Oct 2008. No-one believed me when I said we were going to fall pregnant in Oct 2008, but I wanted a baby so badly that I wasn't going to wait a second later than I had to to fall pregnant. Lucky us, we have no issues in the 'getting pregnant' department.
Since Nate was born alive and kicking, despite scaring me nearly to death along the way, I expected that I would be satisfied. You all know how horrid my pregnancies are. (Did I blog about crying in Canal Walk a week before his birth because I was in such pain I couldn't walk and nearly stopping a passerby to ask them to ask at Information for a wheelchair? I can't remember now.) My body is not built for pregnancy, despite what God intended. I vowed that after Nate, there would be no more pregnancies for me. I know that my body simply can't handle another one. If I were to fall pregnant again, I think my body would literally fall apart at the hips.
So why is it that since Nate's birth all I really want is to be pregnant again with another baby? Is it just some innate biological urge? Or am I still feeling the void Zoe left and trying to fill it? (It's a good thing I can touch type cos I'm crying so hard right now I can barely see the screen...). The thought of never having another baby breaks my heart. I know I'd be completely brain-dead to put myself through it again. I know we can't afford another child. I'm barely coping with two kids despite having an incredible hands-on husband and a maid - how would I cope with 3 or 4 or 5????
None of that logic changes the way I feel though. I want a host of children, and not through surrogacy or adoption (although I do want to adopt a child one day - but that's another story for another day). No, I want to be pregnant and give birth myself to a host of children. I know, I know! If I were to go ahead with that, I'd be condemning myself to a lifetime of serious puking and pain. I know it's ridiculous to want to go there again. But I'm not satisfied with only 2 kids. Greedy of me, I know - some people aren't able to have even one, let alone two kids, and here I am saying I want more when I know it's completely out of the question for us on SO many levels.
I can't face sterilisation - either for me or for G. That's just too final. Pragmatically I know I must not allow myself to fall pregnant again though. So next week I'm off to the gynae for an IUD. (I can't take the pill anymore because of my APS.) I'm not thrilled about it. Far from it. It's not like I can just wake up one day and stop taking the pill and "accidentally" fall pregnant (not that I would do that to G!). This is hard core. The only reason I'm gong ahead with it is because it's not as final as sterilisation. It can be removed. It only lasts for 5 years. There is an 'out' for me, at least emotionally. Maybe in 5 years time I will feel differently. Maybe by then I won't have this inexplicable desire to put myself and my family through hell again. (Because let's face it - me when I'm pregnant? It's hell to live with me and it's hell to be me.)
But am I making the right choice? In 5 years time, if we decide we really DO want another baby, I will be 38 and G will be 43... Yes, I know that women over 40 are having babies nowadays quite successfully (Tertia being a case in point). Yes, I know that 38 is not old, except that biologically it is. What if we decide we DO want a baby and we can't fall pregnant because our bodies are actually too old? (New research suggests that the man's age is just as important as the woman's in terms of having a healthy child and pregnancy.)
All of this emotion of mine makes me stand in awe of Cecily even more. She is quite clear on one point: she is very happy with just her one daughter. She is perfectly happy with a small family. How did she get to that point, I wonder? Her experiences were traumatic, no doubt about it, and that has probably played a big role in her decision. Yet...
I stand in awe of the peace she has about only having one child, about the decision she has made not to have any more children. I wish I could be in that place right now. Maybe in 5 years time I will be. That's the problem with choices. You never really know whether they're right or wrong until it's too late to change your decision. Let's hope this is the right one for us.
Showing posts with label pregnant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnant. Show all posts
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Antici........PAtion
One way or the other, this weekend is going to be interesting.
When we move house, we always seem to pick the worst time. A few years back, we picked the single hottest, record-breaking weekend in London. Now it seems we have picked the single worst, record-breaking one in Cape Town. Yup, the air pressure is set to drop to 940mb. Given that Hurricane Katrina was at 920mb when it made land in the US, that's pretty scary. Winds are predicted to get up to 100km/h.
Hmm.... could be interesting trying to move house in that sort of weather...
But there's something else I'm more interested in. I think I had a contraction today. A proper one. Not just a Braxton-Hicks.
With both previous pregnancies, I had contractions in week 33 (which is where I'm currently at). With Nellie, my waters broke after about 3 contractions (!!), and then labour had to be induced after 10 hours of not much else happening. With Zoe, I had contractions for about 8 hours, after which the pregnancy continued as normal until she died. I've been expecting something to happen this week, so wasn't surprised. I was, however, alarmed.
Thus far, nothing further. Baby boy seems healthy (although I can't find his heartbeat). He's kicking strongly, and the placental blood-flow sounds healthy, so I'm not too worried about him.
I'm not at all worried about him arriving this early, in fact. I am, however, worried about going into labour and not being in hospital to be monitored, and/or not having had some steroid injections beforehand. I suspect that Zoe died during the initial phases of labour at 37 weeks, following which the labour stopped again (for the 2nd time).
My uterus has been feeling rather irritable all week, which was the same with Zoe. ("Irritable uterus" means it's hard all the time and the midwife is unable to feel physically the position the baby is lying in. It's a sign that you're going to go into labour soon.) While the meds I've been on are supposed to reduce the risks of stillbirth, I have no idea what impact they will have on my body's decision to go into labour.
Nellie was born at 33+4, which would be on Saturday. She's fine, so I have all faith that if he's born this week, he'd be fine too.... as long as he is born alive.
So - will we be moving house or not this weekend??? Will the weather, or the baby, cause us to change our plans???? THAT is the question.
When we move house, we always seem to pick the worst time. A few years back, we picked the single hottest, record-breaking weekend in London. Now it seems we have picked the single worst, record-breaking one in Cape Town. Yup, the air pressure is set to drop to 940mb. Given that Hurricane Katrina was at 920mb when it made land in the US, that's pretty scary. Winds are predicted to get up to 100km/h.
Hmm.... could be interesting trying to move house in that sort of weather...
But there's something else I'm more interested in. I think I had a contraction today. A proper one. Not just a Braxton-Hicks.
With both previous pregnancies, I had contractions in week 33 (which is where I'm currently at). With Nellie, my waters broke after about 3 contractions (!!), and then labour had to be induced after 10 hours of not much else happening. With Zoe, I had contractions for about 8 hours, after which the pregnancy continued as normal until she died. I've been expecting something to happen this week, so wasn't surprised. I was, however, alarmed.
Thus far, nothing further. Baby boy seems healthy (although I can't find his heartbeat). He's kicking strongly, and the placental blood-flow sounds healthy, so I'm not too worried about him.
I'm not at all worried about him arriving this early, in fact. I am, however, worried about going into labour and not being in hospital to be monitored, and/or not having had some steroid injections beforehand. I suspect that Zoe died during the initial phases of labour at 37 weeks, following which the labour stopped again (for the 2nd time).
My uterus has been feeling rather irritable all week, which was the same with Zoe. ("Irritable uterus" means it's hard all the time and the midwife is unable to feel physically the position the baby is lying in. It's a sign that you're going to go into labour soon.) While the meds I've been on are supposed to reduce the risks of stillbirth, I have no idea what impact they will have on my body's decision to go into labour.
Nellie was born at 33+4, which would be on Saturday. She's fine, so I have all faith that if he's born this week, he'd be fine too.... as long as he is born alive.
So - will we be moving house or not this weekend??? Will the weather, or the baby, cause us to change our plans???? THAT is the question.
Friday, February 13, 2009
I certainly feel smaller!
If you want to see what a really large baby bump looks like, check this out! This woman had octuplets. (She already has 6 other kids, and she's a single mom.) Tell you what, makes me re-evaluate my complaints about the size of my bump!
Friday, October 31, 2008
36 weeks to go....
I have no problems falling pregnant. My problem is trying to keep the pregnancies.
So, I am very excited to announce that I am pregnant once again (and at long last). I have such a good feeling about this pregnancy, such a positive feeling. I have nothing to base it upon, but I think this one is going to be fine, God willing.
But your prayers wouldn't go amiss (if you're the praying type) - please pray the drugs I start taking tomorrow (and will continue to take throughout the pregnancy) do the trick without side effects. At the end of the day though, it's in God's hands. So please pray that his will is for this child to be born alive, and to outlive both his/ her parents.
So far, the only symptoms I've had are tiredness and an acute sense of smell. However, I did gag today, so I'm really hoping that doesn't mean my nausea (when it arrives) will be bad again. I really don't know how I will cope with life if I've got my head down the loo the whole day. Due date is 10th July 2009, but in all likelihood will be born at the end of May or early June after induction. I'd prefer early June, but it's not really up to me, so as long as this one is born alive and healthy I won't complain about the timing!
And now, in keeping with the tiredness theme, I'm going to sign off and make my way to bed.
Bless you all.
So, I am very excited to announce that I am pregnant once again (and at long last). I have such a good feeling about this pregnancy, such a positive feeling. I have nothing to base it upon, but I think this one is going to be fine, God willing.
But your prayers wouldn't go amiss (if you're the praying type) - please pray the drugs I start taking tomorrow (and will continue to take throughout the pregnancy) do the trick without side effects. At the end of the day though, it's in God's hands. So please pray that his will is for this child to be born alive, and to outlive both his/ her parents.
So far, the only symptoms I've had are tiredness and an acute sense of smell. However, I did gag today, so I'm really hoping that doesn't mean my nausea (when it arrives) will be bad again. I really don't know how I will cope with life if I've got my head down the loo the whole day. Due date is 10th July 2009, but in all likelihood will be born at the end of May or early June after induction. I'd prefer early June, but it's not really up to me, so as long as this one is born alive and healthy I won't complain about the timing!
And now, in keeping with the tiredness theme, I'm going to sign off and make my way to bed.
Bless you all.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Tick tock
The passage of time is always so subjective. When I'm setting papers, there is never enough time. When I'm sitting in moderation, there is always too much.
Well, we've got another 4 days to go till we can do The Test, and, predictably, the time seems to be crawling. I keep finding myself vacillating between thinking I am definitely pregnant, and thinking I'm definitely not. Thinking back over the past 4 days, I'm amazed at everything I've accomplished. It's probably a really good thing that school is so busy at the moment - stops me from thinking about it too much.
But the busy-ness is taking its toll. I'm back to feeling like I'm only just managing to hold it all together. Fortunately, I've made all my deadlines so far - now if I could just shift the truck load of marking I have to do! I would love nothing more than to have some proper free time once we're into the exam period, to be able to go to the beach for a few hours and read a book. Of course, no sooner will I have done this load of marking than the exams will start coming in. Sigh! Whoever said that teaching is easy has NO idea what the pressure is like.
Still, I'm looking forward to getting our dogs and being forced to go walking - maybe taking them for a walk to fetch Nellie from nursery in the afternoon. I'm looking forward to being a bit more domestic over the festive season (I know! I never thought I would say that.) And although I know it will probably mean having my head down the toilet for several months, I'm really looking forward to being pregnant again (despite what I said when I was pregnant with Zoe).
So tick tock... c'mon Week. Get finished already!
Well, we've got another 4 days to go till we can do The Test, and, predictably, the time seems to be crawling. I keep finding myself vacillating between thinking I am definitely pregnant, and thinking I'm definitely not. Thinking back over the past 4 days, I'm amazed at everything I've accomplished. It's probably a really good thing that school is so busy at the moment - stops me from thinking about it too much.
But the busy-ness is taking its toll. I'm back to feeling like I'm only just managing to hold it all together. Fortunately, I've made all my deadlines so far - now if I could just shift the truck load of marking I have to do! I would love nothing more than to have some proper free time once we're into the exam period, to be able to go to the beach for a few hours and read a book. Of course, no sooner will I have done this load of marking than the exams will start coming in. Sigh! Whoever said that teaching is easy has NO idea what the pressure is like.
Still, I'm looking forward to getting our dogs and being forced to go walking - maybe taking them for a walk to fetch Nellie from nursery in the afternoon. I'm looking forward to being a bit more domestic over the festive season (I know! I never thought I would say that.) And although I know it will probably mean having my head down the toilet for several months, I'm really looking forward to being pregnant again (despite what I said when I was pregnant with Zoe).
So tick tock... c'mon Week. Get finished already!
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Death and periods
I'm almost "officially dead". At least, that's what my CMT thinks. Not having heard from me in over a week, nearly 2 in fact, she was becoming convinced that I was dead.
Hmm...
OK, so I've been REEEEEEALLY busy. But I'm not dead. Not yet. Give me a few years at my current pace and maybe I will be, but not yet. I'm having too much fun to die!
In fact, a colleague asked me today how I do it - working full time, with a family, and LL, and studying part-time. I had a good think about it, and replied that I'm not sure.
On the one hand, it's about expectations - I have to do stuff, so I just do it. Be disciplined and just do it. There are enough hours in the day. On the other hand, there aren't enough hours in the day, so something is always falling off the bottom of the list - like time with Graeme, or my sleep and health, or LL, or my marking.... It's just a matter of juggling which one, so that the one falling off the list isn't urgent. Of course, I don't recommend it to anyone else, not even myself. But I'm having fun... so I don't think I'm ready to give anything up just yet.
But back to the story about my CMT. So I'm chatting to her about how I'm really not yet dead (aren't you pleased to know that?!). She's shaking her head at me incredulously, when I promptly inform her that next month is THE MONTH. (We're falling pregnant next month, if you didn't know. Don't call us [we're going to be BUSY], we'll call you.) At which point she nearly fell off her chair laughing, until she realised I was serious. 'But Nicole,' she said to me, 'how are you going to manage that ON TOP of everything else?' I just smiled, shook my head and replied - I have no idea, but probably in the same manner I'm not managing now, except that things are about to get a lot more interesting with my head down a toilet bowl all day.
(Oh yes, I have horrible, nasty, never-to-be-repeated-unless-you-absolutely-have-to kind of pregnancies! There's no cheaper way to have a baby. I love feeling the baby kick, unless it's into my lungs, or down into my fractured spine. I love bonding with the baby over 8 months. But I HATE being pregnant. Cramps, sore legs, sore back, sore tummy, sore knees, vomiting, nauseous, unable to sleep, unable to walk... I'm going to stop now, before I convince myself this is a really bad idea!)
It's hard to believe that this will (hopefully) be my last cycle for the next year. Hooray! No more pads or tampons or leaks. No more feeling cheated and jealous when I see other women with big bellies.
I know this sounds absolutely crazy (and this is not tongue-in-cheek), but I am really looking forward to having the opportunity to hurl my guts into the nearest loo about once a day. I am looking forward to having my bones come apart to such an extent that I have to wear a special pregnancy hip and thigh brace to be able to walk without pain. I am looking forward swollen ankles and being berated for not drinking enough water every day. I am looking forward to being woken up at 2am in the most excruciating pain as my leg or foot tries to bend itself the wrong way round. I am looking forward to feeling 100x more tired than I am now. I am looking forward to getting more stretch marks on my stomach. I am looking forward to not being able to bend over, or see my toes.
Simply put, I am looking forward to feeling awful. Because feeling awful MEANS something. It means that there is a new life growing inside me. I am looking forward to holding that new life in my arms, looking into her eyes and hearing her cry. Everything will be worth it for that single moment of knowing that I have succeeded in bringing forth that new life.
It doesn't matter to me that I am already more busy than anyone else I know, or that there really isn't time in my life for this, or that I'm already tired. To be honest, I really don't care if I lose the business, or fail my course. What I care about most is that new life. I can't wait to meet my new baby....
And this time around, I am going to cherish every moment of my pregnancy. Every kick, every heart-beat. Because if this one should die too, as is highly probable, I don't want to carry the guilt I carry for Zoe - that I failed to appreciate her while I had her with me. I won't make that mistake twice.
This moment has been 18 months in the coming, and that's an awfully long time to wait for something you are desperate for. While I usually hate having my periods (they are SUCH a las!), this next one I will celebrate with joy. One more to go, please God! Please, God?
Hmm...
OK, so I've been REEEEEEALLY busy. But I'm not dead. Not yet. Give me a few years at my current pace and maybe I will be, but not yet. I'm having too much fun to die!
In fact, a colleague asked me today how I do it - working full time, with a family, and LL, and studying part-time. I had a good think about it, and replied that I'm not sure.
On the one hand, it's about expectations - I have to do stuff, so I just do it. Be disciplined and just do it. There are enough hours in the day. On the other hand, there aren't enough hours in the day, so something is always falling off the bottom of the list - like time with Graeme, or my sleep and health, or LL, or my marking.... It's just a matter of juggling which one, so that the one falling off the list isn't urgent. Of course, I don't recommend it to anyone else, not even myself. But I'm having fun... so I don't think I'm ready to give anything up just yet.
But back to the story about my CMT. So I'm chatting to her about how I'm really not yet dead (aren't you pleased to know that?!). She's shaking her head at me incredulously, when I promptly inform her that next month is THE MONTH. (We're falling pregnant next month, if you didn't know. Don't call us [we're going to be BUSY], we'll call you.) At which point she nearly fell off her chair laughing, until she realised I was serious. 'But Nicole,' she said to me, 'how are you going to manage that ON TOP of everything else?' I just smiled, shook my head and replied - I have no idea, but probably in the same manner I'm not managing now, except that things are about to get a lot more interesting with my head down a toilet bowl all day.
(Oh yes, I have horrible, nasty, never-to-be-repeated-unless-you-absolutely-have-to kind of pregnancies! There's no cheaper way to have a baby. I love feeling the baby kick, unless it's into my lungs, or down into my fractured spine. I love bonding with the baby over 8 months. But I HATE being pregnant. Cramps, sore legs, sore back, sore tummy, sore knees, vomiting, nauseous, unable to sleep, unable to walk... I'm going to stop now, before I convince myself this is a really bad idea!)
It's hard to believe that this will (hopefully) be my last cycle for the next year. Hooray! No more pads or tampons or leaks. No more feeling cheated and jealous when I see other women with big bellies.
I know this sounds absolutely crazy (and this is not tongue-in-cheek), but I am really looking forward to having the opportunity to hurl my guts into the nearest loo about once a day. I am looking forward to having my bones come apart to such an extent that I have to wear a special pregnancy hip and thigh brace to be able to walk without pain. I am looking forward swollen ankles and being berated for not drinking enough water every day. I am looking forward to being woken up at 2am in the most excruciating pain as my leg or foot tries to bend itself the wrong way round. I am looking forward to feeling 100x more tired than I am now. I am looking forward to getting more stretch marks on my stomach. I am looking forward to not being able to bend over, or see my toes.
Simply put, I am looking forward to feeling awful. Because feeling awful MEANS something. It means that there is a new life growing inside me. I am looking forward to holding that new life in my arms, looking into her eyes and hearing her cry. Everything will be worth it for that single moment of knowing that I have succeeded in bringing forth that new life.
It doesn't matter to me that I am already more busy than anyone else I know, or that there really isn't time in my life for this, or that I'm already tired. To be honest, I really don't care if I lose the business, or fail my course. What I care about most is that new life. I can't wait to meet my new baby....
And this time around, I am going to cherish every moment of my pregnancy. Every kick, every heart-beat. Because if this one should die too, as is highly probable, I don't want to carry the guilt I carry for Zoe - that I failed to appreciate her while I had her with me. I won't make that mistake twice.
This moment has been 18 months in the coming, and that's an awfully long time to wait for something you are desperate for. While I usually hate having my periods (they are SUCH a las!), this next one I will celebrate with joy. One more to go, please God! Please, God?
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
The circle of life
Birth and death... the one inevitably follows the other.
This afternoon my latest niece was born. She's the first niece from Graeme's family - Nellie has 13 other cousins from my side of the family! She was born in Hungary, by water birth, at 4.30pm (approximately) and weighed 3.05kg. As yet, she has no name, but her parents are working hard on one. Needless to say, we are all thrilled at her birth, and thrilled that both she and mother are doing so well.
But I have to admit to pangs of intense jealousy and grief. Because of my APS, I am forever denied a water birth... which I so desperately want. I should also already have 2 little girls under foot, not one. It seems to unfair that some women are denied easy labours and births, while others are forever doomed to have difficult and traumatic ones. (Did I mention here that my friends who had come to SA for an IUI lost their baby just before the weekend? My heart breaks for them!) It also seems so unfair that my dear sister-in-law should be having sleepless nights now because she has a gorgeous baby to look after... it should have been me. And it's so unfair that I can't seem to let go of this grief and that it should spoil what would otherwise be a perfect piece of ecstasy.
Which isn't to say that I'm not happy for my sister-in-law, or my in-laws, who now have a real grandchild of their own (everyone knows that only your daughter's children are really your grandchildren!) ... sorry. That was bitchy and completely uncalled for.
OK - let's move onto death then, since I can't seem to deal with the birth part of life too well this evening.
Death. Here in SA we have this lovely culture of rites of passage. Our traditional cultures all have a tradition of sending their boys off into the bush to be circumcised, followed by a 9 day fast, to undergo a spiritual awakening of some sort, and to then return as 'men'. It's not the age of the boys that makes the difference between being a boy or a man - it's whether you have participated in such a ritual.
Tonight I learnt about one 'boy' in particular. He was 25. He went to one of the most prestigious boys' high schools in Cape Town, if not in the country. He had a BSc degree from UCT. He had a fantastic job with a very good company in Cape Town. His name was Buntu Majalo. (I hope I got his surname correct!)
In Dec 2007 he went off to the bush because the people in Gugulethu (the township where he grew up) still viewed him as a boy, because he hadn't participated in the initiation. He died in hospital, reportedly from a botched circumcision and some torture that he experienced.
According to the report I watched, during these June/ July school holidays (2-3 weeks), 20 boys have died during initiation ceremonies.
While I have no problem, in theory, with initiation rites, it blows me away that the death toll is so high. It's not that the ritual is bad - marking the move from childhood to adulthood is important to every culture. It's the manner in which that ritual is played out that shocks me. For 20 boys to have lost their lives over the past 2-3 weeks to the same mindless abuse is simply not okay.
Although the other provinces in SA have laws to ensure that the "surgeons" and "nurses" involved are properly trained and registered, our province (Western Cape) does not. However, despite this, the death toll in other provinces is as high as it is here in the Cape. Obviously, even legislating to prevent corruption is not achieving the desired outcomes.
Apparently, some of these "surgeons" are raking in R4000 per boy they circumcise. To put that in context - our tenant is paying us R4000 per month in rent for a 3 bedroomed townhouse next to a major highway. A visit to a medical doctor for a circumcision at a state hospital will cost you about R400.
Those boys who slink off to the hospital if they suspect something has gone wrong with the circumcision are ostracised when they return. They are not considered 'real' men, because they are seen to be weak. Yet, many of them lose not just part of their penis, but the entire thing, when proper medical care is not given to these boys and either gangrene or sepsis sets in.
If this were happening to girls, the world would be up in arms, demanding that the government put a stop to this inhumane treatment. Yet, because it is boys, the world averts its eyes.
Buntu was the only child to a single mother. Having lost my baby, I can tell you that her grief knows no bounds. I don't know what I can do, as one individual from the white community, but I know in my heart that to stand by and do nothing is to say that Buntu's life was worth nothing. If I count his life to have had any value, then I cannot sit idly by and allow this atrocious abuse of an otherwise useful ceremony and ritual to continue.
But what do I do? I don't even know where to begin. I feel helpless and frustrated, and very very sad for the families of these poor boys.
This afternoon my latest niece was born. She's the first niece from Graeme's family - Nellie has 13 other cousins from my side of the family! She was born in Hungary, by water birth, at 4.30pm (approximately) and weighed 3.05kg. As yet, she has no name, but her parents are working hard on one. Needless to say, we are all thrilled at her birth, and thrilled that both she and mother are doing so well.
But I have to admit to pangs of intense jealousy and grief. Because of my APS, I am forever denied a water birth... which I so desperately want. I should also already have 2 little girls under foot, not one. It seems to unfair that some women are denied easy labours and births, while others are forever doomed to have difficult and traumatic ones. (Did I mention here that my friends who had come to SA for an IUI lost their baby just before the weekend? My heart breaks for them!) It also seems so unfair that my dear sister-in-law should be having sleepless nights now because she has a gorgeous baby to look after... it should have been me. And it's so unfair that I can't seem to let go of this grief and that it should spoil what would otherwise be a perfect piece of ecstasy.
Which isn't to say that I'm not happy for my sister-in-law, or my in-laws, who now have a real grandchild of their own (everyone knows that only your daughter's children are really your grandchildren!) ... sorry. That was bitchy and completely uncalled for.
OK - let's move onto death then, since I can't seem to deal with the birth part of life too well this evening.
Death. Here in SA we have this lovely culture of rites of passage. Our traditional cultures all have a tradition of sending their boys off into the bush to be circumcised, followed by a 9 day fast, to undergo a spiritual awakening of some sort, and to then return as 'men'. It's not the age of the boys that makes the difference between being a boy or a man - it's whether you have participated in such a ritual.
Tonight I learnt about one 'boy' in particular. He was 25. He went to one of the most prestigious boys' high schools in Cape Town, if not in the country. He had a BSc degree from UCT. He had a fantastic job with a very good company in Cape Town. His name was Buntu Majalo. (I hope I got his surname correct!)
In Dec 2007 he went off to the bush because the people in Gugulethu (the township where he grew up) still viewed him as a boy, because he hadn't participated in the initiation. He died in hospital, reportedly from a botched circumcision and some torture that he experienced.
According to the report I watched, during these June/ July school holidays (2-3 weeks), 20 boys have died during initiation ceremonies.
While I have no problem, in theory, with initiation rites, it blows me away that the death toll is so high. It's not that the ritual is bad - marking the move from childhood to adulthood is important to every culture. It's the manner in which that ritual is played out that shocks me. For 20 boys to have lost their lives over the past 2-3 weeks to the same mindless abuse is simply not okay.
Although the other provinces in SA have laws to ensure that the "surgeons" and "nurses" involved are properly trained and registered, our province (Western Cape) does not. However, despite this, the death toll in other provinces is as high as it is here in the Cape. Obviously, even legislating to prevent corruption is not achieving the desired outcomes.
Apparently, some of these "surgeons" are raking in R4000 per boy they circumcise. To put that in context - our tenant is paying us R4000 per month in rent for a 3 bedroomed townhouse next to a major highway. A visit to a medical doctor for a circumcision at a state hospital will cost you about R400.
Those boys who slink off to the hospital if they suspect something has gone wrong with the circumcision are ostracised when they return. They are not considered 'real' men, because they are seen to be weak. Yet, many of them lose not just part of their penis, but the entire thing, when proper medical care is not given to these boys and either gangrene or sepsis sets in.
If this were happening to girls, the world would be up in arms, demanding that the government put a stop to this inhumane treatment. Yet, because it is boys, the world averts its eyes.
Buntu was the only child to a single mother. Having lost my baby, I can tell you that her grief knows no bounds. I don't know what I can do, as one individual from the white community, but I know in my heart that to stand by and do nothing is to say that Buntu's life was worth nothing. If I count his life to have had any value, then I cannot sit idly by and allow this atrocious abuse of an otherwise useful ceremony and ritual to continue.
But what do I do? I don't even know where to begin. I feel helpless and frustrated, and very very sad for the families of these poor boys.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Mother's Day
In the UK, Mother's Day is a complete non-event, because we have Mothering Sunday, which is some time in late March or early April (can't remember which now). So I completely forgot it was Mother's Day until a friend emailed to say she was thinking of me today. (Fortunately, after Zoe's death I sent all 3 of our mothers cards because I knew I would forget, so at least they weren't forgotten.)
At first, I thought she somehow knew what we did today, which was why she was thinking of us, but then later in her email she said something that reminded me it was Mother's Day and that she had no clue what today was for us.
The hospital organise memorial/ remembrance services twice a year for all the parents who have lost children, in the hospital chapel. The May service was this afternoon. (The other service is in December.) I wore the same outfit I wore to Zoe's funeral, and just putting it on brought tears to my eyes. My mom bought it for me. It's a lovely trouser suit in grey with white pin stripes. I love it, but I haven't had either the occasion to get dressed up, nor the inclination to wear this very special outfit.
It's been raining on and off for the past week. As I walked to church this morning, with Nellie asleep in the pram, I couldn't help but feel how appropriate it was that it was raining - a gentle soaking rain. One friend called it 'sweet rain from heaven', which reminds me of a line from a worship song about God's mercy.
So I took the back route, the quiet route, to appreciate the rain and to cry. I must have looked a sight - all dressed up, and sobbing my heart out silently so as not to wake Nellie, staggering a bit like a drunk because I couldn't see for tears.
The memorial service was lovely, as these things are. We were given a green 'leaf' to hang on a tree, on which we were invited to write a short message to Zoe. As I was writing it, I suddenly realised that as we'd come in, I'd put Janel's name on the list of names to be read out, instead of Zoe's. I don't know why I did that... I guess I'm just so used to giving Janel's name for things. The realisation was such a shock though that I promptly burst into tears. And proceeded to cry all the way through the service, which was both cathartic and very difficult because I wanted to howl, but didn't feel that would be helpful to the other parents there.
I was struck that we were the only ones (it seemed to me) who were crying. The other parents were very much in control of their emotions. I don't know whether they were just being British, or whether they are just that much further down the line than we are... but I was glad we were sitting upstairs away from most of them because being the only ones crying made me feel very exposed and vulnerable.
We had decided not to take Nellie for 2 reasons - firstly because we needed the time and space to be able to grieve without needing to care for her, and secondly because we thought it might be difficult for other parents to have her there. I was therefore struck by the number of children who did attend with their parents. While I applaud their parents' decision to include them in the grieving process, I found having them there an upsetting and difficult reminder that I should have several children now, and don't. One lady came with her newborn baby, which proceeded to cry for several long minutes....
Another difficult moment for me today was finding out that a woman at church, who is becoming a friend, is pregnant with her 3rd child. She hasn't told me she's pregnant, I found out from someone else. While I'm thrilled for her, I couldn't help but feel stung by the news. I caught myself feeling that she was being selfish - having 3 - when I only have 1. Jealousy raised it's ugly head again. It's completely ridiculous, I know, but grief does play with your mind in the most ridiculous ways.
Actually, writing that has made me realise what another childless friend must go through every time someone around her falls pregnant. For ages I've been thinking that there must come a point when she must simply accept that, until her circumstances change, she is not going to have children. She's been grieving this fact to the extent that I feel she is suffering from depression. I don't see how she can move beyond the depression until she faces the unpleasant facts. I've never said these things to her, because I know how hurtful they would be, and how unhelpful, but if I'm brutally honest, I've thought them... until just this very minute. At least I have the comfort of knowing (hopefully) that I can have another one, or that we are in a position to adopt if we can't (or shouldn't) have more. She isn't in that position. She doesn't have that hope.
I've been able to spend time with other people's babies because I have known the joy of children, and because at some gut level I know I will have more. This friend isolates herself from any friends who have children or are pregnant. Although I've understood at an intellectual level why she's chosen to do that, at a heart level I've found it hard to. On the one hand, I've been cross that she's chosen to put our friendship on hold without giving me a say in it. On the other, I've thought she was being ridiculously self-absorbed. But as she doesn't have the hope that I do, I guess I suddenly understand at a heart level how much she needs to protect herself.
Having said that, I know that, for me, the only way through the grief is to face the things that cause me the most pain head on. Hiding only makes them bigger. I hope that she's chosen the right path for dealing with her grief and that isolating herself isn't going to cause her more harm in the long run. And I hope that I can be a good friend to her and wait patiently until she feels she is able to resume our friendship.
To all of you women out there - to those with kids (or expecting them) and those without, to those who are far from their kids and to those who have lost their kids - Happy Mother's Day!
At first, I thought she somehow knew what we did today, which was why she was thinking of us, but then later in her email she said something that reminded me it was Mother's Day and that she had no clue what today was for us.
The hospital organise memorial/ remembrance services twice a year for all the parents who have lost children, in the hospital chapel. The May service was this afternoon. (The other service is in December.) I wore the same outfit I wore to Zoe's funeral, and just putting it on brought tears to my eyes. My mom bought it for me. It's a lovely trouser suit in grey with white pin stripes. I love it, but I haven't had either the occasion to get dressed up, nor the inclination to wear this very special outfit.
It's been raining on and off for the past week. As I walked to church this morning, with Nellie asleep in the pram, I couldn't help but feel how appropriate it was that it was raining - a gentle soaking rain. One friend called it 'sweet rain from heaven', which reminds me of a line from a worship song about God's mercy.
So I took the back route, the quiet route, to appreciate the rain and to cry. I must have looked a sight - all dressed up, and sobbing my heart out silently so as not to wake Nellie, staggering a bit like a drunk because I couldn't see for tears.
The memorial service was lovely, as these things are. We were given a green 'leaf' to hang on a tree, on which we were invited to write a short message to Zoe. As I was writing it, I suddenly realised that as we'd come in, I'd put Janel's name on the list of names to be read out, instead of Zoe's. I don't know why I did that... I guess I'm just so used to giving Janel's name for things. The realisation was such a shock though that I promptly burst into tears. And proceeded to cry all the way through the service, which was both cathartic and very difficult because I wanted to howl, but didn't feel that would be helpful to the other parents there.
I was struck that we were the only ones (it seemed to me) who were crying. The other parents were very much in control of their emotions. I don't know whether they were just being British, or whether they are just that much further down the line than we are... but I was glad we were sitting upstairs away from most of them because being the only ones crying made me feel very exposed and vulnerable.
We had decided not to take Nellie for 2 reasons - firstly because we needed the time and space to be able to grieve without needing to care for her, and secondly because we thought it might be difficult for other parents to have her there. I was therefore struck by the number of children who did attend with their parents. While I applaud their parents' decision to include them in the grieving process, I found having them there an upsetting and difficult reminder that I should have several children now, and don't. One lady came with her newborn baby, which proceeded to cry for several long minutes....
Another difficult moment for me today was finding out that a woman at church, who is becoming a friend, is pregnant with her 3rd child. She hasn't told me she's pregnant, I found out from someone else. While I'm thrilled for her, I couldn't help but feel stung by the news. I caught myself feeling that she was being selfish - having 3 - when I only have 1. Jealousy raised it's ugly head again. It's completely ridiculous, I know, but grief does play with your mind in the most ridiculous ways.
Actually, writing that has made me realise what another childless friend must go through every time someone around her falls pregnant. For ages I've been thinking that there must come a point when she must simply accept that, until her circumstances change, she is not going to have children. She's been grieving this fact to the extent that I feel she is suffering from depression. I don't see how she can move beyond the depression until she faces the unpleasant facts. I've never said these things to her, because I know how hurtful they would be, and how unhelpful, but if I'm brutally honest, I've thought them... until just this very minute. At least I have the comfort of knowing (hopefully) that I can have another one, or that we are in a position to adopt if we can't (or shouldn't) have more. She isn't in that position. She doesn't have that hope.
I've been able to spend time with other people's babies because I have known the joy of children, and because at some gut level I know I will have more. This friend isolates herself from any friends who have children or are pregnant. Although I've understood at an intellectual level why she's chosen to do that, at a heart level I've found it hard to. On the one hand, I've been cross that she's chosen to put our friendship on hold without giving me a say in it. On the other, I've thought she was being ridiculously self-absorbed. But as she doesn't have the hope that I do, I guess I suddenly understand at a heart level how much she needs to protect herself.
Having said that, I know that, for me, the only way through the grief is to face the things that cause me the most pain head on. Hiding only makes them bigger. I hope that she's chosen the right path for dealing with her grief and that isolating herself isn't going to cause her more harm in the long run. And I hope that I can be a good friend to her and wait patiently until she feels she is able to resume our friendship.
To all of you women out there - to those with kids (or expecting them) and those without, to those who are far from their kids and to those who have lost their kids - Happy Mother's Day!
Friday, March 23, 2007
NCT second time mothers...
From left to right: Daisy, Laura, Fiona, Anna, Me, Rosie, Nicky. All due between now and 16 April.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
3rd trimester - here we go again!
The text doesn't come out so clearly on this for some reason - but I'm now 26 weeks pregnant... only 98 days to go!
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