Dendera, Luxor Temple, and A Show

On Tuesday morning, the Sun Boat IV left Luxor and headed north. "North?" you say. "But isn't Aswan south of Luxor?" Yes, indeed, it is, but we weren't headed to Aswan just yet. We had another visit to make, one that I'm very glad was included in the cruise.

Dendera is home to the Temple of Hathor, which was recommended to us so highly that we were encouraged to spend an extra day in Luxor to visit it if it wasn't included on the cruise itinerary. (Dendera is about an hour's ride by car from Luxor, just across the river from the city of Qena.) It didn't take long to see what all the fuss was about.

The surroundings were absolutely beautiful--lush green fields against the stark brown desert and bright blue sky. The temple compound was large and imposing. Most of it was very well preserved, the exception being some images of Hathor that were defaced by Christians who hid in the temple during a time when they were being heavily persecuted by the Romans. Before we went inside the temple, we spent some time walking around it, seeing the carvings on the exterior walls. The carvings told stories of Cleopatra and her son offering gifts to the gods, particularly to Hathor, the goddess of love, music, and fertility.

After seeing the outside of the temple, we went inside. Hesham told us to look up. We did, and were amazed. One half of the roof was pitch black; the other half clearly showed artistic patterns complete with bright colors. The colored half of the ceiling has been restored--not repainted, just cleaned. The black half shows how the temple was found. Apparently, when the early Christians lived in the temple, hiding from persecution, the sand had partially covered the site, making the ground close enough to the ceiling that the soot from their fires turned the ceiling black. But the colors underneath hadn't faded; all it took was a good cleaning to reveal them in all their splendor. The pictures were beautiful, and the colors were vibrant. The colors were most vibrant where they had been restored or where they had been covered with sand; they were least vibrant on the unrestored portion of the ceiling (obviously) and on the parts of the walls that had been touched by way too many tourists. Here are a few pictures of some of the vibrant designs:



After seeing inside the temple, we went onto the roof and into a smaller chamber up there, a small temple dedicated to Osiris. In that room is located one of the highlights of this temple: the circular zodiac. Unfortunately, the original zodiac is not there; it's in the Louvre. However, there is a replica zodiac that at least looks like the original looked when it was found--unfortunately, they didn't realize that there probably were colors underneath the black exterior, so the replica also replicates the layer of soot over the colors.


After that, we headed back to the ship for lunch and a leisurely afternoon while the ship traveled back to Luxor. Jeff and I spent the time on the sun deck, reading, sipping lemon juice (me) or water (Jeff), and enjoying the fresh air and beautiful sights. Of course it probably struck some as funny that we were up on the sun deck, and I kept shifting seats to stay in the shade ... but I didn't want to wear sunscreen or get burned, so shade was my only remaining option.

After tea, we went on an evening excursion to Luxor Temple. It's located on the east bank of the Nile, so it was a temple for the living. It was dedicated to the god Amun-Re, his goddess wife Mut, and his god-son Khonsu. I have to be honest here and admit that I was tired, a little chilly, and probably didn't pay as much attention as I should have to what Hesham told us about this temple ... I wish now that I remembered more of it, but I don't wish it quite enough to do a lot of research about it. I'll settle for linking to a few websites that contain information about the temple and showing you some of the pictures we took.

After we visited the Luxor Temple, it was back to the ship for dinner. But after dinner, the fun wasn't over--we still had a show! That night, a belly dancer and a whirling dervish both performed in the lounge. I wasn't as impressed with the belly dancer as I expected to be--I'm not sure if it was this particular dancer, or if I'm just not a fan of belly dancing in general. (It was my first time seeing a belly dancer, so I have nothing to compare it with.) However, the whirling dervish was amazing. I was very impressed with his balance and endurance.

This first video is part of the belly dancer's performance. It's about a minute long.





This next video is part of the whirling dervish's performance. It's around four and a half minutes long. It starts getting more interesting just shy of the 1-minute mark, and it starts getting even more interesting just before the end (sorry for the inopportune ending time).





Tomorrow (hopefully, no promises): Day 3 of the Nile cruise, including a visit to the Temple of Horus at Edfu and the Temple of Sobek at Kom Ombo.

Luxor With Hesham

Full disclosure: This was the longest day of sightseeing, and therefore, this post is pretty long. If you don't have time, you may want to read it later, just skim it, or skip it altogether.

On Monday, the first day of our Nile cruise, we got up bright and early to check in. Shortly after checking in and getting settled in our room, we headed back down to the reception area for our morning excursion--a tour of Karnak Temple. As we entered the reception, we were directed to a group that was led by Hesham, who would be our guide throughout the cruise. Here's a picture of Hesham that was taken later on, at the Unfinished Obelisk in Aswan:



Once we were joined by the rest of our group, we left the ship, climbed the stairs to street level, and boarded our tour bus. It didn't take long to get to Karnak Temple, but on the way Hesham gave us the crucial information--how long we'd be gone, water is available for free on the bus to take with us, cameras and video cameras are allowed at Karnak for no additional charge. Once we arrived, he passed out the tickets and we entered the site.

After passing through a large open square, we entered the Avenue of the Sphinxes. This is a road, lined by sphinxes on both sides, that used to connect Karnak Temple with Luxor Temple. Over time, the sands covered the avenue, as well as partially to completely covering most or all of the ancient sites. Before the avenue and its path was discovered--or maybe just before people started caring about it, I'm not sure which--several buildings were built over parts of it, including mosques, a hospital, and Luxor Museum. Apparently the Ministry of Tourism is trying to figure out whether and how to relocate these structures so that the complete Avenue of the Sphinxes can be excavated.

Just past the Avenue of the Sphinxes is the temple's facade. Hesham pointed out that temples always were built from the back forward, so the facade is the newest part of the structure. The temple complex was not built on the command of a single Pharoah; around 30 of them contributed to this massive compound. I think Hesham said that Ramses II was a major contributor. After passing through the facade, we entered an open courtyard, which contained a temple for Ramses IV, a couple of smaller temples for the goddess-wife and god-son of the main god Amen-Re (if I'm not confusing this temple with one of the many others we saw later), and a collection of sphinxes that had been moved from the Avenue of the Sphinxes for safekeeping.

After passing through this courtyard, we entered the Great Hypostyle Hall. This hall is 50,000 square feet and contains 134 columns arranged in 16 rows. The central columns are 69 feet tall! The columns used to support a roof over this hall, but the roof is long gone now. These stunning columns were described by Hesham as the "paper" for the temple--they were carved top to bottom with hieroglyphs. There also were a few more recent additions--graffiti left by early explorers, with their names and the dates they were there. It was interesting to see the different heights at which the graffiti was left, reflecting the differing depths of the sand cover at various times.

Through the columns, we could see two obelisks rising from the temple's ruins in the next part of the temple, the Obelisk Court. These obelisks are each carved from a single piece of granite. At least one of them was erected by Queen Hatshepsut, possibly both of them; I don't remember. Hatshepsut's stepson (or was it her son?) erased monuments to her by defacing her cartouche (the pharaoh's name carved inside a border that was reserved for pharaohs alone) and then having his own cartouche carved in its place, but he couldn't do that on the obelisk. Granite did not accept corrections--once it was defaced, that was it; there was no carving over it. And because obelisks were monuments to the gods, there was no way a pharaoh would deface it and leave it that way.

Passing through the Obelisk Court, we entered the central court. There wasn't much left to see there, so we quickly walked around the side to see something far more interesting: ancient Egyptian bookkeeping. One of the ancient pharaohs wanted to keep track of the offerings to the gods that were presented at this temple, so a carving was made on the wall. Each vertical slash indicates "1," the inverted Us indicate "10," and the funny little staff thing indicates "100." Each column represents offerings of a certain type that were given throughout the year, and the bottom row is the total. For some of the columns, it's hard to see if the math is right because of the missing row in the middle, but it seems to be accurate.

After that, we quickly saw the sacred lake and some other artifacts in the area, then returned to the ship for lunch. Following lunch, we took a motorboat to the west bank (we were docked on the east bank) to see the sites over there. Hesham explained that the west bank was considered the land of the dead, because the sun sets in the west, whereas the east bank was the land of the living, because the sun rises in the east. So temples built on the east bank were for those who were alive--the pharaohs and high priests would offer sacrifices, and the people would be allowed, on rare occasions, to enter. On the west bank, there were tombs and mortuary temples for the mummification of the dead.

Our first stop on the west bank was the Valley of the Kings. Cameras weren't allowed at this site, so I have no pictures to share with you. For around 500 years, pharaohs were buried in tombs at this site. A single ticket gains you access to the three tombs of your choice; men are stationed at each tomb to punch a hole in the ticket when you enter a tomb to keep track of how many you've seen. You can enter the tomb of King Tutankhamen for an additional fee. From the outside, the tombs don't look spectacular. Once you enter them, though, you can see wonderful hieroglyphs and paintings on the walls and ceilings. It's also interesting to see the steps that were taken to foil grave robbers--one king's tomb had three separate security measures, although I only recall the first: a sudden, unexpected turn that made it look like the tomb ended in an already-looted chamber. If you're interested in detailed information about the Valley of the Kings, including pictures and maps, I would suggest that you check out this website.

Our second stop of the afternoon was the Valley of the Queens, similar to the Valley of the Kings but smaller. We only visited one tomb at this site, as time was short and the tombs weren't as impressive anyway. This site held the tombs of the pharaohs' wives and youngest children--I think Hesham said that boys under 12 were buried here, whereas boys over 12 were buried in the Valley of the Kings.

The third stop, and the first where we could use the cameras, was the Temple of Hatshepsut. Hatshepsut was one of the few female Pharaohs. This temple was impressive for its size and the grandeur that it apparently had before her stepson defaced it. The temple was approached via a 100-foot causeway, which includes 3 terraced courtyards. There were statues of lions at some of the ramps. The walls are covered with depictions of Hatshepsut's life, including her purported divine birth (a requirement to be a pharaoh), her trip to Punt, and her offerings to the god Anubis. There also is a depiction of Hatshepsut being suckled by the goddess Hathor. This depiction is the only one of Hatshepsut that was not defaced by her stepson; I don't recall why it survived, if it was oversight or if there was a particular reason why it would have offended the gods for that one to be defaced. Here are a few more pictures of this temple:


Our final stop of the day was a photo stop at the Colossi of Memnon. These are two huge--colossal, if you will--statues of Pharaoh Amenhotep III. The mortuary temple that used to be at this site is pretty well gone by now. If you want more information, you can look here. There's not too much else to say, so I'll just show some pictures of the colossi and the surrounding area. It was starting to get dark by that time, so some of the pictures have deeper shadows than we'd prefer, but you can get the idea.



Next stop on our Nile cruise: the Temple of Hathor at Denderah. Hopefully I'll be telling you about that tomorrow, but no promises.

Sun Boat IV

Yesterday I told you about our afternoon in Luxor, the day before we actually went on our Nile cruise.

Today, I want to tell you about the ship and the service. I'll tell you more about the actual trip later, but for now, I just want to share my awe.

We boarded the Sun Boat IV on Monday morning in Luxor. At the time, it was docked at the end of a long long line of cruise ships. It shared a dock with two or three other ships. The ships in Luxor dock parallel to the shore, with a gangplank from the shore to the nearest ship. To get to the ships that are further out, you simply walk through the reception area of the first ship, out the door on the other side, and then step across a short gangplank onto the next ship. So we saw at least the reception areas of several ships throughout this cruise, as we walked from ship to ship on our way to and from the shore. Judging solely from these reception areas and what we could see of the other ships' decks, I have to say that the Sun Boat IV is the most luxurious ship on the Nile River.

Here, take a tour with me:

This is the dining room, framed by its own doors as they open. The breakfast and lunch buffets were set up on the center island and table, and we had assigned seating for the duration of the cruise.




This is the lounge, where we had afternoon tea (I feel very British saying that!) and where the belly dancer and whirling dervish performed. There also was an "Egyptian Night" party, but we didn't go to that--I was inexplicably exhausted that night and just went to bed instead.


This is the shaded deck--which, incidentally, is on the back half of the same deck where our cabin was. We had breakfast and lunch out here on the one day when it wasn't too windy.




This is the Sun Deck. On days when we spent the morning or afternoon sailing from one location to another, most of us spent a good bit of time up here, sipping drinks, reading, and watching/videoing the beautiful scenery. It was so idyllic!



This is our cabin. The bathroom was off to the right and was about the size of a very large shower stall. The shower stall itself seemed microscopic at first, but it worked well enough. If it hadn't, the bathroom was designed so that you could leave the stall door open and use the entire bathroom as a shower with no problem.


And the service was everything you'd expect in those surroundings. We never carried our luggage anywhere; it miraculously appeared in our rooms. The service in the dining room was phenomenal, especially after the staff found out from our guide that I'm pregnant. Before they knew, I received the best service I've ever received anywhere (with the possible exception of Condetti, with which the service tied); after they knew, I never carried my own plate or slid in my own chair, and I often wasn't even allowed to go get my own juice from the breakfast buffet!

The service wasn't all that was excellent in the dining room, either. I gained 5 pounds that week, and I'm pretty sure the pregnancy had nothing to do with it. For breakfast, there was a buffet with a variety of hot and cold dishes--potatoes, sausages, fuul, pancakes, cold cereals, and fruit, among other options, which varied from day to day. You also could order off a menu--omelets, waffle, Eggs Benedict, and more. Jeff and I both ate an omelet, a waffle, and a few dishes off the buffet each and every morning ... looking at our plates, it seemed like so much food, but we were hungry again by the time lunch came around. Then it was another buffet with all sorts of delicious options. Afternoon tea consisted of tea, coffee, or fruit juice, plus fresh fruit and sweet pastries. Dinner was a more formal affair--we were given a menu each night. We chose our appetizer, main course, and dessert, usually from three options of each, and we also had a soup course. The one exception was Egyptian night, when we had a buffet of traditional Egyptian foods such as schawarma and koshary, not to mention hummus and tahina (similar to hummus but with a different taste). I'm gaining more weight just thinking about it!

The service was exceptional throughout the ship. Our room was cleaned, with fresh sheets and towels, every day. While we were at dinner, someone came in and turned down the bed. If we were on the sun deck, it was rare to not be offered a drink, and even when there wasn't a waiter, there was a cooler full of cold bottles of water to which we could help ourselves. When we came back from shore excursions, we always were met at the door by a man with a tray of warm, wet towels so we could wash our hands and faces. After the longer excursions, there also was a man with hibiscus or lemon juice.

Speaking of excursions, the system for that made the cruise feel like a small, intimate affair. There are 36 cabins and 4 suites, so I think a total of 88 passengers can be accommodated, but we were put into groups of 12 to 14 people who all spoke the same language. Our group was assigned to the same tour guide, Hesham, and we were together throughout the cruise. Our dinner companions were members of our group, too. I know that there were many people on the cruise other than the ones in my group--I noticed at least a few of them, and there were significantly more than 14 people at dinner each night--but in many ways it seemed like the only other people on board were the members of my group. The whole experience was made more enjoyable because I never felt lost in a crowd or overwhelmed by the number of people.

So that's the ship ... hopefully tomorrow I'll tell you about our guided tour of Luxor's most important sites.

Luxor On Our Own

I realized last night that it has been a good bit longer than I realized since I last posted anything here. I have good (or at least semi-good) reasons for it, I promise! First I was out of town for a week (more on that below), and then when we got back I was ... not particularly quick ... at getting back into anything resembling a routine. In fact, I'm still not there. It may have something to do with the fact that I wasn't in anything resembling a routine before I left, either, what with the first trimester exhaustion and all. But now I'm not as tired and I need to get myself on some sort of schedule to keep me that way--I've realized that if I just laze around, I stay tired, but if I'm active (even if only intellectually by typing away online), then I have more energy. All that to say that I'll try to do better about that--primarily about the routine and activity, but that will include posting here more frequently again too.

So now that's out of the way ... on to today's real topic!

I was out of town from 31 January to 5 February because Jeff and I were on a very special trip--a Nile cruise! We booked this vacation last fall, I think, well before we got pregnant, so I was very relieved that pregnancy and its symptoms in no way interfered with our trip. In fact, in some ways, it made it better!

Let me start at the beginning. Several of our friends have gone on Nile cruises, and they all highly recommended (1) that we go on a cruise and (2) that we go on a ship owned and operated by Abercrombie & Kent. Because we had so many recommendations for this particular cruise line, we didn't even bother to check out any others. I've since heard that Movenpick and a few others are good too, but most everyone agrees that A&K is top of the line. So we picked out dates and contacted a local travel agency to handle the details. We decided on a 4-night cruise from Luxor to Aswan, with a night in a hotel in Luxor so we didn't have to get up early enough to fly from Cairo to Luxor and be at the ship by the 9 a.m. check-in time.

On Sunday, 31 January, we took the hour flight from Cairo to Luxor, where we were met at the airport and driven to our hotel, a wonderful place called the Steigenberger Nile Palace Hotel. Both of us breathed deeply the moment we stepped off the plane--the last few days in Cairo had subjected us to particularly "crunchy" air, and Luxor had clear blue skies with no hint of pollution. We arrived around lunchtime, so after we checked in, we went in search of food. But not before checking out the view from our large balcony.



Nice, isn't it?

Anyway, we decided to just get lunch at one of the four or five restaurants in the hotel rather than taking the time to go find something somewhere else. We chose the Lebanese restaurant, where both the service and the food were excellent. We appreciated it even more that night when we got around to looking at the hotel information in our room and realized that we'd sat at one of their tables and been served with no problems over an hour before they actually opened!

After lunch, we went back to the room, where Jeff kindly agreed to put the sightseeing on hold while I took a nap. He sat out on the balcony with his book while I slept for an hour. Then, refreshed and ready to go, we decided to walk out to the Corniche (I assume that's what the road along the Nile was called, at least the part that had the wide park-like strolling area; that's what all such roads in Egypt seem to be called) and see what was there. As we left our hotel and walked down the road, we saw hotels on the left (the Nile side) and shops and restaurants on the right. Taxi drivers and horse-drawn carriage drivers alike asked if we wanted a ride; many promised "Five pounds! Five pounds tour of Luxor!" We didn't fall for it. We just kept walking, and soon enough we came to the Corniche.

We walked along the Corniche for a while, all the time looking for a stand or someplace where we could reasonably buy just two bottles of water without being expected to buy an entire meal. We saw a vast number of feluccas on our left and the ruins of the Temple of Luxor on our right. Eventually we decided to go down a set of stairs to the narrower walkway that was closer to water level--signs indicated that there were shops down there. We quickly found some bottled water and, refreshed, kept walking along. We tried not to look at the shops we passed; the vendors were even more aggressive than those in the Khan! As usual, I was unable to resist giving some response; I'm a nice Southern girl, after all, and I was raised to have manners. So I kept responding "La, shukran" or "La, mish ayziin" to their pleas for us to come in and look--after all "No cost to look!"

Eventually one of the vendors slipped beneath our defenses. He seemed genuinely impressed that I was responding in Arabic. He asked us where we were from, and--conscious of the dislike that often flows toward Americans abroad--we replied that we live in Cairo. "Ah! My brother! My sister!" I'm not sure what it was about him, but before we knew it, Jeff and I were in his shop, trying to explain that although I would love to accept his hospitality and have some tea, my pregnancy prevented me from drinking it. He showered us with congratulations about the baby, seeming even more delighted with us when he asked what we do for a living and I replied that I'm a sett beyt (housewife). He showed us pictures of his beautiful wife and adorable children. Eventually we made our excuses and left, and I honestly believe that he had enjoyed our chat and didn't mind that we hadn't bought anything.

As we continued down the walk, we allowed our experience with this friendly man to lull us into complacency. We soon found ourselves in another man's shop. While he also seemed genuinely friendly at first, he quickly turned on the pressure to buy. We left his shop disgruntled and ready to be done with the shops for good.

At the next stairway, we went back up to the street level, where the only vendors were selling taxi, carriage, or felucca rides. These were much easier to ignore. We walked a little while longer, then sat for a while on a bench overlooking the Nile when I got tired. Not too long after that, we took a taxi back to the hotel.

That night we ordered room service and went to bed early--I was still so tired I could barely think straight. We were offered, and considered accepting, an early morning hot air balloon ride, but we turned it down. We had decided that we wanted this trip to be a vacation (characterized mostly by rest and relaxation) rather than an expedition (characterized more by a sense of adventure and constant activity). In retrospect, I'm very glad we turned the balloon ride down. The next day was the longest and fullest day of the vacation, and I wouldn't have made it had it been any longer. My mother-in-law also pointed out that balloon rides are not exactly recommended for pregnant women, a fact that I should have considered but that frankly didn't even occur to me at the time.

The next morning, we had a delicious breakfast--included with the reservation--at the hotel, then were ready and waiting for our pick-up and transfer to the ship. But of course we had to get one more picture first, from the balcony.


If we make it back down to Luxor again, we'll have to plan to be on one of those.

A Momentous Day

It was Sunday. It started off pretty normal, I think. I was exhausted--partly because I hadn't slept so well the night before, due (once again) to too many trips to the bathroom. I also was anxious. I knew that the day had the potential to be pretty momentous, and not necessarily in a good way. We had an ultrasound scheduled for that afternoon.

It was a routine ultrasound, for routine screening of genetic defects, of which we are not particularly at risk. But two things were stuck in my mind: When researching nucal translucency online, I had run across a sentence saying, in effect, "some people who go in for this ultrasound discover that the fetus has no heartbeat." And a few nights earlier, I had woken up with particularly painful cramps in my abdomen. The cramps were not accompanied by any blood at all. They actually were similar to cramps that I've had in the past when dealing with constipation (not a pleasant topic, but face it, it's common for many people and not just during pregnancy), and I had pretty well convinced myself that that's what they were. I didn't call the health unit, didn't consult with any medical professionals, didn't even tell my husband. But there was still that niggling worry in the back of my mind ... what if it was more? What if the ultrasound showed that the fragile little heartflutter that we saw before had disappeared altogether, rather than turning into the fragile little heartbeat that it should now be? You can see how quickly I go back and forth between trusting God with my worries and taking them right back upon myself. I have a feeling that the struggle to leave this little one in God's eminently capable hands is going to be a long one ...

Anyway, in addition to dealing with the anxiety, I was dealing with exhaustion. As I mentioned, part of it was due to too many nighttime excursions to the loo, as my British friends would say. But there's more to it than that. No matter how long I sleep at night, how well I sleep, or how few times I have to get up, I'm still exhausted during the day. I accepted that up until recently, but I'm coming out of the first trimester now. I'm supposed to be getting my energy back, and I'm not. I can easily sleep 12 hours at night, then take an hour-long nap within three hours of getting up in the morning, and still be ready for bed by 8pm. Friends have told me how tired and pale I look; one former labor and delivery nurse called me up just to ask if I'd been taking my iron tablets--she tried to be nonchalant, but it was clear she was concerned. I told her that I didn't have iron tablets, but I'd been taking my prenatal vitamins daily. She agreed that they should have an adequate amount of iron, so I should be okay. But this conversation made me curious, so I did what I always do when I have an unanswered question--I turned to the internet.

On Sunday afternoon, before the ultrasound, I started researching pregnancy and anemia. At first, everything seemed like old hat--there was nothing that What to Expect When You're Expecting hadn't already told me (great book, by the way; I highly recommend it, although I think I ended up with a British version--but I picked it up locally, so it's not too surprising). Then something clicked. It was something I'd read a million times but hadn't really applied to my prenatal vitamin. All the websites that talk about dealing with anemia and getting enough iron while pregnant caution readers that the body's absorption of iron is inhibited by calcium and is promoted by Vitamin C. I had skimmed over that important information so many times--and then it hit me. In order to disguise the nasty taste of my vitamin, I had been taking it with milk. As in high calcium, low Vitamin C, exactly the opposite of what I needed. I've probably prevented my body from actually using all that iron that the prenatal vitamin is providing. So I decided that I needed to start taking the vitamin with grape juice (low calcium, 100% RDA Vitamin C). That alone would have made the day momentous--I still don't have much energy, but it takes a while to replenish iron in the body, so I expect to feel better before too much longer. I also fully expect to be told by my doctor tomorrow that I'm anemic, based on last month's blood work, and I intend to explain what I'd been doing and see what other changes I need to make to replenish the iron as quickly as possible. So hopefully, one problem turned the corner and began being solved on Sunday, before it could do serious harm to me or the baby.

With one concern relieved (although I was beating myself up over my apparent inability to connect the dots earlier), I headed off to the hospital for the ultrasound. Jeff was able to meet me there, and we followed the instructions we'd been given as to where to go and whom to talk to. In no time, I was lying on the table with the cold goop on my abdomen, Jeff standing beside me. The doctor, whose English was perfect--he'd spent a few years in New York--was surprised that we wanted a nucal translucency ultrasound. He wanted to know why we were worried. He accepted that it's routine screening now in the United States, and seemed to have the typical Egyptian attitude of "well, if you want it, you can have it, although it does blow my mind that such an expensive procedure is routine, even for low-risk pregnancies, in America." (The ultrasound cost LE150, roughly $30, which is a big deal in a country where the average citizen survives on around LE10 or $2 a day.)

And then came the second momentous event on Sunday--by far the more momentous of the two. We saw our baby. And he* looked like a baby. A real baby, not the bean-shaped blob of former ultrasounds. The head was clearly a head, although disproportionately large, as expected at this stage of development. The body was clearly a body. I never did see the legs, although the doctor insisted that all the major body parts were present. But the baby was waving at us. You could clearly see his little hand sticking up above his head. And then he decided to greet us--or maybe to protest the ultrasound--in a more visible way. With the doctor holding the ultrasound wand perfectly still, we saw the baby's entire body shake, then lift. After that, baby did not take a break; he was jumping around for the rest of the ultrasound.

The doctor pinpointed the heart and showed us the little heartbeat, although by that point, I didn't need to see it. The baby's movements were enough to convince me that our little guy is still alive and kicking. But the doctor had another surprise in store for us. He turned on the speakers. And I heard the most beautiful sound--the rapidly beating heart of our preborn child. We even heard the extra effort that it took to make a particularly high leap in the womb. It was a strong, steady heartbeat that would have reassured even the most anxious mother that her baby was doing just fine.

It was such a special time. I don't know if it was seeing the baby, or hearing the heartbeat for the first time, but something inside me that hadn't fully believed that we really are pregnant finally started to believe. It still doesn't feel completely real yet, but ... I'm not quite sure how to explain it. Even though it doesn't always feel completely real, I completely believe now that there really is a little life growing inside of me. Before, I knew it was true, but I didn't fully believe it somehow. I'm sorry; that's the best I can do. Maybe others who have experienced pregnancy can explain it better than I can.

So there you go. That was my momentous day. I'm sure there will be others during--and after--this pregnancy, and I'll be sure to share them with you as well.




*A note on pronouns: It's still too early to tell the baby's sex from the ultrasound, although we will find out just as soon as we can. I generally use whatever pronoun pops out, although it seems to be feminine most of the time for me, whereas Jeff tends to use masculine pronouns. Some days I say "she" all day; others I say "he" all day; and others, I alternate. But Jeff and the doctor both were saying "he," and that is technically the correct pronoun to use when the sex is unknown and you don't want to use the cumbersome, politically correct "he or she." So for the purposes of this post, I'll stick with masculine pronouns ... although I make no promises about future posts.

The Birth That's Right for Me

Last night I finished reading a book called The Birth That's Right For You: A Doctor and a Doula Help You Choose and Customize the Best Birth Option to Fit Your Needs by Amen Ness, Lisa Gould Rubin, and Jackie Frederick-Berner. I have to say--I loved this book!

Everyone has an opinion about childbirth. People who have given birth before are adamant that others should (or should not) have experiences like theirs. It seems that the web is full of natural-birth advocates, whereas real life is full of medicated-birth advocates. Doulas and midwives say that the best place to give birth is at home or in a stand-alone birthing center. Doctors and disbelieving lay people insist that the only safe place to give birth is at a hospital. Many people assume that birth will happen in a hospital, with a doctor in attendance, and anything else occurs only if you wait too long to head for the hospital. Others assume that if you go to the hospital, you'll end up with a Cesarian or a cookie-cutter vaginal birth that you weren't really present for anyway, because of the drugs. Even if you go natural, people will push Lamaze, or Bradley, or waterbirth, or hypnobirth ... No matter what the opinion is, it seems like everyone has one, or at least an assumption about what childbirth will look like.

That's what I loved about this book--they didn't.

This quote from the introduction pretty well sums up the philosophy of this book: "The best and most satisfying birth experiences happen when you're able to make choices in labor and delivery that are based on who you are, not someone some childbirth expert tells you that you should be." So if you feel most comfortable giving birth at home, go for it! If a homey birth center is more up your alley, feel free. And if you feel most protected and comfortable in a hospital setting, that's exactly where you should be. Narcotics, epidural, natural pain management strategies--you'll know what methods will work best for you based on how you handle stress and pain in your normal, not-giving-birth-at-the-moment life.

I started this book feeling pretty confident that I wanted a natural birth in a stand-alone birthing center, with a midwife to catch the baby and my husband and a doula to help coach me through it. I wanted a natural birth because I truly do believe that a medication-free birth is best for the baby--narcotics can cause a baby to born sleepy, so sleepy in some cases that the child can't even breathe without help; an epidural is difficult to dose right, and if you're given too high a dose, you may not feel your body's cues to push or be able to push effectively when you try, resulting in the need for an emergency Cesarian, which is major abdominal surgery. I figured that the best way to have a natural birth was to birth in a location where that was the only option--there would be no pressure, no repeated offers, and a major relocation to the hospital if I changed my mind. But I also have to admit--I was pretty scared of the whole notion of natural childbirth. By the time I get back to the States, I may or may not have time for a natural childbirth course. Even if I take one, they often seem to rely on one's ability to relax using visualization, which is not my strong point. And the more I read about birth, the more I am told that fear, anxiety, and an inability to manage the pain of contractions combine to stall labor, resulting in a Cesarian ... which I absolutely do not want unless it's necessary to save the life of my baby.

As I read this book, I started thinking about my natural coping strategies. What do I do when I'm afraid, stressed out, and in pain? My first response, at least to pain: Go to the medicine cabinet. Uh-oh, Houston, we have a problem. Because I really do want to avoid medication during childbirth, yet I also really do have a notoriously low tolerance for pain. And the natural coping strategies that I've read about so far really don't fit my personality all that well, either. I can't visualize to save my life. I do eventually relax in a hot tub or pool, but never until I can be confident that everyone else is engaged somewhere else, and no one is paying attention to me--unlikely if I'm using a birth pool to take the edge off of contractions during labor, with my attentive husband and doula hovering over me. When I'm in pain, I don't "walk it off." I tend to freeze, sink into the couch or bed, and maybe rock back and forth just a little. My main coping strategy is prayer, combined when possible with a generous dose of medication. I haven't seen either of those strategies listed in any natural childbirth books!

So where does that leave me? Someone who wants a natural birth but who seriously doubts her ability to have one? This book helped me realize that it really doesn't have to be an all-or-nothing proposition. I can give birth in a hospital, with a doctor or nurse midwife who is supportive of my preference for natural birth. But if my labor stalls and it starts looking like a Cesarian is in my future, or I just can't handle it, I'm exhausted, and I need to sleep--to remove myself from my body so that I stop fighting the work my contractions are trying to do--I can request an epidural. And the knowledge that I can request an epidural, that I don't have to handle the pain indefinitely if I feel like I can't do it, will allow me to focus on one contraction at a time, which I think I can handle. And if I can't, there's the epidural. After all, if I can't relax enough for my contractions to fulfill their function, I'm headed for a Cesarian. As much as I shudder to think of a needle going that close to my spine, a catheter staying there, an IV pumping me full of fluids to avoid a sudden drop in blood pressure--all of those things will happen by necessity if I have to have a Cesarian. Why not try everything possible to avoid one?

So here's what I'm currently thinking I want in childbirth. Keep in mind, though, that as I do more research on natural childbirth methods, gather information about classes that may be available once I'm back home, and come into more information in general, I may change my mind. And that's okay. But here's what I'm currently thinking:

1. I intend to deliver in a hospital, with my husband and a doula by my side, using natural coping strategies. However, it will give me peace of mind to know that medication is available if I need it. (I'm still going to have to get myself okay with the idea that I'll probably have to have an IV, or at least a hep-lock, soon after I arrive at the hospital, but that's a compromise I think I can make.)
2. There is a women's center 30-45 minutes from my hometown that is staffed by two female obstetricians and one female midwife. Seeing as how I've never had a pelvic exam from a male doctor, and the very thought makes me tense up like crazy, I think I need to give them a call on Tuesday (after the holiday), ask a few questions, and see if they could be a good match for me. I don't want a male doctor doing a routine exam to cause me to tense up and stall my labor on the big day--and I know myself well enough to know that I will never be comfortable with a man who is not my husband doing anything "down there." This women's center was recommended by a doula who is a firm advocate of natural childbirth, so I'm pretty sure that they will be supportive of my desires for a natural childbirth. But they also deliver in a hospital, and the doula who recommended them knows that I want the option of pain medication, so I'm thinking that will be an option too. I'll confirm all of this when I talk to them. And I already know that these practitioners are preferred providers for my insurance, which is a big financial plus!
   
3. I want to hire a doula who is very experienced in natural childbirth, but who also can function well within a medicated childbirth situation. I have referrals for two women--one a newly certified midwife who still does doula work while building her midwife practice, and one who is in training to be a midwife. I'm thinking they will be comfortable functioning as doulas in any birth situation, but their midwife training will be particularly useful when it comes to helping me keep the birth natural. I've already sent emails to these women, so I'm waiting to see if they're available and how much they charge before I start trying to figure out which of them is the better match for us.
   
4. I'm still hoping to find a natural childbirth class that will work for me, and maybe even a last-minute "crash course" for my husband.
5. My ultimate goal at the end of the day--or the beginning of the day, depending on when the baby decides to arrive--is a healthy baby and a healthy mama. My secondary goal is vaginal birth, as opposed to a Cesarian. (Cesarians are fine for those who need or want them--please don't think I'm saying anything other than that--but I'd really rather avoid surgery if at all possible.) My tertiary goal is a natural vaginal birth, as opposed to a medicated vaginal birth.

So there you have it. The birth that's right for me. At least, the birth that I think is right for me at the moment. Any comments or suggestions? I'm still exploring natural birth options in particular, so if there's something that worked really well (or really not-so-well) for you, I'd love to hear about it.

Pictures

Okay, so this isn't a real blog post. But I went to Baby Wash on Monday, and on the way back, I saw something that you'd never see in America, so I took a couple of pictures, and I want to share. Here you go:

Not Much

Going on, that is.

I realized that I haven't posted anything in over a week, and I'm trying to do better about not disappearing for long periods of time, so I thought I'd pop in with an update.

I haven't posted anything lately because there hasn't been that much going on. I'm about 10 weeks along now, with no major problems. I haven't even had any morning sickness, although I do feel a queasiness that comes and goes throughout the day, sometimes slight and sometimes not-so-slight.

My daily routine has pretty well established itself: I get up shortly after 7a.m. to feed the cats, then go back to bed, getting up again around 9. I laze around the house, waiting for my daily dose of energy to arise, eating breakfast and reading online until 11 or so. I get a shower. Then I have a brief productive period--at least as productive as it gets nowadays--when I do laundry, the dishes, and sometimes sweep the floors. Then the exhaustion kicks in again, and I sit. I may read, watch TV, or get on the computer, but it's nothing productive. I try to cook dinner when Jeff comes home ... but as often as not, he walks in the door, takes one look at me, and asks what I want to order for dinner. We eat dinner, watch a little TV, and I'm in bed again sometime between 9 and 10. I wake up four or five times a night to go to the bathroom. Then I get up around 7 to feed the cats, go back to bed until around 9, etc etc.

I feel very lazy. But I'm just so tired--I don't have the energy to actually *do* anything. I don't know how women do it who work outside the home during their first trimesters, or who already have children who need to be cared for, or who can't afford to hire help around the house. People keep telling me that I'll get my energy back in a few weeks. I can't wait.

Of course, there are days when I do have to do something. I have to get up early to go in to the health unit for an appointment, or I have to go to the commissary. Over the weekend, we actually had friends over for a game afternoon--we played Settlers of Catan, which is a really fun game that never gets old. On days when I have to get up early, I take a nap around lunchtime, when the workers renovating the apartment downstairs take their lunch/prayer breaks. On days when I have things going on in the afternoon, I just don't do laundry or anything else. But overall, I'm spending my days in the apartment, doing what I feel like I can do, and waiting to get my energy back.

I also realized that by the time I need maternity clothes, I won't have time to wait for them to arrive from the States, and I really have no idea where to buy special size maternity clothing here (I'm on the large side even without the soon-to-come pregnancy belly). So Jeff and I agreed that I should go ahead and order some stretchy pants, in a size larger than I actually wear, so that my in-between regular and maternity pants are here whenever I need them. The plan is that we'll order maternity pants the day I first need my stretchy pants. They arrived yesterday--now I'm wondering if I'll even need maternity pants, with as big as they are already, and stretchy too. We also ordered a few maternity shirts to have on hand for when the time comes. They shipped a couple of days ago, so they should be here within a few weeks. It would be nice to know that I could just go out to the mall and find things as I need them, but living overseas makes it more difficult to do that. Jeff suggested that I could just go traditional Egyptian in my dress during the pregnancy--I probably could find appropriately sized gallabeyyas and/or abayas. But I'd rather wear clothing that I'd feel comfortable in even once I go back to the States for the birth.

So that's what's going on with me. I'm spending lots of time lying around, trying to plan ahead for things that could sneak up on us. We're also planning to go on a Nile cruise in February--one we'd already booked before we got pregnant--so I'm really hoping that the exhaustion lifts before then. (And for the worry-warts, my embassy doctor has already approved the trip; we'll talk at my next visit about the things I should avoid or be careful of, but she has no problem with me going.)

And now it's 11:30, so I need to go get my shower. Computer time ran long this morning ... but since I'm still yawning, I'm not sure how much productive time I'm going to get today anyway.

Prenatal Visit #1

This morning I had my first official prenatal visit at the health unit. Finally! It's only the third time I've been to the health unit since I knew I was pregnant ... but it seems like things are on track now. The doctors are acknowledging that there's a baby growing inside me, not just a miscarriage waiting to happen. As the doctor said, "You're never completely out of the woods, but getting that heartbeat was HUGE."

If you go by the date of my last normal period (off by a few days based on when I know I ovulated, but the doctor wants to go with it, so okay), I'm around 9 weeks along now. My official due date is 3 August 2010. I guess that means that officially, the baby is gestationally 7 weeks old, since the date of pregnancy is assumed to be two weeks before a woman actually ovulates and becomes pregnant. So, according to my pregnancy book, the baby should be about an inch long now. He or she should have elbow, wrist, and knee joints; fingers and toes; and external ear folds. Primitive neural pathways are forming. It's estimated that one hundred thousand new nerve cells are formed each minute. Wow! That's 100,000 a minute! What a HUGE little miracle God is working inside me!

Now on to the next big milestone ... early screening for potential problems. There are four options: (1) no screening, (2) an early invasive procedure--I forget what it's called--that risks miscarriage but can be done earlier than other screening, (3) amniocentesis, or (4) nucal translucency ultrasound plus blood tests. This ultrasound focuses on whether or not the baby has a nasal bone and on the thickness of the fluid at the back of the baby's neck. Apparently, this information, in conjunction with my blood tests and my age, is a highly accurate predictor of various problems with the baby, including Down's syndrome.

Jeff and I have decided to go with option #4, the only one that provides information about potential problems without increasing the risk of a miscarriage. We'll need to have it done in late January. We aren't at high risk, but the test is available and safe for the baby, so we've decided that we want to know. Many people want to know early so they can abort if there are problems; that isn't an option for us. No matter what, this is our baby, given to us by God, and we'll keep him or her as long as possible. But if there are problems, we'd prefer to have time before the baby arrives to prepare ourselves as much as possible. But of course, we aren't expecting problems--this is a routine screening that's offered to everyone, although the nucal translucency option is a new one. I don't think we would have had any screening done if the only options were the invasive ones that could potentially cause miscarriage.

Anyway, I just wanted to provide a pregnancy update. I'll continue to post updates as the situation warrants. Please continue to keep us in your prayers--as the doctor said, you're never totally out of the woods. We're so happy to know that so far, the baby is doing well and developing normally. We just pray that the baby continues to develop in a normal and healthy way.

Sandboarding

On our way back from Whale Valley, the chitchat was all about our upcoming offroading adventure and sandboarding experiment. We flew down the dirt track until suddenly, the driver swerved off the track and into the desert. The ride was still smooth--so smooth, in fact, that the driver started angling the vehicle to catch a few humps and allow us to feel like it actually was an adventure. Every time we hit a bump, most of us groaned as we jerked unceremoniously into the air. The exception was my mom--she loved it. I'm convinced she encouraged the driver to keep it up, but that's okay.

Before too long, we pulled up in front of a large dune and stopped. The drivers and tour guide got out and took a good long look at it, and a couple of us tourists got out and snapped some pictures. Then the drivers and tour guide all returned to the vehicle, rounding up their errant charges along the way, and we were off again. It wasn't until we stopped again that I realized what was wrong with the first dune--it wasn't large enough!

When we stopped again, we all piled out of the vehicles without waiting for permission. I looked in awe at the huge dune. We were supposed to climb that and then race down it on boards?

I wasn't too sure about that ... but there was no way I was going to not sandboard, either, so I compromised. I grabbed a board and headed up the dune, but I only went halfway up. I looked at those crazy people who were going all the way to the top. I may have muttered something along the lines of "I'd break my neck!"

I wasn't the only one who was hesitant to try full-fledged sandboarding from the get-go. A friend and her husband also went only halfway up, and it turned out to be a very good thing for me. We watched from our perches halfway up the dune as our guide showed those brave souls at the top how it was done. About the only thing we could make out was that you sit in the sand, put your feet in the straps on the board, then stand up and go. So I sat in the sand and tried to put my feet in the straps. Much easier said than done! The slippery board kept sliding away from my feet. Finally, my friend's husband stood in front of me and propped my board up with his foot. After that, getting my feet in was easy. But I quickly realized that I would not be standing up on my own. Luckily, the kind man who had just helped me with the board was willing to help again. Offering his hand, he hauled me to my feet and then prepared to send me on my way down the dune. Much to his surprise, I had developed a case of the jitters and didn't actually let go of his arm. As his wife laughed--and Jeff took pictures from the bottom of the dune--he helped me steady myself and eventually convinced me to let go of him.

I started sliding down the mountain ... and suddenly stopped. The front half of my oh-so-slippery sandboard was buried in the sand! Being unable to bend over to wipe it off without tumbling, I hopped around a bit and tried to lift it out of the sand. I slid a few more inches down the dune. Good enough. I stepped out of the straps, picked up the board, and turned to climb back up the dune, not quite sure what I had done wrong.

I went a little higher this time than I had the last time. I sat back down in the sand and tried--unsuccessfully--to put my feet back in the straps. I had no help this time, as my assistant was busy helping his own wife. About that time, I saw the guide fly past me from the top of the dune on his way to the bottom--and he was lying down on his board this time. Facefirst down the huge dune--I don't think so! He was followed by one of the kids, sitting on her board. Hmm ... now that looked like a position I could get myself into. So I positioned the board on the sand and plopped myself onto it.

As soon as my feet came off the sand and onto the board, I started sliding, faster than I had when I was on my feet. Excited, I leaned forward in an attempt to go even faster. The tip of my board promptly buried itself into the sand. Aha! That was the problem--if the weight is on the back of the board, the tip rises out of the sand; if the weight is redistributed to the front, the tip gets buried and the board comes to an inglorious stop, no matter how steep the dune. Armed with this new knowledge, I tried it again, starting from my highest position yet. It worked much better this time, and I got a good fast ride all the way down to where the dune started leveling out.

About this time, Jeff got tired of taking pictures. He grabbed his own board and started up the dune. After a couple of practice runs from halfway up, it became obvious that he was going to the top. I decided that it was time, and I was going all the way up too.

The going was easy enough for the first half of the dune. Then it got steep, and the sand fell away under my feet, preventing me from making upward progress. I had to use the board as a brace, shoving it into the sand ahead of me, then climbing to it. After several minutes of hard work--how did the others make it look so easy?--I made it to the top. I sat down beside Jeff and rested while he prepared for his run. I looked over my shoulder at the other side of the dune, just inches away from me--it was a vertical drop. I wished I had my camera, but it was at the bottom with Mom, who was happily documenting our adventures. Then Jeff was ready to go, and I cheered for him as I watched his ride.

Finally, I felt ready to make my own run. I carefully positioned myself on the board, making sure to keep as much weight as possible toward the back. I lifted my feet from the sand, and I was off! The board followed a path chosen by the contours of the dune, as I never did figure out how to steer. I looked ahead and saw the young daughter of Jeff's coworker, climbing the dune directly ahead of me. "Look out!" I shouted. "I can't steer this thing!" I'm honestly not sure if she managed to get out of the way or if the dune's contours altered my path or if both factors came into play, but I missed her by a good two feet, much to my relief. She just cackled like a madwoman as I passed her, so I knew she was fine. I sped on down the hill, gradually slowing and stopping at the bottom.

I decided that it was a good run to end on, especially since I was still a little out of breath from the climb. (I didn't know yet that I was pregnant, although I wondered why I was having a more difficult time physically than I expected based on my admittedly not-great physical condition.) I joined Mom and took over some of the responsibility for the pictures, watching as the kids in our group quickly became expert sandboarders. A few of the adults learned quickly as well, but most of the adults ended up coming down the same way I did--sitting on the board.

As the sun made its way toward the horizon, we realized that we were still many kilometers from Cairo. Because we were supposed to be back before dark--a goal we already knew we would miss--we decided to head back. Happy, exhausted, and incredibly sandy, we climbed back into the vehicles, wondering whether we'd find the opportunity again to participate in this fun, surprisingly painless (even when falling) sport.

Merry Christmas!!

This won't be a long post--it will quite possibly be the shortest post ever--but I do want to wish all of you a very Merry Christmas. Jeff and I are enjoying a lazy day at home. I hope that whatever you're doing today, you're having a wonderful and blessed time on this day when we celebrate the ultimate gift.

"For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord" Luke 2:11

Heartbeat

We have one! I saw the flutter myself on the ultrasound. Hamdulilah, praise Jesus!

Now for the saga of the ultrasound ...

When I made this appointment two weeks ago, the saga showed signs of being more complicated than necessary. In the States, you'd call the doctor, make your appointment, show up, maybe wait a while, have the procedure, and then your various doctors would coordinate amongst themselves so the report ended up where it needed to be. No real surprises.

Not so in Egypt.

First, the health unit people called the local doctor. She told them to call someone named Magda. They tried to reach Magda, to no avail. Eventually they reached Magda. Magda said that the appointment had to wait for two weeks, until I was seven weeks along, and two weeks was too far out to make the appointment.

I like making appointments early.

I called the clinic myself, with the blessing of the health unit people. The operator told me to call back two days later, between certain hours, when Magda would be working. I called back during the set time. Magda wasn't working. I was to call back the next morning at 7:30 a.m. I got frustrated with the incorrect information I had been given previously and tried to clarify whether the information I was getting that time was correct or not. Apparently the operator's English wasn't good enough to deal with the non-Egyptian trait of not accepting what you're told and hoping, insha'allah, that the information is correct this time. I got even more frustrated and hung up.

I called the next morning at 7:30 a.m. Lo and behold, Magda was there! We spoke. I explained the situation and told her that even though I couldn't come in for another couple of weeks, I wanted to make the appointment. She agreed, and we made the appointment. I made it clear that I needed an intravaginal ultrasound, and I needed to take the report with me so I could give it to my embassy doctors. She agreed; there would be no problem.

Fast forward to today. Jeff and I showed up shortly before 9, the time set for our appointment. The receptionist obviously had no idea why we were there. I told him I had made an appointment with Magda. He told us to sit down. A few minutes later, he called us back over and told us that Magda was on the phone, which he handed to me. Magda didn't seem to remember me at first. Then she suddenly asked, "Are you pregnant?" When I answered affirmatively, it was like something clicked in her mind. She said, "Ok, you should sit down and wait. I'll tell them what you're going to have done." I handed the phone back to the receptionist, and Jeff and I sat back down.

A few minutes later, the receptionist called us back over. He told us to go to the cashier downstairs and pay LE100, then go to a different reception area and tell them that we were there for an ultrasound with a specific doctor. So that's what we did.

We were told to wait in the other reception area, which we did for a few minutes. Then the receptionist there came over to me and started speaking in Arabic. I looked at her blankly and said, "Ana mish fahma. Arabi schwayya-schwayya." ("I don't understand. Arabic little-little.") So she motioned me to follow her and led me to the other receptionist in that area. This one told me in English that the doctor I was supposed to see was running very late today, and instead I was to see Dr. Mohammed Someone-or-another. I told her I was supposed to get an intravaginal ultrasound. She agreed and said that Dr. Mohammed would do it. I declined. I told her I needed a woman doctor. Even in the States I have not yet been forced to endure a pelvic exam from a male doctor, and there's no way I will allow it with a male Egyptian doctor, not with the stories I've heard of doctors who apparently ask women to disrobe for no reason other than to see if they will.

Completely unsurprised, the receptionist told me to wait a moment, and she made a phone call. She then told me to go back to the first reception area and wait for Dr. Laila. So we went back and made sure the original receptionist knew we were back. He told us to go to a third reception area and wait for Magda. On the way, we had to pass by the second reception area. The English-speaking receptionist there stopped us and told us to go back to the first area. We explained what the receptionist there had told us. She shook her head, told us to wait, and picked up the phone. After a brief conversation, she told us to go back to the first area.

Back in the first area, the receptionist motioned us to go into a separate area that seems to be reserved for those who have paid. After a short while, we were called in to the ultrasound room. The technician/doctor/whatever she was took the basic information that all doctors apparently want when you're pregnant, then asked if I was still taking a medication that I'd been prescribed previously. I said no, because my research had shown that it was not appropriate for pregnant women. She told me to go back on it in order to avoid a miscarriage. I said okay, mainly to acknowledge that I'd heard her, because I will not go back on it unless my embassy doctor tells me to ... and even then I'd probably want to do more research on my own first. She asked if I was taking prenatal vitamins, then told me to only take them for the first trimester. (Somehow I think I'll be taking them longer than that.) All in all, this woman wasn't really acknowledging that she isn't my primary physician.

Finally, though, we got around to the reason I was there--the ultrasound. She turned the screen so I could see it. She pointed out the gestational sac, which I'd seen on the previous ultrasound (unbeknownst to her, because it was at a local hospital, not the clinic). She showed me the embryo--the baby. She pointed out the fluttering, which is the developing heartbeat. At one point, she had to explain why I suddenly saw two embryos where previously there was only one; apparently it's normal to get echoes. She measured, and I don't remember the size, but she said that the size was consistent with a mom who's 8 weeks along. She said that everything looked normal and good, and the baby appears healthy. At this point, I readily forgave any and all inconveniences that had occurred while making the appointment or earlier this morning.

Afterward, she wanted me to meet with a specific doctor. My choices were to wait today for "one or two hours," most likely meaning three or four hours, or to come back "tomorrow or after tomorrow," when there would be clinic hours. "Clinic" means I come and sit in the waiting room for who knows how long until the doctor gets to me. Um, no, thanks. I've got better things to do and more comfortable places to sit. So I just asked for the report so I could take it back to my doctors at the embassy.

This is the point where my temper almost made an appearance. She said no. I couldn't have the report. What they had done today was for their records. It didn't matter what Magda had said when I made the appointment (which Magda had apparently not actually made anyway, reviving all the frustrations of the morning). If I wanted a report for another doctor, I'd have to talk to the doctor here and ask for it. It wouldn't be a problem to get it, but I'd have to spend untold hours waiting for the opportunity to ask for it. I was furious a little upset to hear this news. But with a heroic effort I easily contained my anger, held onto my temper, and calmly announced that I would not see the doctor today.

My husband and I calmly left the clinic. Once outside, we agreed that, as soon as I got home, I would call the health unit and let them deal with this nonsense. Meanwhile, Jeff announced that unless it is absolutely necessary, we will not be returning to this clinic. I fervently agreed with that judgment.

To make the rest of the story short, the health unit people did their thing. The report will be picked up tomorrow, and I won't even have to pick it up. I will never have to deal with this clinic again.

Still ... they made it possible to see my baby for the first time. And there was a heartbeat. So even though I'm glad not to have to deal any more with their inefficiencies and absurdities, I guess they're not all that bad.

Loosely Held

We see it all the time with kids. They have something, and they want to keep it. We want to take it away for one reason or another--maybe it's dangerous, maybe they just took it from another child, maybe it's simply time to put the toys away and go to bed. So the child hangs on for dear life, gripping it tightly, curling his body around it, fighting tooth and nail to keep it. I saw it at least once every time I visited the orphanage. Most of the kids did it at one point or another. It always reminded me of that Charlton Heston quote, when he said that the government could take away his gun when they pried it from his "cold, dead hands." That's the attitude you see in children--you can take this toy away from me when you pry it from my cold, dead hands, because I'm not letting go of it while I still have breath and energy to fight.

Adults often have that attitude too. Sometimes it's appropriate. As a conservative, as a gun-owner, as someone who believes that the right to keep and bear arms is what keeps our other rights from slipping through our fingers, I agree with Charlton Heston's attitude. But this isn't a political post, so I won't say more about that. When you're protecting your child or fighting for justice, it's perfectly appropriate to fight tooth and nail, to never let go, to not give up. Sometimes the right thing to do is to grab hold, grip tightly, and fight to keep it.

But sometimes it isn't.

John, one of the first children I met at Mother Teresa's, had a game that he liked to play. He'd walk up to me and hand me whatever toy he had been playing with. He'd hand it over without hesitation, without being asked. Because he knew what was coming. Every time he gave me a toy, I gave John my biggest, brightest smile, and I would say "Shukran, ya John!" ("Thank you, John!") Delight filled my face and my voice as I commended him for sharing with me. His little face would light up with sheer joy. Often he'd laugh. He 'd just stand there and delight in being delighted in. Then, usually but not always, I'd give the toy back to him. He'd wander off, then come back and do it all over again a few minutes later.

A few times, when John handed me a toy, I didn't hand it back. I always smiled and commended him, but sometimes while I was doing that, whatever child was in my lap would pluck the toy from my hand, or it would be time to put the toys away, so I'd put it in the toy box. John never protested when he didn't get the toy back. But if I did give him the toy back, and then another child plucked it from his hand, he would weep and wail and hit and do everything in his power to get it back. If I had to take a toy away from him--one that he had not given me--he tried desperately to keep it. It was only when he'd given it to me freely, and then I chose not to give it back, that he didn't mind the loss. Once he made the choice to give me the toy, he was at peace with whatever I decided to do with it.

I've been thinking a lot lately about John. I think I'm a lot like him, in both good ways and bad ways.

You see, I was an authority figure to John. It shouldn't have mattered if he volunteered to give me a toy or if I told him to; he should have been okay with obedience in either case. I know that's a lot to expect from a one-year-old, too much to expect, but ideally, that would have been the case. But how different am I? During this pregnancy, I've been forced to contemplate the fact that the ultimate Authority--God--may choose to take this baby away from me. I should be okay with that. After all, I know that God wants the best for us, that He loves this baby even more than I do, and that there is no better place for any of us than in Heaven by His side, which is where this baby will go if God takes him or her away from me. But I'm often not okay with that. I weep and wail, internally, if not externally. I vow to do everything in my power to keep this baby--which admittedly isn't much. I rebel against His authority and demand that He do things my way.

But there is another way, a better way. I can give this baby to God, just as John gave his toy to me. When I'm able to do that, to truly give this child up, I feel a peace that can only come from God. I can put this child in God's hands and trust that God will do what is best, whether that means letting me have this baby or not. And I can be content with that. Don't get me wrong; there is still a deep sadness at the thought of losing my child. But there's also peace. There's a confidence--a rock-hard certainty deep in my soul--that if my baby dies, God is still good and God is still in control and, as a kind soul recently reminded me, God still works all things together for good for those who love Him and who are called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28).

So just like John, I have a choice.

I can hold on tightly and fight to not let go. My life can be a struggle to keep what's mine. Even if this baby survives to be born, I can worry all the days of my life about what's going to happen to this child, and if the child lives, I can teach the child to live a life of fear, anxiety, and struggle.

Or I can go to One who is bigger and stronger than I am, and I can say, "Here You go. I trust You. Do what's best." And then I can lift this baby up to Him, loosely held, ready to let go, ready to let God be sovereign. I can have peace, no matter what happens. I can delight in my God and know that He delights in receiving my trust. And if this child lives, I can teach the child to live a life of trust, joy, and peace.

The choice is mine.