Evacuation Day

Monday, 31 January 2011, began early and lasted late. My alarm clock went off at 5am, after I’d been asleep for only four hours. For the last several nights, I’d averaged four hours of sleep a night. As someone who needs eight or nine hours each night, let me tell you: I was beat. Already.

Nevertheless, I got out of bed and headed toward the shower. As I went into the bathroom, I heard the squawk of the emergency radio and paused to listen. It was the same announcement I’d heard the last several mornings: Curfew is still in effect. The streets are not secure. The embassy is closed until further notice. Do not try to approach the embassy unless your supervisor tells you to and arranges secure transportation for you. Stay off the radio unless it’s an emergency.  The same announcement would be repeated throughout the day, unless something happened to change it.

But today I wouldn’t be able to hear it. I was evacuating.

I showered and dressed. Ate breakfast. Went through my mental list of things that had been packed, trying to figure out if any substitutions should be made—I was at the weight limit for our luggage and beyond the limit of what I could carry on my own, so additions could not be made without corresponding subtractions. Jeff and Alexa woke up. Jeff held his baby girl, not sure when he’d be able to do so again. She was evacuating with me.

We’d been told to be ready the moment the vans pulled up. They’d be leaving at 8. At 7:30, Jeff went downstairs to get the car seat and reported that people were gathering already. We decided to head down as well. We spent the next two or three hours sitting in the common room, waiting for the buses to show up. I chatted with a couple of other ladies who were evacuating, one who—like me—wouldn’t have left of her own volition but was being pressured by her husband’s managerial hierarchy; another who was so conflicted that she hadn’t made the decision to leave until one o’clock that morning. I envied her the choice. Jeff continued to hold Alexa. I watched them, drinking in the sight of them together.

Finally the vans pulled in and we began loading. We had too many people to fit in one load, but we managed to fit anyway. The vans were needed to pick up other evacuees in other locations—we already were running behind schedule, and no one wanted to waste the time for a second trip unless it couldn’t be avoided. We crammed in for the 15-minute drive to the commissary compound, where processing would occur before the caravan of buses left for the airport.

As we drove through Maadi, I was struck by how quiet the streets were. It made Friday morning—the typical quiet time—look like rush hour. Almost every street we passed showed the remnants of the barricades set up by last night’s vigilante militias: a stack of sandbags here, a pile of junk metal there. A tank sat in each major intersection. I wished I had my camera, but with all the things I had to carry, I'd made the decision to leave it in my carry-on bag, despite knowing that I would miss some great pictures. It was the right call, but ... oh, the pictures I missed!

Just two turns from our destination, we stopped. A group of Egyptian men surrounded the front of the vehicle. After a short conversation in Arabic, our driver made a U-turn through the pass to the other side of the divided road. We drove a few meters—passing through a small crowd of waving, smiling young men—then turned right and began a convoluted journey that eventually led us back to the main road a scant distance farther down than where we were stopped. From my new vantage, it was easy to see that relatively permanent road blocks had been erected, and although most vehicles could maneuver through if they went slowly and carefully, our larger vehicles simply wouldn’t fit.

After that, we arrived at the commissary compound quickly. People and bags—one checked, weighing less than 44 pounds, and one carryon per person—were unloaded, and the vans sped off to collect more evacuees. We were directed to a long table where we checked in, and the administrators made sure that appropriate travel orders had been issued for everyone. Those who were low on cash had the opportunity to collect an advance against their travel per diem. We all waited around, making trips into the commissary as necessary to use the bathroom and buy travel supplies, until the order was given to start loading the nine or ten waiting buses.

As the buses were loaded, I stood aside with a few others. The dependents from my husband’s office planned to travel together so that we could help each other along the way, and most had not yet arrived. Several of us have small or multiple children (one family has four), and two young girls were traveling without any parent, as dad had to stay and mom was already in the States when all this began. Those with no or older children planned to stay close and help those of us who needed it. So the few of us who had arrived watched the buses fill and eventually leave without us.

Finally everyone had arrived. There were no more large buses, so we loaded up into a smaller tour bus, packed in like sardines. Our luggage was tossed into an open cargo truck, and we could only hope none of it flew out on the bumpy roads leading to the fast, smooth sailing of the Autostrade. We were content, though—our support group was intact.

Tanks were in abundance as we made our way to the airport. One young boy excitedly counted 35 or so. They sat in intersections and alongside the busy road—traffic outside of Maadi was lighter than usual, but definitely there. Soldiers stood near the tanks, lounged on top of them, or sat nearby. Atypically, none seemed to notice cameras aimed at them, even when those cameras were pressed to the window as we passed slowly by.

Soldiers turned us away from the first airport gate we approached. We backtracked, turned around again, and went to a different gate, where we were allowed entrance. As we approached the arrival hall that would serve as our departure hall, I saw masses of people milling around outside: the evacuees, “official” (diplomatic passports) on one side of the doors, “non-official” (tourist passports) on the other. American law states that non-official U.S. citizens are to be given equal opportunity as official citizens to evacuate in these situations, so each plane would carry half official evacuees and half non-official evacuees.

We unloaded ourselves—de-pretzeled ourselves, actually—from the bus and headed to the back of the long, winding line on the official side of the doors. The truck with our luggage made its way toward us, then parked while the luggage was unloaded. As they were unloaded, the bags were placed in long lines stretching across the driveway. I saw one of our bags and went to claim it. “Don’t touch that!” A man barked at me. “It’ll make them all tip over; someone will get hurt. Just wait.” Surprised, I turned to one of my fellow evacuees. “He yelled at me, too,” she admitted. Unsure as to the problem—the bags were being placed in a single layer, so even if they tipped over, they wouldn’t touch anyone, much less cause injury—I watched as all the bags were unloaded. When the go-ahead was given, I joined the others in gingerly stepping over all the not-my-bags to reach mine, then pulled it out of line. Sure enough, the bag beside it fell over—and landed harmlessly on the ground, not even causing the anticipated domino effect.

Our group organized ourselves pretty well. The two of us with infants were responsible primarily for our own babies, two or three kept an eye on the 11 mobile children, and the remaining two or three made sure that all the luggage kept up with the group as we inched forward. Before too long, one of the security guys approached us. “Am I to understand that you’re a large group of single moms traveling with a bunch of small children?” Affirmative responses all around—the two without children were particularly critical to our group, so there was no way they were being left out of anything. “You’re exactly the kind of group that we want to expedite and get on your way. Follow me.”

We followed him toward the front of the line. Progress was slow, as children were corralled and made to help with the copious amounts of luggage, but eventually we made it. The security guy told us to “wait here” while he went to arrange things for us. Within just a few minutes, I heard an abrasive voice: “You can’t stand here, this is a traffic lane, I need you to move NOW!” It was the same guy who had yelled at me over the luggage. As we laboriously moved ourselves and all of our bags onto the sidewalk, clearing the wide and deserted driveway where we’d been parked by our security guy, he continued to yell. Finally he went away. I overheard our de facto leader telling another member of our group: “You know, it was weird, the first thing he said when he came over was ‘what office are you with?’ What does that have to do with anything?”

Shortly after that, our security guy came back, an apologetic expression on his face. “Between when they told me the policy and the time it took me to find you and bring you up here, the policy changed. They’re not expediting groups like yours anymore. I’m sorry.” He helped us make our way back to the end of the line.

Hours passed. Diapers were changed on changing mats laid out on the grass. Snacks and water were distributed and consumed. For the most part, we didn’t move. Telephone conversations revealed that the first planes that were boarded, before we even arrived at the airport, were stuck on the tarmac waiting for approval to depart. The ambassador herself was making phone calls trying to get the evacuation planes cleared. The Regional Security Officer made an announcement that they were trying to get us all out that day, but some may have to spend the night at the airport because of crew rest laws kicking in as a result of departure delays, especially for the two planes that were scheduled to make two round trips. It was getting chilly, and I was glad that I’d packed for a potential overnight in some freezing European city (we wouldn’t know what city we were going to until we were assigned a flight).

Finally there was significant movement. Another plane obviously was being boarded, as the line ahead of us decreased by a third. Children again were corralled to help us move ourselves and our bags to our new position. The security guy who had tried to help us before came to give us an update. While he was speaking with some, another security guy approached me, as I was standing off to the side and couldn’t hear what the first was saying.  He told me what to expect with numbered cards and such, which we would receive once we’d been assigned to a plane. Then he said “Now that all the groups with connections are gone, the rest should be able to go according to plan.” Excuse me? He must have been exhausted and frustrated to have let that little tidbit slip.

Not long after, I was approached by the first security guy who had tried to help us. “How old is your little one?” Almost seven months. “We’re taking infants under 12 months first for the next flight.” Great, can the whole group go? “No, only immediate family members. But we’ll be upping the age limit as we clear the little ones, and we may be able to fit everyone on the next flight, so you may end up together anyway.” Thanks, but I’d rather stay with my group. I need them. “If everyone doesn’t fit, the ones who are left may have to spend the night here.” That’s fine. “It’s going to get cold, and they may not be able to go inside.” I’m prepared for that. Thanks for your concern, though. “Ok.”

A few minutes later, security guy number two, the exhausted and frustrated one, approached me. We repeated the same conversation, with only minor variations.

A few minutes later, the guy who liked to yell came up, trailed by the other two. Both of the nice ones looked embarrassed and a little worried. Not a good sign. I don’t recall all the details of this conversation, but I was ordered to leave the support of my group, the group that my husband had told me to be certain to stay with, the group whose help already had been needed time and time again. “You have no choice,” he said to me. “I’m responsible for her,” referencing my daughter. I remember my response to that unbelievable statement: “No, you’re not,” with a measure of steel in my voice. “I’m responsible for my daughter.” His responsibility extended to keeping looters and potentially dangerous opportunists away from her (and from the rest of us) while we waited our turn to board a plane; I was and am responsible for everything else, including keeping her fed, clean, and warm—all of which I was prepared to do even if we did spend the night outside that airport. I had planned and packed for four days of travel in conditions ranging from hot to snowy.  One night outside in Cairo’s chilliest was not going to be a problem; I wouldn’t even need to break open the checked bag, as blankets, extra clothes, and bottles all were stored in her diaper bag. All I needed was the willing assistance of my group to help hold her, prepare bottles, or guard and move bags.

In the end, I acquiesced to separating from my group and taking the earlier flight—not gracefully, not even politely, but with open hostility and anger—only because my husband also had told me that no matter how heavy-handed and dictatorial this guy became (I’d complained about him in earlier phone conversations), I was not to resist him so much that I risked being sent back to my apartment instead of evacuated. (My husband knows me well enough to recognize temptation on the horizon.) There were two more confrontations, though: one when he insisted that I move myself, my daughter, her car seat, her diaper bag, my backpack, and our two suitcases immediately, without help, while I was holding a screaming baby and trying to prepare a bottle for her; and one after I’d checked in and tried to move to where he’d told me he wanted us—inside, where Alexa could be warm—only to be told that I couldn’t go inside yet. I was livid at that point: he was so concerned that my daughter be warm that he was forcing us to separate from our group—whom we needed—but once he’d accomplished that goal, we were left to wait outside in the cold anyway?!? I found myself grateful that my hands were so full; otherwise I’d have had a hard time resisting the urge to wring his neck.

After another half hour or so, one of the women in my group approached me. She told me that the mom of an infant younger than Alexa had gone willingly into my plane load, and that a mom of two and a mom of four had been forced, like me, as they filled the plane with progressively older children and their families. There were two seats left on my plane, and one of them was designated for a helper from our group. In the end, my plane carried five adults, six young children, and two infants from our group. We left behind two adults and the five oldest children.

We made our way through security and checked our bags. After passing through passport control, a short bus ride took us to the plane. One member of our group took Alexa’s car seat as I carried the baby. When I reached the top of the stairs and tried to claim the car seat from the flight attendants, who had taken it from my friend, they refused to give it to me. “We don’t know how many passengers there will be. There may not be enough seats.” There will be; my baby was counted as a passenger, and she has her own seat. State Department regulations require it, and State Department regulations require that I use that car seat. “We don’t know. We need to keep it here. We’ll put it in the cargo hold and you can get it in Istanbul.” You can keep it here, in the front of the plane, until the plane is completely boarded. Then there will be an empty seat beside me for my daughter, and you can bring me the car seat once you see that there’s room. Don’t put it in the hold. She’ll need it during this flight. “Okay, we can do that.”

Eventually, finally, the plane was fully loaded. As soon as I heard the announcement that all passengers were aboard, I flagged down a flight attendant, pointed out the empty seat beside me, and requested my daughter’s car seat. Her face brought to mind the phrase “deer in the headlights,” but she disappeared up the aisle. Several minutes later, she came back. “The seat is in the hold. I cannot bring it to you. I cannot get to it.” In a firm but controlled voice, I replied “You can and you will. It was not supposed to go into the hold. Get it.” At least, I thought my voice was controlled … the man three rows up who turned his head to see what the fuss was about may not agree. Several more minutes later, the flight attendant timidly approached me again. “What color is your seat?” Orange. But I saw another orange one up there, too. Mine is the Chicco. Finally, after another several minutes, I saw Alexa’s car seat being held aloft, over the heads of seated passengers, approaching me. As I buckled Alexa in, I hoped that the drama was over for the day.

Not so, but at least I had nothing to do with the rest of the day’s drama. An elderly passenger toward the front of the plane suffered from faintness and vomiting en route to Istanbul. He was attended by two doctors on board; they gave him oxygen and had him lie down. Upon arrival in Istanbul, he was taken to a hospital. I have no idea who he was or how he’s doing.

We landed in Istanbul around 2am on Tuesday, 1 February. I had left my apartment 18-1/2 hours earlier. It would be another 25 hours before Alexa and I arrived at my mom’s house. We left Istanbul around 6am, then made two more connections before arriving at the local airport 45 minutes from my hometown. Luckily, Alexa allowed me to sleep a good bit on the way. I was informed by flight attendants and other passengers that as I snoozed, she smiled and cooed at anyone and everyone who passed by our row.

Upon arrival in the United States, I discovered that the authorized evacuation under which I had left Egypt had been upgraded to a mandated evacuation. That information did make me feel slightly better about being forced to leave, but still … then and now, I yearn to go back.

Lockdown Pseudo-Twitter: Saturday and Sunday

In this post, I'm continuing to publish things I wrote while locked down in our apartment in Maadi. Please remember that errors, contradictions, and uncertainties were left in deliberately in order to reflect my experiences at the time. The following updates were written on Saturday, 29 January, and Sunday, 30 January. This is the last of what I wrote while I was there.

~~~~~~

Saturday, 29 January 2011

8:06am – Internet’s still not up. The curfew ended just over an hour ago, but we’re still being instructed by the Marines to stay in our homes. I’m not sure what’s going on outside. The AFN news channel is showing its normal lineup, meaning it’s showing what aired on Fox News last night (morning shows tend to be shows that were shown live in the States the night before), so it’s still showing images from last night. CNNi has moved on—it’s on some international business show now. I heard a siren a few minutes ago, but there’s no telling what that was for. I can’t even look out the window and see anything useful because of the direction our windows face.

Jeff came to bed around 2am. I hadn’t been sleeping well up to that point, so I woke up enough to ask what was going on. He told me that Mubarak had finally given a speech—what took him so long?!—and that Mubarak was dissolving his entire government, to be reconstituted, presumably taking into account the protesters’ demands. I’m not sure that’s going to be enough; after all, their primary demand seemed to be that Mubarak himself had to go. We’ll see what happens later today. If the protesters are satisfied, it will be quiet, or mostly so. If not … well, we made it through yesterday okay.

11:11am – We got mobile phone service back an hour or so ago. I called my mom even though it was 3am where she is. I thought she’d be worrying and would want me to wake her, especially because we don’t know if or when mobile service will be cut off again. I was right except for one thing: She wasn’t asleep. She’d spent most of the day blissfully unaware, because she was at work, but she got very worried in the evening when people started calling her.

Jeff just left. We’re still supposed to stay in our homes, but certain mission-critical people need to be at the embassy in a situation like this. Jeff’s office keeps the Cairo-DC communication flowing, so the office needs to be manned. Throughout the embassy, people who spent the night last night are going home, and they’re being replaced by others. The RSO sent transportation. We packed a bag so that Jeff has everything he needs to spend the afternoon, night, and all day tomorrow at the embassy. (No, I didn’t tell my mom that Jeff was going in and that Alexa and I will be alone tonight. The purpose of the call was to reassure her, not to worry her further. We’ll be fine, even if tonight is a repeat of last night, but she wouldn’t believe that, so she doesn’t need to know right now.)

11:25am – CNNi just reported that people are again gathering on the streets of both Cairo and Alexandria. It looks like Mubarak’s plan to dissolve his cabinet isn’t enough—the people want him gone.

1:56pm – Jeff just called from the embassy. There will be a curfew in effect from 4pm today until 8am tomorrow. So it’ll definitely be just me, Alexa, and the cats tonight. Jeff asked if I wanted him to send a mass “we’re okay” email or just email his sister so he can ask her to let people know without letting everyone know that he has email access (ergo that he’s at work and we’re home without him). I asked him to just email his sister.

2:06pm – The Today Show just came on AFN News. They’re actually showing real news! Yay! It’s the first live coverage I’ve seen today. I think the footage they’re showing is from yesterday though.

I’ve heard that 35 bodies were taken to a single hospital in Cairo yesterday. I wish the total had remained at one. But the protesters aren’t backing down, so it looks like there will be more, especially if the military decides to go all-in for Mubarak. The question now is: who will blink first, Mubarak or the protesters?

5:02pm – I’m sitting in the middle of a mass uprising that might topple a government … and I’m bored. I’m stuck in my apartment. The news is getting repetitive. There’s no internet to browse. Who knew being in the middle of history could be boring?

Ah, the news just got interesting for a minute. They talked about “rising angst against America” and asked if there had been any reports of the American embassy or Americans being targeted. Nope. They still aren’t interested in us. That’s fine by me—I don’t want it to get that interesting. At this point, I just want it to play out. However it’s going to end, go ahead and do it already. I want my husband back home.

6:56pm – Ok, I’d like to be bored again, please. I just got back from a building meeting called by the RSO guy who lives here. He didn’t have too much concrete to tell us as far as plans go, but he just wanted us all to get together for a minute. He was talking about having requested a fast-response Marine team, not being sure how he’d handle it if our walls were breached by looters (if he shot one, there’d be two; if he shot them, there’d be four, and they’d be really mad then; he could beat up a few—with the aid of the guards, I’m sure—but not a lot …) I think the bottom line is that we’re on our own, and if looters breach our walls, all we can do is hunker down in our safe rooms, let them take our stuff, and hope that they have no interest in us. He confirmed that there’s looting on Road 9 (VERY close by) and that there was attempted looting next door, but their guards fired into the air, the military showed up, and the looters went away. Basically all we can do is hunker down, ride it out, and hope that our walls and guards are enough to deter them, or that if they do come in, they’re satisfied with busting up our cars downstairs. I started hearing gunfire while I’ve been typing. I’m not a fan.

I’m worried now. I was fine before the meeting, but hearing the tension in the RSO guy’s voice, seeing the fear on the others’ faces … knowing that we don’t have the resources in place to protect us or to get us out if something happens tonight … I had been believing the news reports that today has been more peaceful than yesterday, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s been more peaceful between the government and the protesters, but now the looters are coming out and they’re the ones I’m worried about. I hate that Jeff had to go in. I’ve done all I know to do to prepare for anything. I have go bags packed for both Alexa and myself. If we have to go, I won’t be able to take the cats, but I put down extra food and water for them, because if we have to go, there won’t be time to do it then. Of course we can’t go tonight because there aren’t any plans to protect us while we go.

I have supplies for myself, Alexa, and the cats in the safe room … other than food. I’m going to go put some cans of soup and a jar of peanut butter in there. (I already have food for Alexa and the cats in there.) The logical part of my brain says that it isn’t going to be an issue; tonight won’t be any worse than last night … except that I’m not sure I really believe that. The looters make all the difference. They’re my fear now. The army won’t protect us from them, and the police aren’t around anymore. I’m not sure I’ll be sleeping tonight.

8:15pm – I just received a phone call from our floor warden. She told me that there is a group of people outside our walls with sticks and clubs, but not to worry about it: they’re the good guys. They’re the bowwabs and some residents from the neighboring buildings. They’ve banded together to protect the buildings from looters. I’m relieved. Their goal is not to protect our building, but in protecting their own, they also will increase security for ours. I hope our precautions also help them.  In a very real way, we’re mooching off of the risk that they’re taking.

Sunday, 30 January 2011

7:39am – Last night was interesting. I finally decided shortly before 11 that there was no point to staying up. I gathered our go-bags, the cats’ travel crates, litter box, and food and water bowls, put them all in the safe room, then called Jeff to give him an update on the situation.

The whole time it was obvious that both of the cats and Alexa all had picked up on my stress. Isis wouldn’t leave the safe room, once all of her supplies were in there; she’d approach the door but wouldn’t step foot out of it. Cleo left the room every time I opened the door, but if I called her name, she came running. Cleo typically does not come when called; like most cats I’ve met, she’s more likely to look at you as if to say “silly human; if you want me, you must come to me,” if she doesn’t just take off in the other direction. Not last night, though. She practically galloped down the hall if I stood in the door and called her, as if she were afraid I’d close her out.

The saddest, though, was Alexa. She was happy as a clam if I held her. She was content if I put her down but remained within arm’s reach and facing her. But the moment I turned my back or, heaven forbid, took a step or two away, her little face crumpled and she cried pathetically until I touched her. Some primal part of her little brain seemed to realize: “Mama’s afraid. If Mama is afraid, then I’m in danger. My only hope of survival is to keep her with me.” And she was very effective at keeping me with her.

I got in bed around 11:30 and fell asleep shortly thereafter. Around 12:30, I was woken by a phone call from the CLO. They were contingency planning: If an evacuation were authorized, how many in my family would go? Well, Jeff wouldn’t—he’s mission critical. I’d have to talk to Jeff about whether or not Alexa and I would go, but it would depend on … at this point, my sleep-fogged brain failed me. It would depend on a lot of things, I thought. Definitely on whether or not we could take our cats. She said that they’d be able to go on a later flight than us. My brain woke up enough to say “That’s the best you’re going to get; agree,” so I said that I’d still have to check with Jeff, but we’d probably go. We got off the phone and I called Jeff, who had wanted to know any and all developments. I told him what she’d said. He told me that downtown was eerily quiet; the demonstrators had heard that their homes were being looted and had gone home to protect their families and their stuff.

After the information exchange, I tried to go back to sleep. That part didn’t work. I heard what sounded like gunfire, possibly close, and it was all over. I was awake. I had to go to the bathroom. I was hungry. I took care of all my physical needs and still lay awake for at least two hours. I saw the clock hit 2:30. I was probably awake until 3 or so. Then I was woken at 7 by the Marines reminding everyone on the radio that the curfew is on until 8, the embassy is closed until further notice, everyone should stay in their homes, and no one should try to go to work unless their supervisor tells them to and arranges transportation.

Jeff called just a few minutes ago. He’s coming home this morning. He couldn’t say exactly when for security reasons—the situation out there has them treating Cairo as if it were Baghdad, from an op-sec perspective—but he will leave the embassy within the next couple of hours. The curfew doesn’t end until 8, so I doubt they would leave before that.

I’m exhausted. I need a shower but can’t take one because Alexa will wake up any moment. I have a headache. Being in the middle of a revolution—or attempted revolution, if they end up failing—really isn’t any fun. But it’s part of the territory sometimes, apparently.

8:18am – When Jeff and I were married, we registered for everything in blue and green. Blue for Jeff, green for me. We have a great set of dishes—12 dinner plates, 12 round salad plates, 12 square plates, 12 bowls … all of them six blue and six green. I’ve always organized them carefully in my kitchen cabinets; that’s just my nature. The dinner plates are in one stack, alternating colors: green, blue, green, blue, like clockwork. The small plates and bowls are in side-by-side stacks, one stack green, one stack blue. All neat and organized, like a store display. Yesterday as I put up some dishes, I thought it might be nice to introduce a random element. So I grabbed the dishes from the dishwasher and just put them up without concern for organization by color. I ended up with two greens, then a blue on top of a stack of blue plates. A series of three blues and then two greens on top of my dinner plate stack. This morning as I put up some more dishes, I realized what I was doing. I’m deliberately introducing a little chaos into my kitchen cabinets, because somehow that makes the chaos in my life right now seem a little less chaotic. Sometimes psych majors realize the darndest things.

9:19am – Jeff is home. We believe that an evacuation has been approved, but whether or not it will go into effect will depend on how things go today and tonight. It may be the beginning of the end for the protests, as people can’t focus too much on protesting when they’re having to protect their families and belongings from looters. The looters may have ended this uprising and given Mubarak a little more time, although the handwriting is on the wall for him. Jeff reports that things outside, between the embassy and Maadi, are “eerily normal.” Traffic is normal for a Friday morning (though not for a Sunday), very light and fast. Civilians are directing traffic, some with sticks and knives, replacing the missing traffic cops. Very few people are out walking around. Neighborhood vigilante groups formed last night and I would assume are still in effect, even though the members may be taking sleep breaks. Basically people stayed close to their own buildings but had whistles—hear a whistle, go help your neighbor, knowing he’d do the same for you.

12:06pm – It’s official; there is an authorized evacuation tomorrow morning. Now we have to decide if Alexa and I are leaving. Today is a pivotal point. If the security situation remains unstable, it will continue to be dangerous at night. But there is a military presence in Maadi now, making it much safer. Depending on the reactions of Mubarak and the protesters, things could get better, or they could deteriorate rapidly. If we leave now, we can take the cats out with us. If we wait and it gets worse, we may not be able to. Once we leave, we may not be allowed back in for some time, possibly not at all, if it takes long enough that they determine that we’re too close to our PCS date by the time they lift the evac order. And Jeff will be here, not with us. We have to decide today. I don’t want to leave, but there are factors to consider other than my desires, including Jeff’s safety too. If we leave, he’ll feel freer to just stay at the embassy instead of going back and forth, with the travel being the most dangerous part. We need to decide …

2:19pm—Looks like we have little to no choice. The pressure is on from Jeff's bosses in DC. Alexa and I are leaving. The cats can’t go after all. An employee who will be here for the duration is a cat lover who has agreed to take responsibility for Cleo and Isis, since Jeff won’t be able to take care of them if he gets stuck at the embassy. Her maid will care for them if she can’t get home. I’m probably done with updates for a while now; gotta get ready to go.

Lockdown Pseudo-Twitter: Friday

In this post, I'm continuing to publish things I wrote while locked down in our apartment in Maadi. Please remember that errors, contradictions, and uncertainties were left in deliberately in order to reflect my experiences at the time. The following updates were written the evening/night of Friday, 28 January 2011.

~~~~~~

Update 7:29pm – a member of the Regional Security Office who lives in our building told Jeff that (1) the guards downstairs, who can’t go home tonight due to the curfew, are okay for food; (2) there are cars burning near Maadi Grand Mall; and (3) someone breached an embassy parking lot (not the embassy compound itself) downtown. I hope no one tries to breach the embassy itself. I won’t talk about my opinions regarding this protest—it isn’t my place to have an opinion in a public forum, although I do have one in private conversation—but let me say this loud and clear to anyone and everyone: The U.S. Embassy compound is sovereign U.S. territory. If anyone breaches that, it’s up to the RSO and the Marines what consequences they will face.

7:37pm – Jeff just called me out to the walkway, telling me it was my one chance to see it. The protesters are in the midan a short block away. I ran out there to see, but Jeff pulled me back in less than 15 seconds later, before I actually saw anything. He wouldn’t let me take the camera. When we came back in, he asked me to take Alexa and go into our safe room, just in case. We usually have several police around our compound in addition to our guards. Currently we have two.  We’re more vulnerable now than we usually are, and if anything were to happen, it would happen fast. Better to be already in the safe room.

7:41pm – Jeff just stuck his head outside (wouldn’t let me do it) and reported that the protesters seem to have been just passing through the midan near here on their way somewhere else. I’m allowed back in the living room now.

8:00pm – We heard gunfire outside. It wasn’t really close, but fairly close. Couldn’t tell if it was really guns or if it was tear gas. This is turning into an interesting evening. I think we’ll be up late tonight, monitoring the situation.

8:13pm – they’re in the midan again. The shots—it sounds like tear gas—are coming fast and loud. I heard what sounded like heavy vehicles right outside our compound wall. Jeff is looking to see if it’s the military replacing our police officers. The police around the embassy downtown also were pulled. They were supposed to be replaced by military but I don’t know if they have been yet.

8:18 pm – it wasn’t the military. The protesters are filling the midan to the point that incoming traffic is being diverted down our street. We’re hearing shots that don’t sound like tear gas but also don’t sound like the AKs carried by Egyptian police and military. Not sure what that is.

We’re staying in touch via landline with other embassy people, primarily those in Maadi. I’d like to check on my non-embassy friends, but I don’t have their landline numbers. Our people are all okay so far, staying in their homes. The protesters aren’t mad at us this time, so there’s no real reason to think they’ll try to breach our housing, but the guards turned off the walkway lights as a precaution. The protesters are targeting police stations and public buildings like ministry buildings and NDP headquarters. We should be okay as long as we don’t go out. But I don’t see this night ending without more casualties among Egyptian protesters and/or police.

8:28pm – Jeff just confirmed that people are getting shot in the midan outside. We don’t know if the police/military (not sure who’s firing) are using rubber or metal bullets, but the guards are listening to the police radio, and people definitely are getting shot.

8:35pm – Alexa just fell asleep, hopefully for the night. She slept in her crib last night for the first time. Not so tonight. She’s sleeping in the safe room tonight. We don’t expect anything to happen to us here, but if it does, it will happen quickly enough that we want her already in there.

8:41pm – I no longer have any desire to go out on the streets. I occasionally poke my head out the door onto the walkway, being careful to have no light behind me (silhouetting is bad). We just received a transmission from the Marines over the emergency radio: “Anyone outside will be shot.” I assume that’s the rules of engagement the Egyptian police and military are using at this point. Some idiot actually replied to the Marines with “Are you serious?” I loved the Marines’ response: “Be advised, anything coming from [call sign] is serious.” Come on, people—if you’ve been listening, you’ve heard the stress in that young man’s voice increase throughout the evening. Shut up, listen up, do as  you’re told,  and let the man do his job.

10:39pm – I’m beat. It’s been quiet here for a couple of hours. Last I heard, the military were entering Maadi. The police had backed the protesters away from this area to the Maadi Grand Mall area. By now, I would assume that the military is on the scene and the police are off the streets. The people like and respect the military a lot better than they like and respect the police (for whom they have zero liking and even less respect), so military presence alone should calm things somewhat. I need to go to bed. Jeff is planning to doze on the sofa with the news on TV. Hopefully things will be better tomorrow … but honestly, things are already worse than we expected them to get at all, so there’s no predicting how the weekend will play out.

Incommunicado

First of all, thank you to all of you who posted comments or sent emails expressing your concern for us and for others in Egypt. Jeff and I deeply appreciate your concern and your prayers.

I obviously was not able to post anything during the internet blackout, but that did not prevent me from recording my thoughts and reactions to what was going on. I typed ongoing reports--my own personal, delayed Twitter-esque record--with the intention of publishing them on this blog when I was able. The final product, before any editing I do along the way (I promise not to edit the content, but I may edit for clarity or grammar before posting--but I will leave in uncertainties and even information that I later discovered to be wrong, because I want it to reflect what we were experiencing at the time), was 11 pages long. I'm going to post it in installments. It ends with the news that Alexa and I were going to be evacuated--after that, I was too busy to keep it up. I'll try to record what I remember of the evacuation process and post that too.

For now I'll start with the initial report, what I wrote as a typical blog entry, before the twitter-style updates were added. Those will begin in the next post.

~~~~~~~~

Friday, 28 January 2011

We woke up this morning to discover that we had no internet access. This was not unexpected, with the protests planned for today. We had been warned that internet access and possibly even mobile phone coverage could be cut off by the Egyptian government as a way to limit the ability of the people to coordinate protests. Jeff discovered our lack of internet access around 7 this morning; we later learned that friends who arrived home from an evening out at 12:30am had no internet access at that time either.  As best we can tell, it was shut down shortly after midnight.

Shortly after 8am, Jeff told me that the expectation was that mobile phone service would be cut off around noon. This timing made sense, as protests were expected to start after Friday prayers, around 2pm. We decided to call Jeff’s father, despite the early morning hours on the East Coast, and ask him to post a Facebook status explaining that we were incommunicado, but safe, as we had no plans to leave our home today. We took this precaution because I had received expressions of concern from the States yesterday, so if there was any news coverage of today’s protests at all, we knew people would be concerned, especially if they were unable to contact us. It turned out that we were wise to go ahead and make the call early, rather than waiting closer to the anticipated noon cutoff time. Mobile phone service was disabled shortly after we used my mobile to call Jeff’s father.

Our plans for today—put in place a couple of weeks ago, before protests were even a consideration—included a drop-in here at our apartment for our old Bible study group, which dissolved last spring when our leaders moved away. We spent the rest of the morning preparing oatmeal-peanut butter-chocolate chip cookies, vegetables and dip, and brownies … unsure of whether anyone would even come, with today’s anticipated events. If people decided that they were better off staying home, they had no way of letting us know. (Landline phones were still connected, but most of us only know each other’s mobile numbers and email addresses.)

We had a brief period of worry this morning, not for ourselves, but for an embassy friend who needed to go to work today. He left his home in Maadi at 9 and took the metro downtown.  The trip by metro usually takes around 45 minutes. It was expected that it would take a little longer today, as the metro station under Tahrir Square has been closed for the last couple of days. Our friend was required to exit at a neighboring station and then walk to the embassy. But even with this extra time, the trip shouldn’t have taken longer than an hour. At 10:30, he still wasn’t answering his office phone. With mobile phone service unavailable, there was no way to contact him. Luckily, the worry didn’t last long—he arrived safely at the embassy and made contact by 11 or so.

All but one of the expected couples did come to our social event this afternoon—one of them with her embassy-issued emergency radio tucked into her handbag (ours was on the coffee table; the others were not mission members and therefore had no radios). They reported that the streets of Maadi were “eerily empty” this morning, although there apparently was a rush on the commissary when it opened. That makes sense, as many families do their shopping on Fridays and wouldn’t have wanted to be out this afternoon. Combine those families with even a few panic shoppers, and the commissary would have been slammed. We're very grateful that Jeff always insists on having a large stash of emergency rations here--primarily peanut butter, tuna, and chunky soup, plus lots of bottled water. No commissary run needed for us today.

We spent a pleasant couple of hours this afternoon chatting, eating, and admiring Alexa with our friends. We also turned the television on in the background, to the AFN news station, so that we’d see the news coverage if anything major happened. Unfortunately, the Today Show was on … so we were treated to fluff about adjustable beds and a teacher who had sex with her student ten years ago.

After our friends left, we received a phone call from Jeff’s supervisor. The embassy phone tree had been activated to disseminate a warden message that usually would have gone out by email—basically, there were clashes between protesters and police throughout Cairo, roads around the embassy are closed, there’s a small demonstration near the overpass in Maadi, and no one should attempt to get to the embassy. News of the protest here prompted me to tell Jeff that we need eggs; I can just run down to the metro market (practically under the overpass) and pick some up. Jeff wouldn’t let me leave the apartment. *sigh* I know, it isn’t logical, it probably isn’t even sane, but … I want to see. But I can’t, so I won’t dwell on it.

Then we got a phone call from another friend. She lives in Zamalek, an island in the Nile just across from downtown Cairo, and she could hear protesters from her living room. She was watching the coverage on CNN International and al-Jazeera English on her satellite. I lamented that we’d had our Orbitz disconnected and were reliant on AFN’s one news channel, which was showing fluff. She reminded me that our Orbitz satellite could pick up the free satellite channels—including CNN International and al-Jazeera English. Yay! Jeff hooked it back up for me, so now we’re sitting here watching CNNi while I type. We aren't getting al Jazeera, so CNNi or AFN are our only options. I prefer Fox News, which is showing now on AFN, but Fox News isn’t devoting themselves exclusively to the protests like CNNi seems to be.

Some of this coverage on CNN International is ridiculous. They’re reporting that prisoners have been released from Egyptian prisons and are being used as “shock troops” to put down demonstrators. They’re also reporting that one of these “shock troops looked wild-eyed, like he was on drugs.” I’ve got two words for you: No. Way. Do these reporters not know how drug users are treated here? Let me tell you, they DO NOT get released early and given the opportunity to bash some heads. Now, I still do not intend to reveal with whom I agree philosophically—the demonstrators or the Mubarak regime—but I will say that CNNi’s coverage is very biased. These reporters obviously are on the side of the demonstrators. They’re criticizing everything about how the government is responding, saying that the government is overreacting even though the government is reacting against protesters who are throwing Molotov cocktails and calling for the overthrow of the government. Whether you agree with the protesters or not, how would you expect the government to react? The CNNi reporters are saying that the government is showing “no restraint.” Really? No restraint? When they’re using tear gas and batons? If they were showing no restraint, they’d be using bullets. Dispersed from automatic weapons. There would be no protesters left standing.

Don’t get me wrong. The images on TV look pretty bad; the situation out there is bad. The government is responding forcefully, and the response is getting more forceful as the day—evening now—goes on. Police are using tear gas and batons. We saw one protester on the news get hit by an armored police van. Martial law has been declared. It’s bad out there. The case may be made that the government response is disproportionately forceful. But there is restraint. Is there enough restraint? I won’t comment on that. But I do wish CNNi would be a little less hysterical in their reporting.

Speaking of less hysteria in reporting, we spent a few minutes on Fox News. “Egypt is exploding.” Exploding?! Thank you, Shepard Smith. I’m sure my mother will be very reassured to hear that.

Okay, off the “objectivity in news reporting” soapbox. Back to what’s going on.

There’s a curfew in effect from 6pm until 7am in Cairo, Alexandria, and Suez. I’m not sure what the consequences of breaking curfew would be—is it immediate arrest? Will they eventually go to “shoot on sight”? For now, it looks like they’re still using batons.  I guess our friends at the embassy are stuck there tonight—we did just receive a call from one of them saying that we shouldn’t buck this curfew; the government is serious about this. I guess I won’t go out for eggs after all … although I do wonder: Does Cairo include Maadi, which technically is a suburb? I won’t get to find out … and from some of the pictures I’m seeing on TV now, I think I wouldn’t go out anyway. The time for that was this afternoon.

I wish I could call or email my family to reassure them that we’re safe. I hope they saw my father-in-law’s Facebook post this morning and know that we’re not out and about in any of the chaos. More importantly, I hope and pray that the one protest-related death currently being reported is the only one.

Evacuated

This is just a quick post to say that Alexa and I were evacuated from Egypt on Monday, along with 1498+ other Americans. We just arrived at my mother's house tonight and are desperate for sleep. I hope to post more within the next few days.

Jeff remained in Cairo and will continue to remain there so long as he is needed. (He does not expect to evacuate.) We have every confidence in his safety and in the safety of the remaining mission personnel.

Protests

This is not going to be a long, in-depth analysis of anything. I say that so no one will be disappointed. But I do want to take a moment--and it may only be a moment, if Alexa wakes up--to make you aware, if the news hasn't already, that there are some pretty big protests going on in Egypt right now.

You may remember hearing the news that a popular uprising in Tunisia successfully overthrew the government there not too long ago. That news has inspired other populations to stage their own protests/demonstrations/whatever word you want to use.

In Egypt, the day for protests was set at Tuesday, 25 July, which was a national holiday: Police Day. I started hearing about it a few days before that, maybe Thursday or Friday. I didn't think much of it; we hear about demonstrations fairly often, and I can rattle off all the standard lines: Avoid areas where demonstrations will occur, even peaceful gatherings can turn violent, and so on and so forth. Usually we're told by the Regional Security Office (RSO) that protests are planned for a certain day, and that's the end of it. This time there were indications that the RSO was more concerned than usual. I won't go into details, but suffice it to say that extra precautions seemed to be occurring in the days leading up to the protests. That was enough to tell me this was going to be big.

And it was. Check out some pictures from a Facebook group called Operation Egypt. There were some huge protests on Tuesday, including a massive one in Tahrir Square, just a block or so from the embassy where Jeff works. (As it was a holiday, he wasn't there on Tuesday.) As planned, our family stayed home. There was a time when I would have wanted to go see what was going on--staying on the outskirts of everything, being reasonably cautious--although Jeff never would have agreed. But now that we have Alexa, I was all for staying home. So we did. We checked the internet news a couple of times but overall didn't work ourselves up over anything.

Yesterday Jeff went back to work. I stayed home with Alexa and didn't check the news or anything. Jeff got home around his usual time last night. He informed me that they had been dismissed early, but he had work to do (catching up from being out sick on Monday), so he hadn't left early. The early dismissal was because the protests had continued from Tuesday to Wednesday. That surprised me, as usually these things occur on the planned day and then they're over and done with. Jeff said that as he was leaving work, there were rumors that a demonstration was starting in front of the Semiramis Hotel on the Corniche, across the street from the embassy.

This morning I saw Facebook status updates from friends here in Egypt: "I'm okay." "Pray for Egypt." "We're fine, staying in Maadi, which is still quiet." I saw a post from my sister-in-law indicating that she was praying for all Americans in Egypt, and I knew she was thinking of us. I realized that the protests must have hit the international news sometime yesterday/last night. I did a quick search and began to realize just how big this really is--something I hadn't realized as I stayed cocooned in my quiet apartment with my sweet daughter. The pictures that I linked to earlier blew me away. When I went to Operation Egypt's home page on Facebook so I could link to it, I saw an update that was posted less than half an hour ago: "Protests starting now at Liberation Square (Midan atTahrir) Cairo. No police yet." This is the huge midan near the embassy. Many of the pictures I linked to were taken there. It looks like it's going to be another day of protests, another day of tear gas, another day of struggle.


I'm not in a position to comment on Egyptian politics. (I'm in Egypt on a diplomatic passport, after all, and many people don't understand that I don't speak for the American government, even though my husband does work for the U. S. embassy.) I have my opinions, which will remain with me for now. But I think we all can agree that Egypt needs prayer. The Egyptian people need prayer. If you're a praying person, please pray. Pray for the safety of the police and the protesters, and any bystanders who are caught up in events as they simply try to go to work, school, or about their daily lives. Pray for justice for all the citizens of this country. Pray that God will have His hand on these events and that He will work in and through them to accomplish His purposes in the lives of the individuals involved and in the life of Egypt as a country.


Day three has begun. There are calls on Facebook and Twitter for even more massive protests tomorrow after Friday prayers. I don't know how long this will go on or how it will end. But right now, the Egyptian people are protesting.

Update: Jeff just emailed me and said that he was in Tahrir before lunch today. He saw lots of police but no protesters. I wouldn't be too surprised if small groups of protesters were being arrested or run off immediately. The key will be what happens this evening, if large groups show up, and what happens tomorrow afternoon.

Quick Takes

It's been so long since I've written anything! There's so much to update you on, too, but very little time to do it. Alexa just went down for a nap, but she rarely naps for longer than 45 minutes, and sometimes not even that long. So rather than trying to do a series of posts, I'm just going to do a bunch of short "quick takes" in this one. So buckle up, it's going to be a quick ride!

• My little brother is now a married man! He married his long time sweetheart in early October. It was a true family affair for us--Jeff arrived a couple of days before the wedding, as he was a groomsman. I was a bridesmaid. Alexa was a flower girl, at least in name. She wore the same dress as the older flower girls and was carried down the aisle by the mother of the groom. It was a beautiful wedding, with a fall theme, which made for gorgeous decorations. My sister sang and even managed to get through it without tears. The bride was, of course, beautiful.

• After the wedding, our little family spent a few days visiting friends and family in other states. Everyone was completely taken with Alexa. We spent quite a bit of time in the DC area with friends, whom we convinced to go with us to the Maryland Renaissance Festival. We'd been a couple of times before we moved to Egypt and loved it, so we couldn't pass up the opportunity to go back. It was just like we remembered, with elaborate costumes, decadent food--can I just say croissant sundae?!--and all sorts of attractions, from jousting to shopping to watching the drunks to knife throwing (I think we avoided the drunks throwing knives, though). Our friend who went with us got her first henna tattoo. I've never had one, but it was interesting to watch. I documented the whole process in photos, but since this is a quick takes post, here's the one and only picture you get: the artist with his work.

• The flights went very well, overall, and Alexa was wonderful. She slept through all of our flights, with just brief awake periods for food and diaper changes. Luckily she didn't have any dirty diapers on the planes, saving those for layovers, so it wasn't too difficult to do lap changes. Also, may I just say that United was very baby-friendly? They had no issues with us taking on the car seat once we established that Alexa had her own ticket, they offered us an infant life vest before we ever took off, and there was room (in economy plus, to which we always upgrade because of Jeff's long legs) for the person in front of Alexa to recline his seat without interfering with the car seat. Lufthansa, on the other hand ... grrr. They didn't want us to use the car seat; we had to repeat two or three times that it was airline approved. Then they refused to give us an infant life vest when we requested one--they tried telling us that we wouldn't be flying over water because there were no large bodies of water around Frankfurt. Apparently the flight attendant didn't realize that we'd be flying over the Mediterranean Sea on the way to Egypt! She finally told us that it was their policy to give it to us only if/when it was needed. So apparently it's important for every passenger and crew member to have immediate access to a life vest--every passenger except infants, that is. I guess if there's no time for a busy flight attendant to go get the life vest before the plane hits the water, parents can miraculously grow suction cups on their arms to prevent the wiggling--and at that point wet--child from slipping out of their arms. My blood pressure still goes up when I think of that one. And then, in a final blow to Lufthansa's credibility in my eyes, the person in front of Alexa put his seat back, hitting the back of her car seat and causing it to pop up into an unsafe, unusable position. Luckily, Jeff was feeding her at the time, so she wasn't in it. Needless to say, I am no longer a fan of Lufthansa. At all.

•  Alexa has been sleeping through the night ever since we got here. She slept incredible hours on the planes, probably due to the vibrations, and has been doing it ever since. She usually goes down for the night between 10 and 11 and wakes up at 7 or 7:30. I would like her to fall asleep around 8 or 9 and stay asleep, but she currently naps for half an hour or so starting at 8 or 8:30, then wakes up for 60 to 90 minutes for one more feeding and diaper change before going down for the night. Until the last week or so, her longest naps during the day were around 45 minutes--she'd take several short naps ranging from 20 to 45 minutes, with 90 minutes of wake time in between. Lately she's been taking a long morning nap of 2 to 3 hours. I think that's because I've been laying down with her for that one, so when she starts to wake up, I soothe her back to sleep--I need a long nap, as I'm getting up between 5 and 5:30 every morning so I can pump, shower, try to get breakfast, and maybe get some laundry started before she gets up.

• Speaking of pumping, I haven't shared the whole saga here yet. I had intended to breast feed Alexa, but that hasn't worked out. She was unable to take anything by mouth for the first two days, and after that, she had a hard time latching. Combine that with the fact that I wasn't producing enough milk in a day to get her through one meal, and well, formula supplementation via bottle was necessary. She never took to the breast, despite my best efforts and assistance from a lactation consultant. So we invested in a good pump, which I use regularly. Lately I've been able to produce enough milk that we only give her one 8-ounce bottle of formula a day. The rest of what she eats is milk. I'm not sure how long we can keep it up, but we're going to keep going with that as long as possible. Breast milk provides the best nutrition for her, so I'm committed to pumping until I can't produce milk anymore or until her first birthday, if I make it that long.

• We're fully on cloth diapers now. I had purchased some used BumGenius 3.0's before Alexa was born. When I tried to switch from disposable to cloth diapers a month or so after her birth, I discovered that the BGs were too big in the legs. So we used prefolds and covers instead. We're still using those during the day. We were using disposables at night until shortly after we returned here, but we decided to bite the bullet and see how well cloth worked at night. We realized that the BGs didn't fit in the legs because the elastic was shot, but we found two that still had decent elastic, and we used one of them with a doubler overnight. It worked wonderfully! No leaks and, thanks to the stay-dry layer, Alexa felt dry the next morning. We've used them every night since then (other than a couple times when we needed to use diaper rash cream). We bought a couple of new BGs on sale and LOVE them. They're too expensive to justify buying for all-the-time use, though. So we'll keep going with prefolds and covers during the day and the BGs at night, at least unless/until we find someone who is able to replace the elastic on our used BGs. It almost makes me wish I knew how to sew ... but I do NOT have time right now to learn a new skill.

And now Alexa is awake, so if I forgot anything, it'll have to wait until next time.

Just in case the next time isn't for a while, let me just say to you all:

Merry Christmas!!

On Our Own

I started a post titled "The First Week" almost one week after Jeff returned to Egypt on 2 August. I haven't had time to finish it. Or, more accurately, on the few occasions when I've had uninterrupted time to finish it, I was so tired I couldn't think well enough. That post is a bit out of date now, to say the least. But the main point of it still stands: Jeff had to go back to Egypt so that he could work, and we had to stay here in order to get all of the required paperwork--medical clearances and Alexa's passport and visa. For almost two months now, it's been me, Alexa, and a good bit of help from my mom. As much help as my mom has been, though, it isn't the same. I have a newfound respect for single parents. I've been gradually adjusting to the things I've needed to do, but at first, I was completely overwhelmed.

The day that Jeff left, I readied myself and Alexa for bed. Then I just sat on the bed and held her while I cried. I missed Jeff already, and it wasn't just because I wanted to be with my husband. I also was looking forward to the night ahead of me--a night of waking up every two hours, trying to nurse Alexa, bottle feeding her when she refused the breast, trying to get her back to sleep, then pumping so that there would be some milk available to mix with the requisite formula (I couldn't pump enough) for her next feeding, then cleaning the pump kit, and finally going back to sleep. Based on how long it had been taking Jeff and me to do each task when they were shared (Jeff feeding her while I pumped, for example), I estimated that I would be up for 75 to 90 minutes each time Alexa woke up. So I could expect to sleep in 30 to 45 minute increments. I was already exhausted and overwhelmed, and I hadn't even started yet.

That night went even worse than I expected. I forget all the details now, but I remember clearly that at 3am, I had gotten less than an hour of sleep. I was rocking Alexa, trying to get her to go back to sleep, when I realized that she needed a diaper change. As I got up from the glider, it rebounded back and hit the wall--hard. My mom's room is right below mine, and the crack of wood on wall woke her up. While I was changing Alexa's diaper, she came in. There I was: standing over the changing table, crying so hard from exhaustion and stress that I couldn't even see what I was doing, trying to change the diaper of a baby who had absorbed my tension and was screaming as loudly as I wanted to be. Mom deftly shooed me out of the way, changed the diaper, and sent me to bed while she stayed up the rest of the night with the baby.

Things have gotten better since that first night. First I realized that Alexa was content to fall asleep in my arms while I pumped, if I just got her calm enough not to squirm too much first (Jeff had rigged a way for me to pump hands-free, which has been a lifesaver!). Then when she got big enough to rub up against the pump supplies and be uncomfortable, she was okay lying in my lap. When that became too precarious, I realized that if I got up when she first started squirming, rather than waiting for all-out hunger, she would take the bottle and then fall back asleep without requiring a lot of soothing after. And at some point, I decided that it just wasn't worth it to keep spending the time--and allowing her frustration and hunger levels to climb--while I tried to nurse her. We just started skipping straight to the bottle. Now, instead of 75 to 90 minutes per waking, it's more like 45 to 75. And she's sleeping longer, usually eating on a 3-1/2 hour schedule at night. I average 2-1/2 hours of sleep at a time now during the week. On weekends, Alexa goes downstairs to spend the night with her Grandma Linda, and her mama gets up at most every 4 hours to pump.

Things have gotten easier during the day, too. I still rarely shower before Mom comes home for lunch at 1, unless I get up early to shower at 7 while she's still here to take care of Alexa. Yesterday was only the second day that I've showered while home alone with Alexa without being summoned from the bathroom by her cries--and I did it twice yesterday: my usual morning shower and then another one last night because I'd gotten sweaty at my niece's soccer practice. Very proud of myself for that, even though I didn't get to dry my hair last night because Alexa got hungry.

I still don't accomplish much in a typical day. I spend most of my time feeding Lexa, pumping, changing diapers, and just holding her--she hates being put down. The bouncy chair is my best daytime friend; it's where Lexa was until just a few minutes ago and therefore why I was able to start this post. And for the last few weeks, Lexa has spent all day on Wednesday with her Aunt Jeanne and her cousin Harry. That's allowed me to do some shopping, cleaning, and packing that I would not have been able to do otherwise. I'm trying to get ready for our return to Egypt, which isn't too far away now.

Lexa and I are making it on our own. Or as "on our own" as we are, with the help we receive from Lexa's nearby grandparents, aunts, and uncles. But there's a wonderful day coming soon, when Grandma will drive baby Alexa and her mama to the airport to pick up Daddy. A few busy days later, she'll drive us all back to the airport, and the three of us, rather than the two of us, will be on our own. Lexa and I will have fewer relatives around to provide childcare, cuddles, and general help, but we'll be with the one person we need most.

We miss you, Jeff, and we can't wait to be reunited with you.

Spoiled

This is a post I started on 2 July, before Alexa's surprise month-early debut. It was almost ready to post, so I've decided to go ahead and publish it. I promise I haven't abandoned this blog; I just don't have much time to write anymore. I started a post a week ago; Alexa woke up hungry about halfway through, and I haven't had time to go back to it. I'm hoping to start writing more regularly, but it's looking like blog posts will continue to be few and far between for a while. Thanks for sticking with me!

I have realized something over the last couple of weeks that I've been home. I am spoiled. Not just a little pampered, but downright spoiled rotten.

I was spoiled before I ever moved to Cairo. Having a generous and loving husband will do that to you, trust me! So will growing up in a family in which finances are something to be aware of, but not something to worry about overmuch. Actually, growing up in America at all spoils us in ways that I'd say most of us don't recognize--if you take it for granted that most public restrooms will be usably clean (even though not up to standard for your home bathroom, I'm sure) and that the toilet paper will be free, trust me: you're spoiled.

Since I've been back in the United States, however, I've recognized some unique ways that Egypt has spoiled me. To be very honest, many of them are ways that the U. S. government has spoiled me during my time in Egypt--I'm spoiled compared to most expats who live there, too. But for me, it's all been part of my experience in Egypt.

What are these ways in which I'm so dreadfully spoiled now? Let me tell you ...

I've been home for 2-1/2 weeks now. I've cleaned my bathroom once, using vinegar and baking soda because I won't use chemical cleaners that produce potentially dangerous fumes so long as I'm pregnant. I made the decision to clean the bathroom only after finally accepting the fact that I in fact did not bring my part time maid home with me. She's busy spoiling Jeff now, cleaning the bathroom he uses, ironing his clothes, cleaning the floors he walks on ... if I want something cleaned here, I have to do it myself. (To be fair, I could ask Mom; she would do it, especially if it's something I couldn't or shouldn't do because of the pregnancy, but I won't be more of a burden this summer than I can help.)

A couple of days ago, Mom and I went to the grocery store. We went to one of those discount stores where the prices are ridiculously low, but you provide your own bags and bag your own groceries. That part didn't bother me any. But then we had to take our own groceries out to our own car ... and I thought of the baggers at the commissary in Cairo. They bag your groceries, take them to your car, and load them for you. *sigh*  And then when we got home, we had to actually carry the groceries into the house. No grocery carts waiting by the parking lot (it would have had to be the driveway here) for you to use to get your groceries inside. The equivalent for expats who don't live on an embassy compound would be: no bowwab to carry your groceries for you.

When Mom and I got home from the grocery store, the power was off. I had laundry in both the washer and dryer, we had just purchased cold and frozen items, and--worst of all--the air conditioner can't work without electricity. It was only out for an hour or so, but let me tell you, I missed that great big embassy generator! My power in Egypt never goes off for more than a couple minutes, usually more like 30 seconds, because the generator kicks on automatically. (This is one of the ways in which I am totally spoiled even for an expat--most expats in Egypt don't have generators, and the power goes out frequently, sometimes for hours.)

I've been driving quite a bit since I've been home. It's no fun anymore. The challenge is gone. In Egypt, you have to be on high alert all the time--you never know when a vehicle is going to cut you off, slam on the breaks, make a left turn from the right-hand lane, come flying out of a small cross street with no warning ... anything can happen. Likewise, you can do pretty much whatever you want; you can make a one-lane road into a three-lane, refuse to stop at intersections, drive as fast as you want (the only limitations being physical obstacles such as pedestrians, other vehicles, speed bumps, and pot holes), and generally drive like a maniac. In fact, I'm convinced that the more crazily you drive, the more fun you have and the safer you actually are, because you're paying more attention. Here, there are rules. And you're expected to obey them. In America, we have these beautifully smooth, wide interstates--and the authorities expect you not to get above 70mph! And to limit it to three lanes of traffic, when there's obviously room for at least five. I haven't gotten any tickets, but that's just because I'm so aware of the fact that there actually are rules here that I'm more careful about obeying them--or at least coming close to it--than I was before I had experience driving anarchy-style. Unfortunately, though, all the rules, when combined with the good road conditions, make driving kind of boring. I try to stay focused--after all, anything can happen, and although driving here is less risky than driving in Egypt, it isn't risk-free. But after driving in Egypt, driving in America is just ... boring. Too easy. Not exciting. Not fun. *sigh*

Of course, there also are ways that I'm not spoiled in Egypt, but I'm becoming spoiled again here. Everywhere I go here, I find that the air conditioner is functional and turned on. I can drive without being concerned about hitting my head on the ceiling because of going a little too fast over the speed bumps, pot holes, or general road hazards. I can wear sleeveless shirts, and men don't harass me, nor do women hiss at me. There are parking lots everywhere--a huge deal for me since I never really got the hang of parallel parking. And of course, there are the bathrooms, which are so important for a pregnant woman! Every store has one, and they're pretty much all clean; equally important, they all have toilet paper, and they don't have an attendant that I have to pay in order to get said toilet paper. I'm also finding that I enjoy being back in a Christian culture, with a church on every corner and businesses sporting Bible verses on their signs. (Yes, I'm from the Bible belt!) And I'm absolutely loving spending time with my sister's two children, the younger of whom probably doesn't even remember that I visited last summer, but who should remember me next summer after spending this time with me now.

Yes, I am spoiled. I have a very good life, one that I love. Adjustments have to be made when big changes are made--and moving, even temporarily, back to the United States from Egypt definitely counts as a big change. Most people would expect everything to be better in the U. S., but I'm finding that there are things from Egypt that I miss--and not just my husband and my cats, although they certainly are the top three! But I am happy to be back in the States, happy to be with my extended family, happy to be receiving the best medical care in the world for myself and my baby ... happy to be being spoiled in all the ways that I missed in Egypt, just like I'll be happy later this year to go back to being spoiled Egyptian-style.

How about you? Are you spoiled? If so, I have only one thing to say: Enjoy it!

Alexa's Birth Story

It was Wednesday, 7 July 2010, 8:40 am. I was just waking up. I'd been up every one or two hours during the night, as was my routine at that point, but I was feeling pretty good overall. I didn't have any plans for the day. The day before, I'd had lunch with some friends and brought home the infant car seat that their daughter had outgrown. The next day, I had my first appointment with the midwife who is part of my OB group--I'd met with one of the doctors once, and we'd agreed that I was more of a "midwife type of person" than an "OB type of person." But I had no real plans for the day. Maybe do some laundry, try to figure out what still needed to be purchased for the baby, read the last chapter of my Hypnobabies home study course ... nothing major.

I got up and went to the bathroom--again; all those middle of the night wakenings were for bathroom breaks too. While sitting on the toilet, I felt something unexpected: mild cramps that felt a lot like menstrual cramps. I immediately became concerned. I knew that many women's contractions start out like that, and I was not ready. Alexa wasn't expected to arrive for another month; Jeff was still in Egypt; we didn't have half the supplies we would need for a new baby. But I wasn't too worried. After all, I was expecting Braxton Hicks contractions to start any day. I did say a quick prayer, though: "God please don't let that be real contractions. Just let me be constipated or something, please."

And God laughed.

Around 8:50 am, I was reaching for the doorknob to leave the bathroom and go find some breakfast. Suddenly I felt warm liquid running down my legs. I stared in disbelief at the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. My pajama pants were soaked. A small, rational part of my brain informed me that my water had broken and that I needed to call the doctor's office.  A large, irrational part of my brain informed me that I had urinated on myself and that I needed to change clothes. I went to the closet to get my other pair of pajama pants. Right after I put them on, I felt another gush of warm liquid running down my legs. The small, rational part of my brain informed me that I definitely needed to call the doctor now. The large, irrational part of my brain informed me that I had just dirtied my last pair of pajama pants, so I needed to do laundry, especially if there was any chance that I was going to the hospital that day.

I didn't listen to either part of my brain. I called my husband at work in Egypt, where it was around 4 pm. No one answered the phone. I called his mobile. No answer. I called the house. No answer. I called work again--still no answer. I lost count of how many times I called various numbers at which I thought Jeff may be reached. Finally, I called my doula, Carey, here in the States. No answer. This was getting old, and I was getting stressed. The small, rational part of my brain kept insisting that I call the doctor. The large, irrational part of my brain still believed that if I didn't believe it was happening, it wasn't really happening. I'm convinced that the small, rational part of my brain was quietly processing information and making plans while simultaneously encouraging the large, irrational part of my brain to remain in a state of disbelief--if I actually started to believe what was happening before I had a fully developed course of action in place, it would not have been pretty.

Finally, I called the doctor. It was around 9:30 am. The nurse told me to have someone drive me to their office. I told her that I'd come, but it would be a while--I hadn't had a shower, and I had to have my mom go to the store to get some pads. She said that they didn't mind that I hadn't had a shower, and I needed to come as soon as possible. I said I'd come but made no promises about when--I didn't want to end up at the hospital with ruptured membranes, no contractions, and hours in which I could be offered interventions that I didn't want. After that call, I called my mom at work. My opening statement went something like this: "Mom, just listen and don't freak out. I know you've got a lot of work to do today [she'd mentioned that the night before when she told me that she'd be going in early and maybe staying late], but I need you to leave work, go to Wal-Mart, buy me some pads, and come home." She sounded much calmer than I had anticipated when she said she was on her way. But before she got the phone hung up, I heard her calling her boss's name to tell him she was leaving, and there was a definite note of urgency that bordered on panic. Oh well.

I started going around the room, methodically grabbing things and throwing them on the bed to pack. I hadn't packed my hospital bags yet--there was no need to pack them for another week or so at least, right? Mom arrived about 2 minutes later. (It should be about a 5-minute drive home from her office.) When she asked what she could do, I had her pull up my hospital bag list on my laptop (I'd planned what to bring, although I had not yet purchased about half the items on the list) and start packing. I got in the shower. I felt relatively calm and determined not to rush. After all, I wasn't even feeling real contractions yet, so I still had several hours to go at least, maybe even a day. I took my time in the shower. Then I helped Mom finish packing my bags--one labor bag and one postpartum bag, which included the things I wanted for Alexa.

At some point in that process, Mom handed me her phone so I could talk to my sister. Lisa urged me to go straight to the hospital, reminding me about her experience with her firstborn. Her water had broken, she had called the doctor, and she left for the hospital. Halfway there, her contractions had started with a vengeance. By the time they got to the hospital and found that my niece had rotated from head-down to breech, they had to hurry to get the C-section prepped (no breech vaginal births for those docs). My stubborn streak showed itself, and I continued to move quickly but unhurriedly. I did start moving a little faster around 10:30, when I noticed that the contractions were getting stronger and coming more frequently, but I tried not to let Mom see what was happening. Every few minutes, I tried to reach Jeff--still no answer.

Finally, around 11 am, we left for the doctor's office. On the way, the contractions got stronger, closer, and more regular--at the start of the drive, they were coming every 10 minutes or so; by the end, it was every 5 minutes, but they still weren't too incredibly strong. The doctor's office is 45 minutes from Mom's house, with the hospital about halfway in between. Unbeknownst to me, Mom seriously considered going there instead of to the doctor, despite my clear wishes.

Meanwhile, I continued trying to call Jeff. Finally, his boss answered the work phone and put Jeff on the line. My first words to my husband: "I've been trying to call you but no one would answer the [expletive]* phone. My water broke two hours ago." I don't remember his words, but I could hear his voice shift from concerned husband mode to I-have-a-task-to-accomplish mode as he immediately accepted that our baby was coming, he wouldn't be there for the birth, and he needed to get there as soon as possible.

I also was able to get in touch with my doula, Carey. I apprised her of the situation and told her I'd call from the doctor's office. I still had some hope that my labor was progressing slowly enough that I'd be sent home instead of to the hospital.

We arrived at my doctor's office shortly before noon. I gave the receptionist my name, and she said "Oh, you're the one they've been waiting for. Go on back." From there, things get a bit blurry, as the contractions were powerful enough and frequent enough that I wasn't much aware of anything else. I know I was taken back to see the midwife, Suzan. I don't recall if I was weighed or if my blood pressure was checked. At some point, one of the nurses started to say something to me while I was having a contraction, and another nurse shushed her. I wanted nothing more than to lie down on my left side--the very position I had loathed for the last several months, since I preferred to sleep on my back but no longer could. The midwife walked in the room and confirmed immediately that I was indeed in labor. By that point I think I was already lying on the exam table, on my side, curled up and just trying, with limited success, to relax. Suzan had me roll onto my back so she could check me. I was 6.5 cm dilated and 90% effaced. I asked if the baby was breech; last I'd known, she was transverse. But she had rotated to a head-down position, so one worry was relieved. I called Jeff and then my doula with the news.

I have vague memories of Suzan saying something about calling transport for me. Apparently she wanted me to go to the hospital by ambulance. Then I heard her telling my mom that it would take them too long to get there; I needed to leave immediately. If I started feeling the need to push on the way, Mom was to pull over and call the paramedics. I don't think I was supposed to hear that last part. I was told that I had plenty of time and that I wouldn't even be 9 cm by the time I got to the hospital.

I'm very glad not to remember much of the drive to the hospital. I know Mom drove like a madwoman, with her hazard lights on, horn blaring, weaving in and out of traffic. Her phone kept ringing. She went to answer it once. I snapped at her, telling her not to touch the phone while driving that fast and under that much stress. I think she told me to answer it. I'm not sure, but I think I talked to my sister at some point before telling her that I was having a contraction and hanging up on her. Mom started to say something during a contraction at one point. I have no idea what she wanted to say--I interrupted her with a sharp "Stop talking!" Apparently childbirth makes me rude. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Lisa.

As we got closer to the hospital, the contractions intensified. I wanted to lie down so badly I could hardly stand it. I pressed my feet against the floor, braced my hand against the roof, and stretched out. I considered reclining the seat, but that small, rational part of my brain took control and reminded me that lowering it as far as I wanted to made the seat belt ineffective, and with the way Mom was driving, the seat belt needed to be effective.

At the hospital, neither Mom nor I knew which entrance to use--I was scheduled for my hospital tour the following week. I ended up going in the wrong entrance, although it was in the right part of the hospital. As I stepped through the door, I didn't know where to go next. But it didn't matter; I couldn't walk anymore. I hit my knees, then went to all fours. Suddenly I saw feet--lots of feet. At least four pairs. People kept asking me questions. I answered the first one, which was "Did you fall?" I said "No, I'm having a baby!" The next person who asked a question while within reach of my hand received some papers shoved toward her instead of an answer--the midwife had given me papers to give to the admissions person at the hospital. Once the woman (no idea who she was; I don't think I ever saw anything but her feet) had the papers, the questions stopped and a wheelchair arrived. With the assistance of about three extra sets of hands, I got in the wheelchair. Then there was a blur of faces, walls, and elevator doors. According to the time on my admission bracelet, it was 12:48 pm.

I ended up in a room with a bed. I was out of the wheelchair and in the bed--again, lying on my left side--in what felt like milliseconds. After that I just let them do what they wanted. I ended up in a hospital gown. I saw my doula and my midwife come in; I'm not sure who came in first. Then my life became a blur of "Oh God!", "God, help me!", and "it hurts!" There were brief moments of what felt like sanity in between, but I'm not sure how sane I really was. I remember saying that I should have had a C-section--forget mere drugs, I wanted to skip straight to not pushing**--and telling my doula that I hadn't gone by the ATM to get the rest of the money I owed her. She laughed and said that was alright. But most of my "conversation," if you can call it that, consisted of curt demands: "Cold!" (translation: I want a blanket) and "Wash cloth!" (translation: I'm hot and I want that cool wash cloth on my forehead) were the main ones. Oh, and there was that great big "NO!!" when the midwife didn't hear me decline the first time and told me to give her my hand so I could feel the baby's head before she came out. I'm not sure why I was so adamant, but that simply was not happening.

Through it all, my doula was there. She placed a cool cloth on my forehead when I was hot, removed it when I tried to shake it off, put a blanket around my arms when I was cold. She reassured me that God would help me when that sincere prayer was all I could say. At one point, she asked if I could use my Hypnobabies light switch, to which I said "No, I never even read the last lesson!" She asked if I wanted to listen to one of the relaxation scripts. I informed her that they were on my iPod, which was in my labor bag, which was in the trunk of my mom's car.

It felt like I began pushing immediately. Then it felt like it took forever. Suzan kept saying that one more contraction would do it, but one more contraction came and went and the baby wasn't coming out. I found out later that Alexa's head slid partway out and then just stayed there for half an hour.

Eventually, finally, at 2:06 pm, I felt a huge, painful pressure, then a sudden release. With the release came a gush of liquid and the sensation of something solid sliding out of my body. I knew that the head had caused the pressure, and once it was out, everything else quickly followed. I did not immediately hear Alexa cry, although she cried within a few seconds. I saw her as they clamped and cut the cord--I started to protest that I wanted delayed clamping, but I subsided under the gentle pressure of my doula's hand on my arm. I knew that she was as pro-delayed clamping as you can get, so if she was silently urging me not to protest, there was something important and time-sensitive happening. Alexa was taken to the heat lamp across the room for a few minutes. Then she was in my arms for a few brief seconds before they took her away. I don't recall exactly what was said, but I knew she was being taken to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) for observation. Everyone was very reassuring, to the point that I didn't really get worried about her. I'd seen her, I knew she was breathing, and they said they just wanted to observe her and they may not even need to admit her. I found out later that she was having difficulty breathing, and because she'd come out face first, she had some bruising that made her look blue--it was easy to mistake the bruises for evidence of insufficient oxygen.

Then the real torture began. I shook uncontrollably from the adrenaline. I felt like I was freezing, and my whole body shook like you'd see in a cartoon, not like anything I'd ever experienced. My belly was massaged to make the placenta detach. The cord was yanked on to pull the placenta out. I was given a shot of pitocin to prevent hemorrhage--quickly enough that I didn't have time to decline it if I'd wanted to (I still was disoriented enough that I probably would have consented, especially since I wasn't able to breastfeed immediately to cause the uterus to contract). My second-degree tear was stitched up--and the anesthetic cream hadn't been applied to a large enough area; one stitch went in without anesthesia. I was so exhausted and out of it that my protests consisted solely of the occasional "Ow!" I was distracted by a nurse having me sign the consent forms giving them permission to do everything they'd already done--there hadn't been time before. I also learned then that I'd done the impossible--given birth in the hospital without so much as a hep-lock. Suzan had told the nurses not to bother with it; there wasn't time.

My doula informed me that I had family in the waiting room; should she make an announcement or let them come in? I asked her to wait until I'd talked to Jeff. I called him and gave him the news, then allowed my visitors in. My mother and my father-in-law were the first; then my father-in-law left and my brother came in. I don't remember the conversation or anything. At some point I became lucid enough to ask my doula about what exactly had happened with Alexa. At the time I understood what she said. Now I don't remember most of it.

I was in the delivery room for about an hour. Then the nurses brought a wheelchair for me. I was taken to the NICU, where I was able to see Alexa, although I couldn't hold her. One of the doctors came over and explained what was going on with her. She had been brought in for observation because of difficulty breathing. She was on oxygen and a few monitors. He wanted to start her on antibiotics because it was possible that she had an infection, but the blood work wouldn't show it for 48 hours. I gave permission for the antibiotics but declined the routine Vitamin K shot he wanted to give her. I was impressed that he respected my wishes without pressuring me.

After a too-brief visit with Alexa, I was taken to my recovery room. It was a strange, disconnected feeling: I no longer had the baby belly, I was in the hospital, I had just given birth. But I had no baby, at least not one for whom I had any routine care responsibilities or who was even within my sight. I was in the maternity ward with no baby. I actually got jealous when I heard the baby next door crying.

The rest of that day and most of the next brought a flurry of activity. I was seeing visitors, submitting to exams and checks, pumping breast milk, going down to the NICU to see Alexa whenever I could. I was also trying to figure out the State Department paperwork that needed to be done to get the ball rolling on Alexa's passport and medical clearance. Jeff called from various airports to report his progress. He arrived the following day around 7:30 pm, during the shift change at the NICU when even parents aren't allowed to visit. When the NICU re-opened at 8, we went down so he could meet his daughter. I'm glad I thought to have a camera available; I have a picture of when he first saw her. After some time with her, we went back to my room to get some sleep. That's when my body fell apart--it realized that with him there, I could relax some, and the pain began. It wasn't my stitches or perineum that hurt, though; it was my back, shoulders, and neck. The nurses gave me medicine that relieved the pain and let me sleep.

I was discharged from the hospital the next day. Jeff and I checked into a nearby hotel to stay near Alexa. We spent every moment we could with her. Finally, the following Tuesday, she was released. That's when I felt like I really became a mother, when we took full responsibility for her. That's when the birth was complete.


*I usually don't curse, but in this situation, it just seemed appropriate.

**My next birth also will be all-natural, despite my mid-birth desire for a C-section. The NICU nurses told me that had I had drugs, which would have been necessary for a C-section, Alexa's breathing problems could have been much more severe. Many babies whose mothers have epidurals are born sleepy; if they're already at risk, this exhaustion can interfere with their ability to transition to breathing air.

Introducing Alexa Ruth

I know it's been even longer than usual since my last post ... most of it is due to the usual: not much to say, too much going on, etc. But now I definitely have something to say, and even though there's still too much going on, I wanted to take a few moments to share.


Meet Alexa Ruth!*

In this post, I'll just give a few key details. I'll try to post her complete birth story in a few days, but no promises ... lots going on, you know.

Birthday: Wednesday, 7 July 2010, 2:06pm (almost exactly a month early)
Amount of time from first "I hope that wasn't a contraction!" to birth: 5 hours 16 minutes
Amount of time from Mom's arrival at hospital to birth: approximately 2 hours
Amount of time from birth to getting to meet Daddy: approximately 30 hours (first available flight and all that)
Weight at birth: 6 lb 6 oz
Length at birth: 18-3/4 inches**
Number of days in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU): 6
Reason for being in the NICU: difficulty breathing
Date she came home: Tuesday, 13 July 2010



*Some of you may know that Jeff and I deliberately do not put pictures of ourselves, our family, our friends, or our colleagues on the blog for privacy reasons. However, we do acknowledge two important facts: (1) many of you will want to see Alexa and won't be able to unless we post a picture here, and (2) newborns change in appearance so quickly that pictures of them won't be a privacy concern after just a short time. So we decided to post this one picture of Alexa on the blog. This isn't a change in our policy regarding pictures on the blog; this is an exception to the rule.

**Oops, I originally posted her length as 15-3/4 inches. Thanks, Mom, for pointing out the mistake!

The Best and The Worst

I'm here! As I said in my last post, I'm now at my mom's house, where I'll be staying until a couple of months after the baby's birth. Things didn't go quite according to plan--when the last post posted, I was not somewhere over the Atlantic; I was still at the gate in Frankfurt--but eventually I made it. I don't think anyone is particularly interested in a play-by-play of the entire trip, so I'm just going to give you the best and the worst. I'll start with the worst so we can end on a good note.

The Worst

• I had to leave my husband and my cats behind.
• My 24-hour door-to-door trip turned into 31-1/2 hours.
• We were stuck at the gate in Frankfurt for 3 hours while they fixed the cabin air conditioner and tried to find the part to fix some other problem (I forget what it was) before eventually deciding that it would be okay for us to fly with the part broken; we'd just have to go a longer route. It added about 10 minutes to our flight time.
• I missed my connecting flight at Dulles, which was scheduled to take off at about the same time we ended up landing there. It was delayed 30 minutes, but that still wasn't enough time to clear customs and immigration and get to the gate.
• All the later flights to my destination airport were full. So were the later flights to the airport that's the same distance from my hometown in the opposite direction. (Our town is less than an hour from one tiny and one small airport, so we usually go with whichever one is cheaper at the time. It also allows for great flexibility in situations like this, unless the flights are all full.)
• I ended up taking a later flight to an airport that's 90 minutes from my mom's house.
• That flight was scheduled to leave approximately 5 hours after I arrived at Dulles. Due to a mechanical issue, it was delayed an hour.
• Throughout the entire day, a muscle in my gluteus maximus spasmed every time I put weight on it. Therefore, standing and walking was a slow and painful experience.
• The business class lounge at the Cairo airport was closed; there wasn't time in Frankfurt; and I was no longer business class in Washington. So quite possibly my only chance to experience a business class lounge has escaped me.
• I was still dealing with congestion, drainage, and general nastiness from my cold.
• My ankles currently are about the size of tennis balls, maybe slightly larger. They were twice as big early Tuesday morning when I arrived here.

The Best

• I managed not to cry, although it was difficult.
• My Tempur-pedic travel pillow went a long way toward making all the seats, in the airports and the planes, much more comfortable. Depending on the seat, I used it rolled up or flattened out behind my back every time I sat for more than just a few minutes.
• Business class in the Lufthansa flight between Cairo and Franfurt was nice. I was able to put my feet up, although there weren't independent controls for the footrest and the back, so I couldn't get my feet as high as I wanted without reclining too far for Alexa's safety. I was able to compensate by getting onto my side--the seat wasn't quite wide enough for it to be truly comfortable, thanks to the belly, but it was a lot better than economy or than sitting there without my feet up. I slept for most of the flight, so it was comfortable enough. Service was only marginally better than it would have been in economy, although Lufthansa's economy service is much better than any other airline's that I've experienced.
• Business class in the United flight between Frankfurt and Dulles was wonderful, even considering the extra 3 hours I spent there. The seats could recline all the way back like a bed, they could recline like a recliner, or I could adjust the back and the footrest independently. I only slept for a couple of hours, although the seat was comfortable enough to sleep longer--the sleep on the previous flight was enough that my stubborn body wasn't ready to sleep more yet. I could watch any of a few dozen movies or TV shows whenever I wanted, and I could pause, fast forward, and rewind them too. I had my choice of meals--I chose the filet mignon for the first and the turkey sandwich for the second. The first meal (the second was considered a snack) was three courses--appetizers (yes, that's plural), main course (choice of beef, chicken, or pasta), and dessert (an incredible chocolate mousse parfait-type concoction with strawberry sauce, or fruit ... guess which one I chose). The service was incredible. One of the flight attendants took one look at my belly and made me her personal project--I was never without water, I was told to use the first class lavatory rather than waiting in line for the business class one, I was given the option--repeatedly--to go to cooler areas of the plane before the air conditioner was fixed (it really wasn't even that hot), and I was generally hovered and fussed over. The other flight attendants also were incredibly attentive, but I think they provided that level of service to all the business class passengers. If anyone is traveling overseas on a United flight, the upgrade is totally worth it, if finances allow.
• I didn't have to overnight in Frankfurt, although that option was offered to me by the gate attendant, who came down to ask how I was doing. The only time that my personal flight attendant seemed confident that I was doing just fine, thank you very much, was when the gate attendant tried to take me off the plane and away from her. Suddenly I went from practically invalid status to perfectly okay. I got the feeling she didn't trust him to take good enough care of me.
• When the maintenance issue was discovered at Dulles, it was less than 10 minutes before they announced exactly what the problem was (I forget now, but they told us), that the plane could fly but required a longer runway on which to land, that our destination airport didn't have a functional runway long enough (the long one was being worked on), and that we therefore were swapping planes with another flight heading to an airport with a runway that the broken plane could use. No 3-hour decision-making process there!
• I didn't have to overnight in Dulles. I was able to make it here, although it was a very long day. I think it woud have been worse if I'd had to overnight somewhere, even though it would have allowed me to sleep sooner.
• I'm here safely.

So there you have it--the best and the worst. Since I've been here, I've pretty well been taking it easy. I'm trying to drink lots of water and keep my feet up to bring the swelling down. On the bright side, the swelling actually is about the same as it usually is for me after this trip--I expected it to be worse because of the pregnancy, but apparently it helped that I was able to have my feet up most of the time until I got to Dulles. At some point soon, I'll finish unpacking (I've unpacked my stuff but not Alexa's stuff), go through the boxes that have arrived (things we shipped and things that were shipped from our online registry), do some ironing (that I should have done in Cairo but just threw in the suitcase unironed instead), and make a list of things I need to buy. But for now, I think I'm going to sit here with my water and my mom's laptop (mine is having internet issues right now), keep my feet up, and catch up on reading the blogs I've missed in the last few days.

Going Home

If I've done the math right, I will be somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean as this blog posts. I'm going home to the United States for the summer. This will be the first time that I've left Jeff for any significant amount of time since we married--three weeks for job training used to count as significant, but not anymore, not with this separation looming over us. I have mixed feelings about going.

On the one hand, it will be good to be home. It will be good to spend time with my family, to see my niece and nephews who have all changed so much over the last year, to get to know my little nephew who was born just before we left and who was too little during our visit last year to remember me. It will be good to shop at familiar American stores, to eat at my favorite restaurants, to live again in a community that is heavily influenced by Christianity. To understand the language spoken around me. It especially will be good to know that I'm in the place where, if it's needed, my daughter can receive the best medical care in the world--I realized not too long ago that if she were to be born prematurely, on that very day, in America, my daughter would have a hard fight ahead of her, but she probably would win it; if she were born even now in Egypt, she probably would die. From that day forward, I've been ready to step on a plane.

But on the other hand ... I'm going to be away from my husband for over a month before he's able to come for the birth, unless something unexpected happens. I won't see my cats--don't laugh! they're my fur babies, sweet little souls who are part of my family!--for four months. There are other aspects of life in Egypt that I'll miss, but not so much that I can't bear it. But I hate the thought that my husband won't see my belly grow or feel the increasing strength of Alexa's kicks, that my cats won't understand why I'm suddenly gone, that I won't be here to take care of my family. Even after Alexa's birth, Jeff will be with us for such a short time before he has to come back without us, while we wait for her medical clearance and all the paperwork to get her added to our orders and get her passport and visa. We're all going to miss out during this separation: Jeff, me, Alexa, Isis, and Cleo.

It doesn't help that Jeff and I both have been sick this week. Jeff has something going on with his inner ear, so he's experiencing vertigo--he has medicine that's supposed to take the edge off the symptoms, but it isn't doing much good, and the doctor says that his body basically has to deal with the problem itself. I've been fighting off a cold and finally admitted defeat last night. On the positive side, we've had more time together, since Jeff hasn't been able to work much. On the negative side, we've both wanted to do nothing but sleep. I'm not even finished preparing the freezer meals I want to leave for him--I still have a casserole, a double batch of macaroni and cheese, and a total of four batches (two singles and a double) of meatloaf to make, although I've already made the lasagna and more batches of chili than I care to think about. I still have so much to do (cooking, ironing, getting stuff together from all over the apartment, then packing on Sunday) ... and all I want to do is go back to bed.

This is turning into a downer. I've always been that way--more likely to be down when I'm tired, which is definitely the case this week. Time to look on the bright side. Everything that has to get done will get done, and the rest of it is probably not as important as I'm making it. I will be away from Jeff and the cats for way too long, but I'll have all that time with my extended family--parents, brother, sister, niece and nephews, the in-laws; I'll even get to see a grandmother, cousin, and maybe an aunt or two. I'll be able to do the needed shopping in air conditioned stores, with air conditioned transportation to and from them. My baby will be born in an environment where, even if things don't go according to the plan we have for her, things are incredibly likely to turn out well. I'll be staying with my mother for the first six to eight weeks of Alexa's life, a time when I'm sure to need and want her help more than ever. While I'm home, I'll get to attend, even be a bridesmaid in, my brother's wedding (assuming we can figure out the correct dress size and get it in time--the wedding's just two months after my guess date and I have no idea what size I'll be then). And even if I am dealing with sinus issues while I fly on Monday, at least I'll be dealing with them from the comfort of a business class seat--my first time ever in business class; thank you to my hubby for upgrading me!--rather than from a small, uncomfortable economy class seat.

As they say, every cloud has a silver lining, and when I think about it, I realize that this one really is more lining than cloud. The cloud is a doozy for someone who's philosophically and emotionally opposed to leaving her husband (and not fond of the idea of leaving her cats either!), but there is a lot of lining. Now to just focus on that ...