This day that time!

Three years later, I can clearly remember that morning I least expected to end with the birth of my son. I was to have my delivery in Chennai and my husband was going to drive back to Bangalore, leaving in the wee hours of the morning so that he'd reach office on time!

While the Scientist came downstairs from our room upstairs, I decided to sleep in for 5 minutes longer so that I'd go down once he was showered and ready. Fellow moms would know that towards that end of the pregnancy term, sleep is a highly coveted resource. I used to be hardly able to slep at night while the afternoons would beg me curl up and zonk off!

Anyway, as I groggily went downstairs, I suddenly felt like I missed a step. The next thing I knew was I had fallen, unable to get up. People in the house were awake to also say bye to the Husband and so they heard me call for help. I was not able to stand no matter how hard I tried. I was not even able to really tell how exactly and in what position I fell. I was sweating profusely all the while panicking about the baby in my womb! I did not want anything terrible to happen to the child.

Soon I was given a drink and the family had decided that we rush to the hospital. I somehow gathered every strand of mental strength in me to get up and climb into the car. I was sweating so much and still remember the night sky which had no trace of the approaching day. I was whisked into the maternity wing at the hospital because thankfully they knew that the baby was more important than my feet! The duty doctor did an ultrasound and smilingly reassured me that the baby was fine. I was told to cool down because my BP was soaring and wait till they repeated the scan.

To cut a long story short the scan was repeated until the evening every two hours, and finally my gynac took the decision to perform a C-section becasue the fluid levels were low and the baby's heart rate was going down too. I was nearly mortified by the pre-op preparation and even when I was asked by the loving husband as to whether I was not excited about seeing the baby in a few hours, I said a confident no!!! Even as I was wheeled into surgery we did not have a clue that I had fractured both feet!!!

In the operation theatre, I was given a spinal anaesthesia and was being chatted to by a very chatty, cheerful anaesthetologist. They were playing Radio Mirchi in the operation theatre and that totally amused me. Anyway after what felt like an eternity, I was shown my baby and a wave of pride surged over me. And that was the beginning of a new life and a new world.

As I was being put in the recovery room, I could see flashes of thunder and lightening rip across the sky. The heavy, untimely downpour in the month of May in Chennai made me feel like baby Krishna had come to me. I took it as a good sign that bad times for me were over.

It was not until the next evening almost 36 hours after my fall that I was put on an x-ray table. Can you imagine a 100 kilo woman with broken feet and a recent c-sec surgery try to move from one stretcher to another in a lying down position?? I was embarrased more than anything else. Honestly the mental pain has stayed with me more than the physical pain!!!

After the fractures were diagnosed in both feet, I got a cast on them. My baby had infant jaundice and I was not producing enough milk for the baby. I was fed garlic by the kilo, fed wierd smelling meds from all medical disciplines to improve lactation and made to follow all kinds of dietary advise. I followed everything. But one thought stayed in my mind - what was I thinking when I got pregnant? I was putting my family through severe trouble and was extremely guilty. The fact that Chittu was losing weight owing to insufficient feed was the most depressing. I labelled myself a fat, lame mother who could not even feed her own baby. If I had a gun I would have shot myself. Looking back, I was in a bad state mentally!!!

Luckily I survived. Eventually I recovered. But Chittu had to be put on lactogen feed. I failed in that department as a mother, and still feel guilty about that! In my mind - the single most imporant cause for my suffering was - my WEIGHT! I would have fractured my feet if were not that fat, it would not be so embarrasing if Iwere not that fat, it would have been easier on my family to handle my bed riden body if I were not that fat!Being fat, was simply my single most defect. Even I could not find joy in the birth of my baby becasue my fatness somehow shrunk that joy.

Fatness/ Obesity for me had a great mental impact. I amno more obse now. Overweight but not obese. It has been a long arduous journey of learning, falling, failing and progressing. But the journey has taught me so much, and since I am a mother to a lovable 3 year old the journey is all the more meaningful!

 I will leave you with a picture comparison of then and now



10 days after delivery. Notice the walker

about 3 years after delivery and nearly 25 kilos lighter!

Weight Issues: Looking back in time

Just this morning, a colleague, much older to me, with twin teenage daughters told me something which sent me down memory lane:

The said colleague C is kind of short (short, as in height). Her husband though taller than her, is also short. Their twin daughters are short as well. A neighbour’s child in their apartment complex teased one of the daughters for being short, and said his brother, who is probably 8 years old, will soon be taller than the said daughter. The colleague also told me that both daughters spent the night crying into their mother’s lap. They also wanted the mother to go back downstairs and yell at the bullying kid/his mom.

The above narration made me remember my past, when my father often teased me for being fat, though I was not an obese child. However, I do remember having issues – may be even an inferiority complex with my size and how I looked. While my father encouraged me, and even taught me some very good floor exercises, one memory stands out as particularly humiliating.

I spent my 7^th standard summer vacation at my grandparent’s place. At that age, I did not watch my food. I ate what I wanted. I think I had gained a lot of weight during the said vacation. Because on my return, my mother told me that father was mighty angry at how fat I had become. Dad did not tell me any of it during our train ride back home. I don’t remember whether he expressed his displeasure at my weight in any other way, except wanting me to go to a doctor’s clinic at the corner of our street every week to weigh in and report my weight to him. I was also to do the exercises he taught me. I hated the idea of having to go to the doctor’s and having my weight checked. Even more, I hated reporting it back to my father. I remember thinking that my weight was a very private figure, and no one had the right to know it. My father just got angrier each time I did not go to the doc and gave me lectures after lectures. I never said much back to him. I stood mute, just waiting for the session to be over, and would spend many nights crying in bed. No one knew I cried. Not even my mother. But what was growing inside me, was a feeling that I was downright ugly because I was fat, that father was embarrassed because of my weight, that mother supported his ideology and all of that made me avoid thinking about weight loss. Because thinking about my weight got me face to face with the ugliest person in the world.

Many years later, as I got engaged to my husband, my thoughts on weight loss and fatness were pretty much the same. I was over-weight, though not obese at the time of my engagement. And most of last 10 kgs had come from eating that was triggered by depression following an earlier broken engagement (from a proposal my parents set up). At the time of my engagement to my husband, my morale and self image was at an all time low.  I then went on to get married, pregnant and had a baby. The birth of my son, was rather dramatic, with my falling, fracturing both feet and being wheeled in for an emergency caesarean section. The end result was that I weighed 100+ kgs.

This morning I weighed 84.3 kgs, and am aiming to reach a “normal” weight, by following healthy eating habits and exercise. While no one really demanded that I lose weight, except the doctor’s of course, I was my own master. I felt I had to, and have come this far. If I need to pin point, that particular instant that motivated to lose weight, it was this:

When I was in hospital after the caesarean and with broken feet, there were times when I had to carried, pushed in a wheel chair etc. My husband did it most gracefully. Never once commenting that it was difficult, but rather encouraging me saying that his physique was strong enough to handle my weight. I knew this was the last time I let my weight trouble me so much. I had had it!

The purpose of this post is that, I’ve looked at how “comments” about a person’s looks can do so much to his/her psyche. While the person saying it (in my case, Dad) may not have intended to insult me, the result was that my feelings about my weight have had a huge influence on the personality that I am. Certainly, I am not a bad person because I am fat or hated my looks, but my fatness and looks still influence me, the way I think and my sensitivity levels.

How can one teach a child that looks are not the most important thing in this world? That it is more important to love one self and his/her body , and not abuse it because X, Y or Z says some random stuff?

The Sleep that vanished and the Confidence that was vanquished.

"Do you sleep well?" Almost every friend, relative, acquaintance, random people who struck up conversation, neighbour and colleague who had been pregnant or knew the P of pregnancy asked me. "Yeah. Yeah." I beamed, sounding overtly obvious. Well then, "good", came the reply. Because after the baby, you cannot even think of the S of sleep. And that was the end.

The past week, the little fellow, had contracted a severe cold, with congestion in the lungs.He would not be able to eat, would throw up if force fed and as a result be hungry all the time. He lost his sleep. And me, mine - even the little that I got on other days.

He had to be taken to the doctor. From the given situation, I assessed that the visit to the clinic might involve an injection, and may be a little dose of a nebuliser. May be antibiotics as well. The scientist (husband), always discourages me from making medical analyses. "I'm the doctor in the family" , he says, referring to his doctorate in three dimensional geometry, in his modest attempt to almost tickle the funny bone. But, do as he may," I'm the mother", I say, copying my mom's words. "I know what is right for him." I sound confident. I surprise myself. Definitely more confident than a mother of a hardly 5- month old baby. Wow.

 So we had the following conversation:

Scientist : Shall I take an appointment with Dr.J.V?

Me: No I'll call the homeopathy doctor my Maami was talking about. Homeopathy has no side effects.

(My cheer squad, namely MIL ): Yes, yes, even I gave you homeopathy as a child. (Remember the Woodwards gripe-water advertisement? Or was  it  only in Tamil?)

Scientist (Significantly lesser confidence): What about ayurveda instead?

And his voice trailed off, in humble submission to the majority vote. (Moral: MIL as top member of cheer squad is very helpful)

Precisely two days later, we were having this conversation:

Me: Shall I take an appointment with Dr.J.V?

Scientist: No.No. Give it time.

Me: Do you think I was wrong? The cough would have gone by now, if we gave Chittu antibiotics.

Scientist: It has not gotten worse. That's a good thing.

Me: Right.

Scientist: Right.

Me: How much longer do you think we should wait? This won't become pneumonia, will it? Or Tuberculosis?Primary Complex?

Scientist: No baby. Remember? I'm the doctor in this house.

And so much for my premature confidence!!

All this apart, its the last working day of the week. And Fridays are always welcome. Aren't they? Even for someone who is home, spending most waking hours cuddling a very affable little baby?

By The Water Cooler: Contest Entry

Of late, I've been able to catch some time with the world outside home and the little one. That means, if I'm not feeding or cuddling the little fellow, or wiping his poop or throw-up or putting him to sleep or preparing his feed, I have been reading a lot of blogs which talk of other mom's doing all or some of the above. One of those spaces which I have grown rather addicted to and really really fond of is this. To say the least, I love the tone of the writing and am waiting for an outing to the book shop to purchase a copy of her first book - Bringing Up Vasu- That First Year.Well, I can dedicate an entire post to how fabulous her way with words is, but then I really think that would in no way match the experience of reading her writing, first hand. This post is primarily, my way of wishing her luck on the launch of her next book, which is titled the same as this blog post, and secondly an entry to the contest she is hosting. (You will find the details here.)

I did not notice until now, that as I typed all of the above, I was lying on my stomach, sprawled on the bed. Yayyy! Finally. Nearly five months after that cesarean. Phew!!!

Here is my entry :

While I was pregnant with Chittu, and doing the 9 to 6 grind at work, I was inevitably faced with numerous nosey colleagues, who were always willing to make seemingly polite inquiries about my pregnancy, unrelenting opinions about how a natural delivery is so much more preferable, as if they were so sure that I had already entered into a secret agreement with my gynac to have surgery, and stupefying advise on good foods, bad foods, hospitals and such related details which really I was not interested in soliciting from them. I had a tough time handling the inputs, commands and demands I was getting from relatives, and that was BAD enough.

I am not a sociable person. Usually when I smile at my co-workers, it does not mean - Hi there. How are you? Who are you married to? Native place? Children?School? College? Residence? Breakfast? Lunch menu? Dinner plans? Nope. Sorry. None of that. It just means - Hi. Good morning. Period. But really, almost nobody got that. 

So as I walk into the elevator:

Colleague1 (Female. Shiny diamonds on ears, nose, neck and fingers): Hey. Morning. How are you?

Me: Smile back. Fine. Thank you.

Colleague 1: (Quirky, silly smile): So which month now?

Me: 7

Colleague 1 (elevator door opens to our floor): Really? You don't look like that?

Me: (Smile back again) Silence. I got a meeting at 9.30. Excuse me.

Colleague 1 (to herself, dejected): Oh! But the interview ain't over yet.

Me (to myself, pleased) ; Rush to desk with very very serious expression on face. Escape! Ah. This should be a good day. Lucky me.

Later before lunch at the wash room:

Colleague 2( best friend and confidant of Colleague 1, possibly majority partner in Gossip gang) : You will here only for delivery no? Your mother's place is in bangalore no?

Me: Ummm....no..I am going to Chennai. (tries very hard to show expression of finality, and would have rushed out of wash room had it not been for the little fellow in the belly making me want to pee atleast once every half hour.)

Colleague 2 (very happy about new piece of information collected and cannot wait to share with remaining members of gossip gang): Oh Chennai... Which hospital?

Me ( wondering if person occupying the loo currently is laying eggs and hatching them and trying to change subject of conversation): Not decided yet... Is not this year very hot here in Bangalore?

Colleague 2: Ya. I know. Bangalore is just getting hotter every year. It must be very difficult for you na? That too, you are pregnant! But you should decide on the hospital fast, no? When is your due date? From when do you plan to go on leave?

Me (almost fainting from the volley of questions just encountered and nearly suffocating in the smell of the horrible odonil fragrance): I think I can hear my phone ring...

Sometime later, as I am furiously typing out a draft agreement, Colleague 3, in the sales department on the first floor, who is presumably feeling left out of my pregnancy banter that is making great lunch time discussions in the office, for no special reason at all, saunters by my desk to drop a file. This is what ensues:

Colleague 3: So? All set to become a mother?

Me: Ermmmm... (Stupid smile.)

Colleague 3: Arey! You are feeling shy and all?

Me (mumbling in the head): Well it's a private feeling, you see. And I am not specifically interested in discussing my impending motherhood with you, dear complete stranger. (Still stupidly smiling)

Colleague 3 (waving excitedly to colleague 1) Arey! Your necklace is very beautiful Kahan se liya? Golda?

Me: Extremely relieved about the end of that conversation, goes back to typing furiously, as if there were no tomorrow.

I never got this - This assumption of the right to being informed about everybody else's private life. I usually cringe about making personal inquries. I have not even made friends with my neighbour. Well that's me! Usually, I am very comfortable being left alone. I don't appreciate small talk. I'd rather just be mumbling to myself or even be left alone, doing really nothing. But these people won't let things be, and so as I am waiting for an autorickshaw to return home after work, the last of the gossip girls, accosts me, yet again:

Colleague 4: Oho!You also go home by auto every day? Where do you stay?

Before she could proceed with - Oh! How much does it cost you all the way home? Oh! Hundred Rupees? Is that not too much? How you come in the morning? You don't know to drivea? But it is not safe to travel in auto when you are pregnant... and such comments on my safety, security and finance policy, I jumped into the first auto that came my way, to spend the next hour happily with no people people who utterly disregard the right to privacy.