Global Reflections

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!

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.

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!

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.

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 ...