May family's Blog

So, I guess I didn’t blog about it last week. 

The visit with the dermatologist went well.  Odd, but well.  It was like hanging out in an old college professors office, but one from the 80’s, with about that much dust, and that old of books lining the entire span of the wall.

For some odd reason I was expecting Dr. Owili to be Indian.  Really, I had no basis for the assumption other than Owili sounded Indian??  Yeh, not very sound reasoning.

Anyhow, Dr. Owili turned out to be a pleasant 50 year old Kenyan man who was very welcoming and comfortable to talk to.  He chit chatted for a bit, then asked if we should take a peak at my ex-melanoma site.

“Here?”  I questioned.  Cause we were just hanging out in chairs at his big huge professor type desk.

“Oh, you can go behind the curtain I guess.”

Phew, thanks I thought.

The rest of the appt. went like any might in the states.  Looking at my skin, examining this spot and that spot.  Agreeing to come back in 3 months.

And I thought, “Hey that wasn’t so bad!  I’m off the hook for 3 months!”

But in the back of my mind I knew that wasn’t REALLY true, because I’d taken a pregnancy test the week before and it had been positive.

Yeh, you’re surprised.  I WAS SURPRISED.  Although, I don’t know why I kid myself.  Both of these other little aliens running around that I call Eli and Lucy happened pretty quick like that  too.  I should know that my “messing around” can’t be messing around.

But, I told myself I’d have a while to ask around and find a gyno and get used to the insane hair-brained idea of having a baby here.

I ran into a very obviously pregnant American woman at church who gladly gave me the name of her gyno.  This woman, Nicole, is here from Uganda for the last 7 weeks of her pregnancy because it’s really not safe to have babies there (Her words, not mine).

So, I’ve been feeling fine and dandy, a bit hesitant since it is almost a year to the  day that we were pregnant with the baby we lost & it’s hard to have that kind of excitement and then that kind of let down.

And then this morning the symptoms of miscarriage started and I needed to find that darn doctors number and right when I went to get on the internet to find it.

NO POWER.  The internet is our lifeline.  We don’t have a land line phone.  No operator to call.  No phone book. 

Ian was gone, there was no car, and no power.  I kind of lost it a little and had myself a little cry when everyone was out of the house.  A little  pity party.  I felt much better afterwards, and then the power came on and I was able to get the doctors phone number.

SO, to make that incredibly long story come to an end:

Please, please pray for us.  I have an appointment tomorrow at 3:30pm with the gynecologist at Aga Khan hospital and I am hoping that she is able to say that this is just a different pregnancy and that the cramping and spotting mean nothing…..but there is that memory of last time in the back of my mind.    Pray that this woman has a gentle manner, that she is empathetic and caring and above all wonderful at her craft.  That she is an angel sent for me.

A mother’s job never changes.

No matter where you are:  home, on vacation, recovering from the flu or a C-section, in a foreign country. 

There is always the issue (yes, it can be an issue) of LAUNDRY.

I remember my dear friend Erika talking about her new LG washing machine she recently was ABLE (it is a treat to buy a new appliance right?) to purchase.

My sister-in-law Kori has a pretty Saaa–wheat washer/dryer combo herself.  I think it does everything except take the clothes off your body when it’s time.

I never really fancied myself an admirer of laundry machines.  Until now.  I lovingly walk down the supermarket aisles and run my hand along the smooth gloriously shiny tops of all of the various models.

Right about now, I’d take any, even the 6kg cheaper Samsung model.

Ok, well honestly, we’re doing ok with the whole hand wash method, especially because I’m not the one doing the bulk of the washing.  Esther is.  And bless her for doing so!

I have given it a whirl though and it looks a lot like this in process:

A lot of stooping and rinsing and wringing.  It’s much better with a stool in my opinion.  Esther will never take one.  These women don’t either:

I’ve always liked the sight of laundry blowing in the breeze, just not the stiff feeling it gives jeans and some knit cottons.  But, when it comes to dirty clothes (which seems to happen instantly out here in Thika even in comparison to being in Nairobi) or stiff clothes, I’ll take cardboard pants any day.