Somewhere there is a calender book with my name reserving the 4 o’clock appointment.
How wonderful!
A small book that says I get one half of an hour to focus on myself.
If you’ve never been a mother of young children, you might not know how thrilling this is. Let me just tell you that in the 20 months since my first son was born, not even daily (oh let’s be honest, twice weekly) showers have been scheduled. My personal needs squeak into the irregular, unpredictable and always short gaps in our family’s shared life. I remember my older sister being absolutely giddy to sit in the waiting room of a dentist. She has three kids and knew well that time alone, time for self, is in short supply once the little people arrive on the scene. To her, even a cavity brought a blessing: a chance to sit with a book in peace. I didn’t understand this until my own babies arrived on the planet.
So, 4 o’clock was mine. I finally found a doctor who practices Ayurveda and Acupuncture which gives me hope for treating my Rhuemoid Arthritis. I learned that in Western medicine, there are pharmecudical treatments, but no cure. In Eastern medicine, my condition is seen as the result of an imbalance that can be corrected. That makes so much sense to me. I am loathe to start taking any medication for a chronic condition, so I was excited to meet Dr. Zyad to see what he thought would help.
I looked forward to my appointment all week. I arranged a babysitter, which was no small task. I made dinner at 2 pm, so it would be ready when I came home. At 3 o’clock I sat down to nurse the 4 month old. And that was the beginning of the end.
Jack started sceaming. I don’t know why. He is normally an incredibly happy baby. I swear he came out of the womb giggling. He doesn’t fuss unless he really needs something. But for the previous 24 hours something was wrong. I’m not sure if it’s gas, teething or something else, but he was a 5 alarm siren declaring, “HELP ME, MOMMY! I AM NOT OK!”
I did what I could: changing positions, patting him, trying again to nurse, offering the pacifier. Minutes ticked by. The babysitter arrived. It was time for me to go. I managed to get him calm, but not happy. I couldn’t leave him hungry and unhappy and without mommy.
So, I took him with me, leaving my 20 month old with the sitter. This seemed like a good compromise until I arrived at the Wellness Center and realized it was a maze of closet-sized rooms connected by very narrow hallways. My stroller jostled precariously. Other patients smiled kindly and picked up their feet for protection. Jack cried. I picked him up and began to bounce and pat him.
At 4 o’clock, I was brought back into my dream: a dark, cozy room with wonderful smells and an inviting massage table. Jack wasn’t crying, but wasn’t happy either. I couldn’t put him down. I knew at that time, my appointment was lost.
Dr. Zyad was very nice. We spoke a little about my condition, but I was too distracted by Jack’s problem to focus on my own. The doctor gently suggested I come back next week without the baby. Then he reached for Jack’s hand and showed me that he had the sign of the Mystical Cross. My son is to be a very spiritual person. The doctor showed me some baby massage techniques that brought the giggle back to my little boy’s mouth. I was not charged for the visit.
On my drive back across town, Jack slept peacefully, but I fought back tears. I admit, it was a touch of self-pity. My body was still in the pain that makes living my life hard. The image of what was supposed to be my appointment: the quiet, cozy room of healing was the latest in what is now a lifetime of small and large sacrifices I choose to make for my children. I was a bit sad, but not as distraught as I would have been a year ago, when I first became a mother. There is now a level of acceptance when a sacrifice must be made. I remind myself it’s a choice. I could have left him with the sitter. I could have bought some formula, so he could eat in my absence. I could have blocked out his distress and focused on my own. I made different choices, and even though I didn’t get what I wanted, I know they were the right choices for me.
Life is not supposed to be about yourself. There is a line from Stephen Cope’s book, Yoga and the Quest for the True Self, that I’ll paraphrase. A patient was dying and left the message, don’t wake up at the end of your life and realize it was all about you. Time is a shared commodity. 4 o’clock was not mine alone.
But, for the record, I really hope next week’s 10 o’clock appointment is!
Namaste.
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