Birth – Marilyn R. Gardner

My Ramadan Baby

Published on May 25, 2017May 25, 2017 by Marilyn2 Comments

I remember the day like it was yesterday. The Islamabad sun, hot and bright, burned down on my mom and I as we walked to the hospital with my first-born – Annie – in a stroller.

It was May of 1987 and it was Ramadan, only a couple of days before the huge Eid celebration that would mark the end of this long month of fasting for Muslims around the world. We had been living and working in Islamabad since January and I was 9 months pregnant with our second child.

After a false start a couple of days earlier, my mom and I headed out to my regularly scheduled prenatal appointment. After examining me, my doctor said “Sometimes we need to push the horse and cart!” Which was code for “I’m going to give you something to speed up this delivery.” I was more than willing to oblige.

It was a text book induction and just after midnight on May 25th I gave birth to a gorgeous, blue-eyed, fuzzy-headed baby boy. I was smitten.

I wrote about my Ramadan baby 6 years ago, when I was a new blogger. As I reread the piece I wrote, I realized it communicates the story exactly as I remember it, so I have reposted it below in honor of my Ramadan “baby’s” 30th birthday!

Date: May 25, 1987

Location: Islamabad, Pakistan

Place: Ali Medical Center

24 years ago today at 10 minutes past midnight I gave birth to my second child. It was toward the end of Ramadan and this showed significantly in the absence of staff in the hospital. Earlier in the evening as I labored, my husband and I began to worry aloud that the doctor, busy breaking the fast at her home, would not make it and we would be left on our own. We needed her assurance in seeing to the safety and health of a pregnant woman in transition (me) and a baby that wanted to enter life. My mom, well versed in cultural norms in Pakistan, assured us that the doctor would arrive on time. But as we waited and wondered, we were deeply grateful for the calm presence of my mother.

As the hospital staff ate their fill of Ramadan specialties before dawn came (and with it the arduous fast that would not break until 7 or 8 at night) two babies made their way into the world. The last azaan, calling the faithful to prayer, was heard earlier through the brick walls of the labor and delivery room, ensuring that even those inside would know it was time to break the fast. At that point all hospital staff disappeared, oblivious to the labor pains of two women, as they rushed to ease their hunger pains.

One of those babies was ours: Joel Rehan Braddock Gardner, born with a head of blond, fuzzy hair and deep blue eyes. I took one look and fell in love with 6 lbs and 12 oz of baby. It was magic. The second baby was also a boy – a little Pathan boy, as dark-haired as Joel was blonde, born to a family who lived in Peshawar. They had made their way to Islamabad for the delivery, ensuring that their first child would be born at a good hospital.

It was a text-book delivery and after 6 hours of laboring and a few pushes, Joel took his first breath and let out a yowl. I don’t even know if yowl is a word but it describes what was a mixture of a yodel and a howl. He was a perfect, 10 fingered, 10 toed, baby boy. Dr. Azima Quereshi was the doctor presiding over the delivery. After observing me labor without drugs and breastfeed immediately after birth, she looked at my mom with tear-filled eyes and clutched her arm saying “I’ve read about deliveries like this, but I’ve never seen one!”

The hospital staff enjoyed their own show that night as they sent staff in by two’s to see “the white lady who had her husband in with her during the delivery,” something that was unheard of at Ali Medical Center and most hospitals in Pakistan. “Who wants the men in there?” was the incredulous question voiced by Pakistani friends and acquaintances.

The Pathan family showered the hospital staff and doctor with gifts of fruit, Pakistani sweets of gulab jamun, jalebis, barfi, and savories of samosas and pakoras. This ensured a favored place with staff as low on the ladder as cleaning people and as high as surgeons.

We were not so favored. A gift of imported Cadbury Chocolates delivered in a fake gold bowl for Dr. Quereshi seemed appropriate and we went on our merry way, taking Joel back home to the F-8 residential area of Islamabad to meet his older sister Annie and settle into a bassinet.

It was only later that we realized our faux pas in not buying treats for the entire hospital. We had failed to publicly recognize the role the rest of the staff had played in helping us deliver a healthy baby boy which, from a cultural perspective, was a huge thing to acknowledge!

And so Joel came into the world and today he turns 24. His blonde hair has turned into light brown, he still has deep blue eyes – and his yowl? That has turned into an infectious laugh, ability to argue anyone into the ground and a great personality.

Happy Birthday Joel – We are so blessed by your life.

Joel in the middle at 1 1/2 years old

When You Give Birth

Published on May 7, 2014May 7, 2014 by Marilyn5 Comments

I had a post all planned. It was full of information: statistics, thoughts, problems, solutions. It was based on the State of the World’s Mothers report that came out recently, the report by Save the Children released yearly since 2000 that looks at how mothers fare throughout the world on key indicators.

But something didn’t sit right. The figures – the statistics – the issues – they are all critically important but my heart told me there was something else to write. This is the something else – statistics can wait until tomorrow.

When you give birth you don’t expect to shield your child from gunfire, to tell her hungry stomach that there is no food. When you give birth you don’t expect to bathe your daughter’s feverish forehead, hoping and praying that the raging fevers of malaria will leave and not get worse.

When you give birth you don’t expect to sit beside your child, watching her thick, curly hair fall out – a result of the chemotherapy poison flowing through her body killing all the bad cells….and the good ones. You don’t expect to rush to the hospital to see their battered body, victim to a drunk driving accident.

You don’t know that you will have a crack in your strong armor – and that crack will have a name, or several names. Annie, Joel, Micah, Stefanie, Jonathan. That suddenly there will be a way for life to wound in a way you could never have known.

When you give birth you don’t know how many times you will pass by their room, hearing their muffled or sometimes clearly audible sobs, safe only to shed behind closed doors. You don’t know how much you’ll want to comfort, yet know it’s out of your control. You don’t know that you might wait daily for a phone call, any piece of news that tells you how your child who left in a rage is doing, where they are.

When you give birth you don’t expect your breasts to dry up from malnutrition and to fight for every piece of food that you get. You don’t expect to be in a refugee camp with no privacy, no running water.

You don’t know the rage you will feel at those who would hurt your child, that you will do anything, anything to protect them. You don’t expect that you will sign adoption papers with tears running down your cheeks, because you know that this is the best, possible choice for your baby.

When you give birth you don’t think that you’ll sit beside your daughter at divorce court, seeing her trembling hands and longing to take away the pain. You don’t anticipate you’ll go to a psych hospital with your son, so consumed by hurt he feels he cannot go on.

When you give birth you don’t expect to go to your 2 year old’s funeral, their body so tiny even in the smallest coffin they had. You don’t expect that you will gather your child to you, holding them tight and praying that the bombs don’t reach you.

When you give birth you don’t expect to look up at a cross, the worst sort of death, and see your beloved son, naked and beaten with nails pounded in to flesh, him hanging on what used to be a tree. You don’t know a sword will pierce your soul.

Lord God, Have mercy and be with those who give birth.

On Earthquakes and Babies

Published on March 13, 2013March 13, 2013 by Marilyn25 Comments

“My friend is having a ‘Reveal’ party” said my daughter.

“A what?”

“A reveal party – gender reveal – where you invite people over and you have cake and you ‘reveal’ the sex of your baby”.

I laughed. “Oh” Pause “Well – we had five of those!”

Five reveal parties. One took place in Illinois,one in Pakistan, one in Florida and two in Egypt. Five reveal parties on three continents! That has to be some kind of record. The difference was this – there weren’t a lot of people invited to our ‘parties’. Just my husband, a doctor or midwife, a nurse, a friend or mom, and me. And we didn’t call them “Reveal Parties” – we called them deliveries.

But oh how we rejoiced when we heard those words “It’s a Girl!” and a lusty cry from a newborn infant. Or “It’s a Boy!” and in our situations, even lustier cries.

Call me old. Call me unable to keep up with the times. I don’t really care. I think reveal parties are ridiculous. I think they’re over the top, I think they’re not at all about the baby, and I think they’re about Big Business. Big Baby Business.

If you want to know the sex of your baby before birth – that’s great. Have at it. I won’t judge. But if you want to do little cake thingies and party favors and Big Reveals – I think it’s crazy.

Because there’s a natural reveal party waiting right around the corner. It comes after hard work and tears and real labor – but no reveal party is like the natural reveal.

No amount of work, fun, cake, and punch can ever top the Great Reveal –

The Great Reveal – when you’re holding a six pound plus infant in your arms, your throat is catching as you say ‘hi baby!’ and you see the man in your life, who never cries, with tears coming down his cheeks looking down at your tiny daughter or son in complete awe.

As a wise friend once told us, there are only two real surprises left in life – And those are Earthquakes and Babies.

The Quest for a Bigger, Better, Cuter Pregnancy (christianitytoday.com)

First Friday of Advent: Everything Changes When a Baby is Born

Published on November 30, 2012November 30, 2012 by Marilyn5 Comments

Many of you will know that Advent is marked off the calendar in Sundays. It’s the four-week season of expectation as Christians around the world wait for the Christ child to be born. Wikipedia describes it as, “a season observed in many Western Christian churches as a time of expectant waiting and preparation for the celebration of the Nativity of Jesus at Christmas. The term is an anglicized version of the Latin word adventus, meaning ‘coming.’ It is the beginning of the Western liturgical year and commences on Advent Sunday”. This month Fridays with Robynn will feature four Friday Advent pieces. Friday is a day of worship for many around the world. Fridays are also the day I get to write! And when I’m not grumpy I really love the Advent season. Happy First Friday of Advent to all of you!

Yesterday was a miserable day. I stayed in bed most of the day and drank hot tea. I cried lots. I watched a couple of mindless TV shows. I read some. But mostly I just felt sorry for myself.

And finally I phoned my mom. My dad was there too…and he was full of wisdom and humour.

But really it was a day when you just want to talk to your mom.

On Monday some very dear friends, the Chamberlains, from our India days came through. We hadn’t seen them in nearly two years. It was a wonderful reunion. My kids enjoyed their kids. We enjoyed them. Of course we stayed up way too late, attempting the impossible, trying to catch up on all the stories with all the heart. Tuesday morning after getting our own three kids out the door to school, we helped reluctantly get the Chamberlains out the door as well.

Tuesday afternoon I spent all afternoon baking and grieving the shortness of their visit, the ache of such sweet friendships we made in that far off place. I was baking for an event later that evening, where we say thank you to all our dear Alpha volunteers. That same afternoon Lowell and I realized that the Environmental Missions project we oversee was very nearly broke. We had submitted an expense account for some rather large expenses only to be told they would have to hold off on reimbursing us because of lack of funds.

So you can see that by Wednesday I was done. I sunk into myself and savoured long sips of tea and long moments of self-pity.

I was suddenly lonely again—having said goodbye to our old friends. I was suddenly tired again—having poured out for family and friends and church. I was suddenly overwhelmed again—having realized our bank balances are low and will likely be this way for a while and it’s Christmas. I was suddenly sad and full of sorrow. I was gray and ground to a groaning, grinding stop and I cried.

And then the text message came: “He’s here! Kendall Jason. Born November 27 at 12:01pm. 6lbs 9 oz 21 ¼ inches long”.

Everything changes when a baby is born. Instantly colour entered where everything had seemed so dismal. Immediately optimism was born. New life infused new meaning and a sense of hope into my soul. I got up and took a shower. I put on clean clothes. I suddenly had purpose again. I grabbed the camera and headed out the door. Unexpected energy and excitement came with me.

We had a baby to visit.

I held the new little mister. I hugged his mama. I kissed his fresh head. Tears came to my eyes and spilled down my face. Miracles still happen. God still makes new babies. He still writes new stories. Grace and joy still exist. Suddenly my Wednesday didn’t seem so despondent, my heart wasn’t so close to despair. I left the hospital smiling, hoping, happy.

Because it’s true! Everything does change when a Baby is born!

Advent time for reflection (reporternews.com)

Seven Point Four Pounds of Perfect

Published on August 26, 2012August 24, 2012 by Marilyn9 Comments

She’s perfect. All seven point four pounds of her.

Her soft baby skin swaddled up in a light baby blanket; her perfect face peeking out, a head of dark hair covering her soft spot. Her eyes, though closed, scrunch up as though she is trying to make sense of this world she has come into. Her tiny mouth purses then her lips curl up as if in a smile. Medical experts claim they don’t really smile at this age – and mothers nod, knowing the experts are a bit text-book and theory crazy.

She’s less than 24 hours old and has ten fingers, ten toes and a perfect suck reflex. She’s as perfect as the pink rosebuds on the coffee table just beginning to open, gifts from a family friend.

As I hold her I know that I am holding a miracle. A miracle; “God’s opinion the world should go on”.*

Outside the world is raging. During the hours since her birth Syria is ravaged by internal conflict, a bomb goes off in Afghanistan, people argue ‘personhood’, and humans that at one time were new-born infants bash each other with guns, swords and words.

But inside a new-born baby is held, perfectly formed and known by a God who still believes that this world is worthy of being redeemed. She is entrusted to, and loved by, an imperfect family and friends; people who will hold her and teach her, love her and cry with her.

And as I hold her I am in awe – in awe of baby soft skin and seven point four pounds of lovely, in awe of the strength and fragility of life, in awe of my friend who gave birth within five minutes of arriving at the hospital. Mostly in awe that somehow God believes that we in our human frailty, born as helpless babes are worth redeeming.

She’s perfect, seven point four pounds of perfect.

*Carl Sandburg

Little Miracles. Clarksville Triplet Newborn Baby Photographer (mypicturedmoments.com)

An Expat Lady & a Ramadan Baby

Published on May 25, 2011May 25, 2017 by Marilyn16 Comments

I originally wrote this piece in 2011, during my first year of blogging. I repost it today in celebration of my “Ramadan Baby” turning 30!

Date: May 25, 1987

Location: Islamabad, Pakistan

Place: Ali Medical Center

24 years ago today at 10 minutes past midnight I gave birth to my second child. It was the middle of Ramadan and earlier in the evening as I labored, my husband and I began to worry that the doctor, busy breaking the fast at her home, would not make it and we would be left on our own. We needed her assurance in seeing to the safety and health of a woman in transition and a baby that wanted to enter life. My mom, well versed in cultural norms in Pakistan, assured us that the doctor would arrive on time. But as we waited and wondered we were deeply grateful for the calm presence of my mother.

Two babies were born in those hours just past midnight, as the hospital staff ate their fill of Ramadan specialties before dawn came and with it the arduous fast that would not break until 7 or 8 at night. The last azaan, calling the faithful to pray, was heard earlier through the brick walls of the labor and delivery room, ensuring that even those inside would know it was time to break the fast. At that point all hospital staff disappeared, oblivious to the labor pains of two women, as they rushed to ease their hunger pains..

It was a text-book delivery and after 6 hours of laboring and a few pushes, Joel took his first breath and let out a yowl. I don’t even know if yowl is a word but it describes what was a mixture of a yodel and a howl. He was a perfect, 10 fingered, 10 toe’d, baby boy. Dr. Azima Quereshi was the doctor presiding over the delivery. After observing me labor without drugs and breastfeed immediately after birth, she looked at my mom with tear-filled eyes and clutched her arm saying “I’ve read about deliveries like this, but I’ve never seen one!”

The hospital staff enjoyed their own show that night as they sent staff in by two’s to see “the engraze who had her husband in with her during the delivery.” Something unheard of at Ali Medical Center and most hospitals in Pakistan. “Who wants the men in there?” was the incredulous question voiced by Pakistani friends and acquaintances.

The Pathan family showered the hospital staff and doctor with gifts of fruit, Pakistani sweets of gulab jamun, jalebi’s and barfi, and savories of samosas and pakoras, ensuring a favored place with staff as low on the ladder as cleaning people and as high as surgeons. We were not so favored. A gift of imported Cadbury Chocolates delivered in a fake gold bowl for Dr. Quereshi seemed appropriate and we went on our merry way, taking Joel back home to the F-8 residential area of Islamabad to meet his older sister Annie and settle into a bassinet.

It was only later that we realized our faux pas in not buying treats for the entire hospital. We had failed to publicly recognize the role the rest of the staff had played in helping us deliver a healthy baby boy, which, though not very much, was a huge thing to publicly acknowledge!

And so Joel came into the world and today he turns 24. His blonde hair has turned into light brown, he still has deep blue eyes, and his yowl? That has turned into an infectious laugh, ability to argue anyone into the ground and a great personality. Happy Birthday Joel – We are so blessed by your life.