Here I sit, on my partner's laptop (she just got home from Vegas), with 2 heating pads on my right leg trying to dissolve the three blood clots that are crippling me with pain and immobilization. I had a baby on Sunday morning (1:32am) after a day of running back and forth to her house, the university hospital, and then doing the birth... dang hooties, did I pay for it all day yesterday. I took Vicodin and slept a lot. I am still taking the massive NSAIDS they gave me, plus the baby aspirin, but the pain is unreal! It feels like someone is hitting me with a baseball bat, but without any rhythm... just a constant pain. I am SOOOO sick of pain. So tired of hurting. I will call my own GP tomorrow and see what to do next. Should have today, but took Vicodin instead.
So, Salman Rushdie. How did he join my Hero List? (Do I have a Hero List?) I knew, peripherally, about Mr. Rushdie... how he was condemned by the Ayatollah Khomeni in Iran and an edict... a fatwa... was issued for his life. I didn't pay too much attention except to think how stupid it was that a whole religion/culture would expend that much energy on someone else's book.
Now, after having a mere 3 midwives speak/write about my writing about how other midwives are perceived and how I should just be quiet about it... I have the most minute fraction of a sense of what is to come once I really begin busting up the "profession" with the words I am writing and thinking.
And then, multiplied a billion-fold would be Salman Rushdie. To find that words are that powerful, that words can incite so many others, can cause such a ruckus, so much fear and anger... I am beyond awed with respect for his continuing to write even when he had to have been terrified to do so. The interview I saw of him the other day spoke about how, after the fatwa was issued, how he considered never writing another word, but that he could not. He had to write. He had to speak. And the interesting/not-so-funny part of all of that is that he thought Satanic Verses was a positive book about Islam!
When I get scared or angered by what other midwives say to me, I will remember Mr. Rushdie. I will find a picture and put his name up in my writing room. I will be brave.
I am worried that I keep getting sick. I don’t know what God or the Universe is trying to tell me except sit on my ass and write, but sometimes I feel so poorly, it is difficult to even write. I don’t want to die before saying what I want/need to say.
I will work on the birth story tomorrow. Know that it was a homebirth (hurrah!), 92 minutes from beginning to end, that I was there (I was spending the night at their house because I hurt so badly… otherwise, I wouldn’t have made it), my assistant and my co-childbirth educator made it… the baby came out screaming his head off after scaring the poop out of us all day long… and that he is PERFECT and gorgeous. Zachary Alfred.
And that birth ends my 5 birth run of transfers and cesareans.