It is September 2nd 2011, a Friday and I sit just
waiting for the clock to hit the five and a half hour mark so that I can get
off work and visit my brother and sister-in-law at the hospital. They are expecting the birth of their first
born at any minute. I dial my mother’s
cell phone. As always, my mother gives me a lengthy explanation of her
whereabouts, explains what she ate, where she went before arriving to the
hospital and only after some good ranting my mother responds to my question: “No, the girl is not born yet.”
I can only call her “the girl” since her mother has
kept us in the dark about the name she is planning for her. We know there is a list of five names from which the mother will select one once she sees the girl’s face. I don’t know her name but I cannot wait for
this girl to come so that I can see her little eyes, her hands, her mouth. I
want to tell her she is the life of a large group of people. On her father’s side, she has two aunts and a
set of grandparents who cannot sit still while waiting. On her mother’s side, she also has two aunts
and another set of grandparents ready to adore her. My husband already has nephews and a niece,
but he is amused by the fact that at least for the moment, he will be the
girl’s only uncle. I write and write on
my diary since I don’t want to forget the details of this day. I picture myself talking to her: “You picked
a beautiful day to come to this world and this land where people run day and
night without rest. We await you under the brilliant California sun on a breezy
day. The heat is high but the wind permits us to forget it and just think of
your arrival.”
Our girl is what any baby is to her family: Hope, positivism, energy to keep going. She will be the first immediate family member
of mine who is born in the United States as well. I hope to teach her Spanish and for her mother’s
family to teach her the Armenian and Arabic languages. I even toy with the idea
of asking my husband to teach her American Sign language. My husband is an interpreter for the deaf and
has worked with kids and adults alike and surely would get a kick at having a
fresh brain to experiment with. I only wish
for the girl to enjoy her childhood, to grow at her own pace and to fly high
the day she is ready. But above all, I
pray for a healthy life.
We all wish health for our young. But my fear is specific. My mother’s family is plagued with what I
call “the twin evils.” I am talking about
anxiety and depression. On the day of the girl’s birth, I have been battling
them for about 7 years. I have tried
medication, talk therapy, praying, yoga, special foods, supplements, natural
medicine, all with mixed results at best.
Medication made me overweight and really sleepy. Natural medication and supplements helped me
but they cost about $400 a month and no insurance will cover them. Talk therapy helped with my issues in the
beginning of the illness, specially accepting my fate. But now it is simply useless to me as I have
resolved most of the personal problems that brought up the first onset. However, the most distressing part of my
mental illness, apart from the debilitating and painful symptoms, is my
decision to remain childless. First it
was the medication and its contraindication to pregnancy. Later it was the fact that I need to sleep
well, eat well, and have a calm structured life just so that I can get through
the day. And the complications go on. My
husband’s family also struggles with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, an anxiety
disorder. So, I dread seeing my child suffer
with constant and debilitating mental illness and so far the fear has stopped
me from having a family. The girl on the
other hand, has her mother’s genes from a family that shows no signs of mental
illness at all. Still, the girl could inherit it from us. Right away, I remember my mother the day she
confirmed her suspicion that I had inherited her troubles. The pain in her eyes was evident and as a result
of my suffering, my mother had a nervous meltdown that lasted for months.
We are not a negative family despite our difficulties. We know about seven confirmed cases on my
mother’s family, ranging from severe illness, even suicidal, to minor symptoms
managed with therapy and natural remedies.
We suspect there are a lot more but given the extremely large family, we
have lost sight of some of the members and I suspect others are simply not ready to speak about anxiety. In my case, generalized anxiety disorder continues to be my
close companion and I have shed the hottest tears over the fact that I will not
be a mother simply because there aren’t many days when I feel well. I have to manage my symptoms by sleeping
well, keeping a simple life, exercising, eating healthy, not drinking alcohol,
etc. For me, a healthy lifestyle is a
need, not a choice. Still, some days the
pain is bad, but like I said, somehow, me, my mom, my cousins and uncles go on.
As I sit in my office I try to take away the fear, bring in
my naturally positive attitude to the table, my trust in God. In my brain, I only want the
thought of what I will be holding later in the day, a new life. I think of the many things I have been able
to enjoy despite my illness. While the
horror stories are many, I suddenly remember the day my husband and I went out
for the first time. On that day, I needed a companion for a retirement party of
a business associate and he volunteered.
We went out to the balcony of the banquet hall and talked for so long
that we missed the food. I remembered
the day we got married and my mom’s fear that my colorful dress would look too
weird. But I could still taste the
feeling of triumph when I put on that dress and felt like the most beautiful
woman in the world. Moving to our own house,
adopting our dog Goober, our second cat Puma, and making a family of us. The girl could look forward to having two
loving parents and a bunch of other family ready to take her to Disneyland, the
beach, the towns in Mexico where we grew up. I suddenly remember going on my
large sedan to pick up my grandma, her sister-in-law, my aunt and my mother so
that we can go and eat at the buffet. I
reminisce of the simple joy of having these wonderful women next to me, yapping,
eating, complaining. I pictured us with
the girl on her first birthday party and I could only smile. My anxiety is gone.
I met the girl on Saturday September 3rd after a
long labor pushed her birth to the following day. She had inherited very little of her mother’s
looks and we all agreed she was my brother’s daughter. Her appearance and her sure grip to his shirt
gave her away. I was not able to contain my joy, and my hope. I knew at that
moment that whatever challenge, even anxiety and depression, life brings to
her, this group of people next to her would be there to face it with her. I couldn’t yet tell her all what I wanted to
tell her about our family, where her roots come from, the thousands of plans I
have for her. The moment proved all that
explaining unnecessary. Somehow I knew
the only words I needed to say as I carry her were: I love you, Welcome Home Dearest Isabella.
