Chapter 11 Her world was shrinking… #2
“Off your duty.”
Iram did not ask more. That tone, those clipped words, they were enough to tell her what had gone down.
How would she apologise to Shehzad? She didn’t know how to peep out of her own mind long enough to keep looking, and here was so much carnage left behind.
She didn’t even know what was going on in the city, at his Secretariat, in the state.
24 hours back in Kashmir and she knew nothing but a tiny boy who did not like looking at her and a man who did not see her.
“You came from the Secretariat?” She asked. Dal was ripe on one side of Boulevard Road and the sidewalks relatively sparse. Tourist season was winding up but it wasn’t so quiet here. Iram turned her head and glanced at him.
“Vidhan Sabha,” he answered, glasses on, eyes on his iPad.
Yathaarth was locked in his car seat between them, wiggling now and again with a soft, chewy toy that he tried to latch on to.
Atharva’s hand reached out to pat him unconsciously while reading and he bit his gummy lips on his finger.
Iram glanced up, and Atharva was smiling, still reading.
She glanced down, and his finger was tickling his son’s cheek. Her heart melted.
“Vidhan Sabha got over early?” She asked, working to make inroads, wherever she could.
“It’s ongoing. I exited.”
“Is everything ok? You came to… there,” she stopped herself in time. Altaf knew everything and his driver was loyal but their life had been a bed of secrets, this latest bunch of them enough to suff an entire room.
“It’s fine,” he replied, unperturbed, still reading. His phone buzzed and he answered, talking about some statement. Iram’s eyes rose and caught the military barricade at the signal. Now that she thought about it, there were more checkpoints, men in uniform manning them.
“Why is there army on the road?”
“We are here, sir,” Altaf relayed as their car and the dozen ahead and behind them turned into Dr. Baig’s nursing home compound. It had been cleared as usual.
“Come,” Atharva locked his iPad shut, pushed it into the seat sleeve in front of him and unbuckled Yathaarth.
Their son flailed as if he would up and fly, his gummy mouth opening in a chortle.
Iram couldn’t help but smile. When he smiled, laughed, chewed on things, hit his arms and legs around like he wanted to take off into the sky — she felt like the most exhilarated being in the whole world.
And then he would look at her and cry, making her feel all of two inches.
She glanced at father and son as they got off. From ten feet to two inches, she had fallen way down from grace.
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Dr. Baig’s nursing home was just as she had left it.
Haunting. She stepped in through the main door, her eyes fixated on the staff exit behind from where she had run, stumbling and panting, like ghosts inside her were gripping her, not shaking off, however fast she ran.
She hadn’t known where she would go then, just stumbling away from those onesies and Atharva’s reaction.
On that fateful twilight, she had done what she had learned best in her life to survive — escape.
“Iram?”
“Huh?” She startled. Atharva was waiting at the reception, Yathaarth in his arms, his bag on his shoulder. She hadn’t even offered to carry it?
“This way,” he nudged his chin.
“Yes, I remember. Can I carry that bag?”
“It’s fine.”
They walked down the sterile alley with bright baby and plant photographs — the alley of so many sonograms and tests, of hopes and dreams, of shared laughs with Dr. Baig and silent dread as she began to disconnect with herself in those final few months.
They met her nursing staff, the matron who had held her hand in the OT, now leading them.
Iram pasted an apologetic smile on her mouth, nodding as more of the team greeted them.
What had this staff gone through in her absence?
What had Atharva’s security done? How had she become so selfish in her pain that she had not even thought about the collateral behind her?
“Is Dr. Baig in?” Atharva inquired.
“Yes, sir, she has been waiting for you.”
He knocked on the door and she called them in.
Atharva pushed it open and held it for her, laden with their baby, his bag and still looking like he could hold her too.
Iram shirked that thought off and stepped inside the room.
And came face to face with the tender countenance of Dr. Azza Baig.
Soft features, kind smile, lilac scrubs. She had not been here that day.
“Iram,” she walked up to her, her palm landing on her shoulder. She narrowed her eyes at her, her tender smile in place — “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” she tried to return her smile.
“And how is your little boy?” She asked without taking her eyes off her. Iram felt elated as she asked her that. It was a shame she did not have the best answer to it.
“He is…” she broke eye contact and glanced at Atharva. His eyes blinked.
“He is doing good.”
“Come on in, sit down.”
As always, she led them to her couch, making this so comfortable and easy.
Iram had spent some difficult days sitting here, talking to Dr. Baig about her fears, her lack of a mother at home, about the babies being two and she being one, about her ‘fatigue’ that had been her only way of explaining the disconnect of those last months without giving away the secrets of their life. She still couldn't give them away.
According to Atharva, Dr. Baig and her staff were only privy to the fact that she had run away, distraught. Where? Nobody knew except a few people.
“Now tell me, how have you been?”
“I am goo…” she began to lie. Then stopped. She couldn’t reveal most things but she had to reveal the main thing — the helplessness inside her. There was no out otherwise. “Not good.”
Atharva’s eyes heated the side of her face.
“That’s good,” Dr. Baig remarked. “Right answer. If you don’t feel good, say it. Remember our pregnancy rules? Honest answers.”
“Yes.”
“Good. I will not ask you where you have been. But were you in a safe and sanitary environment?”
The mountains. Kishanganga. Water everywhere. Blood. Iram swallowed the lump. She had the good sense to carry her bag with postpartum supplies to maintain sanitation. And then, Mehrunisa had been there.
“Yes.”
“Ok. We will run a checkup. Let’s finish that and then we can talk about your concerns about breastfeeding, hmm? Come.”
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“And why aren’t you latching?” Dr. Baig tapped her son’s chin, making him open his mouth wide.
She smiled at him, cradling him in one arm just as effortlessly as Atharva had.
Iram sat fidgeting as she played with him and his little toy.
“Show me your gummies?” She tickled his chin, making him chortle.
He was completely ok with strangers. It was just her.
“There you go, strong and pretty.”
Dr. Baig looked up at them — “You can take Dr. Shankar’s opinion on this but I think he is fine to breastfeed.
The only issue is, he never learnt to latch onto a breast. A baby has to work to get his milk from his mother’s breast. He learns that on day 1 of his birth.
For him, that learning never started. So it’s going to be an uphill battle to make it happen. ”
“Is it worth it?” Atharva asked. “I mean… he is fine on formula, and Iram is…”
“Iram?” Dr. Baig pushed her. They had spoken at length during the checkup about her milk trickling dry. She had asked her to talk openly about the same with her husband.
“My milk is trickling dry but it has not stopped
completely.”
“And that’s the good news. With the right stimulation, it can flow again. Milk is demand and supply. Because you kept expressing, it kept flowing. Now, for you, I would suggest three things.”
Iram sat up.
“Not just you, Iram. Both of you have to do it.”
She glanced at Atharva.
“Actually, all three of you. It’s not latching your son onto your breastmilk. It’s a triad. A three-person emotional recalibration.”
Iram opened her mouth, already dreading what was going to come.
“Kaul sahab, you have been your son’s primary caregiver. And this sudden transition to handing him over to his mother can feel like a vulnerable territory, like you are giving up, like there is another person competing for your child’s attention…”
“I don’t feel that.”
“Not consciously, but it’s natural to feel it; that’s what I am saying. If you feel it, let it come and go. Don’t hold onto it.”
He nodded. Iram glanced at his demeanour. Maybe he wasn’t showing it, but there were moments when he did look possessive about Yathaarth.
“We are going to work on three things here. One — mechanical stimulation. That means pumping very frequently. Even if he is not hungry, pump a bottle so that your milk ducts get flowing again, Iram. Second is skin-to-skin contact. Remember how he was soothed only when he was laid on your skin in the NICU, Kaul sahab?”
Iram opened her senses and absorbed that piece of information.
“That’s when he connected with you. Felt you, remembered you, made the connection that you are his safe place.
He needs to make that connection with his mother now.
No need to be scared if he cries, Iram. The more you fear, the more he will cry,” Dr. Baig cooed, her voice so soft even when she was saying such sombre, solemn things.
“Strip him to his diaper, get yourself as bare for him as possible, and then feed. Relax your body, mind and muscles. Babies pick up on tension before they do on sounds and colours. You say he has been crying every time he looks at you. Maybe he is not crying because of you but because of the emotions you are bringing close to him. Start meditation again. Start a low-intensity physical activity. Like walking. You always liked walking, so you can pick it up easily. Listen to good music while you feed. Eat well before. Always eat well. And I want you to drink copious amounts of water. I will hand over a diet chart because you have lost a lot of weight in a very short time.”
Iram felt nauseous. How would she eat? She didn’t even feel like drinking water.
“The third thing is bonding as a unit. Kaul sahab’s contribution in this is enormous because right now, your baby trusts his father.
His father’s hand needs to be on his skin for him to get used to yours initially.
Kaul sahab, you have to make him trust his mom.
Snuggle together under a blanket, spend time close to each other, stay away from meltdowns.
Talk each other up. Eye contact, warmth, calmness.
That’s what you will need to get over feeding trauma. ”
“And if it doesn’t work?” Atharva asked.
Dr. Baig didn’t lose her gumption — “Then we will try hormonal therapy.”
“Is it safe?”
She hesitated. “We need to monitor for fatigue and depression. But,” she glanced at her with an encouraging smile — “From my examination of both mom and baby, I do not see us needing it at all. The mechanics work both ways, it’s just a matter of keeping them close until they fixate, isn’t it?
” She tickled Yathaarth’s forehead. His eyes began to droop. “Oh, that’s the magic spot then?”
“Yes,” Atharva laughed. “Instant sleeping pill.”
Iram didn’t know that.
“Let me not put him to sleep before he is fed. Here,” she passed him to her but Iram just tentatively held him before passing him into Atharva’s waiting palms. She did not miss his reticent expression. He looked like he hated the idea of this triad thing already.
They pushed to their feet, Dr. Baig passing files, recipes, diet charts and reports to her — “Remember, all three of you need to settle closer. The smaller the space, the cosier the environment, the calmer will be the latching.”
Iram smiled and took her leave, exiting the room, Atharva close behind her.
Physical space — however much it shrank, would it be enough to bridge the chasm that had opened up between them?