We were driving to my first show after having my daughter, Isabella, and all I played the whole way to the theater was Ozzy Osbourne.  The entire way in the car I felt sick to my stomach.  I was tired, had been up all night with a 4 month old baby (Isabella had just turned 4 months), and the thought of putting on a costume and performing was so far from my energetic ability at that point that all I really wanted was a nap.  Just a little nap to get me through my next breast-feeding cycle.  But instead I was on my way to Cowell Theater in San Francisco for a show called Diamonds Shells and Amber which featured myself, Fat Chance Belly Dance, and Mahea Uchiayam’s dance company.  I had planned this show in my early stages of pregnancy and thought that 4 months would give me plenty of time to bounce back since I would probably just undulate the baby out, it seemed that I would have no problem getting back on stage.

We arrived to the theater just in time for me to whip out my breast pump and begin one of a few pumping needs for the day.  The dressing rooms were nice and big so we all had enough space for our costumes and egos.  It was perfect.  I already missed Isabella since she stayed home with my mother and each time I thought of her my boobs would fill up so fast with milk that it got very painful after the first two hours.  How much can a girl pump?  So I just tried to stay focused on my goal and that was to dance for myself and the love of this art form.  This was a very hard show for me since I had barely enough time to heal from my C-section other than think of being in tip top shape.  I felt this pressure to please the audience and each time I felt that desire to be “liked” by my audience I felt less and less like dancing.  Oh why did I agree to do this show anyway?  And how will I ever stop pumping long enough to dance.

My journey back into shape came 6 weeks after I delivered.  It was 2 ½ days of labor and 4 hours of pushing before Isabella’s heart rate began to drop and I needed an emergency C-section.  After days of labor and hours of pushing I thought I was going to die so a C-section wasn’t so bad.  They could have told me that they would have to cut off my head and I would have said “cool”.  So after hours of pushing I was told to stop pushing which was totally impossible.  I involuntary began to grunt during my contractions and I was brought into the surgery room right away.  They would not let Andre in the operating room until I was “dressed” for the C-section.  Funny how they use the word dressed since the only other time I have heard that word used was during Thanksgiving for the Turkey and not to mention the fact that I was so not dressed.  But there I was flat on my back shaking so hard that they had to strap me down so I wouldn’t fall off the operating table.  All I could see was Andre’s eyes locked on me through this little window in the door. 

When the surgeon was ready to begin the C-section, Andre was let into the room for the delivery.  I was so drugged up at this point that the fact that the doctor was wearing a bandana and talking to the nurses in the room about his fun weekend “out on the town” didn’t affect me.  I’m not sure he even made any human contact with me during the “dressing” since it was just another day at the office for him.  I guess months with my mid wife didn’t prep me for this experience at all.  But who cares as long as I delivered a healthy baby.   Andre very quietly walked up to the doctor and tried to get his attention while he was busy bragging about his fun weekend.  Andre was very patient and waited for this guy to stop talking before being acknowledged.  When the doctor finally looked up at Andre with that “what do you want” look, Andre began to explain to the doctor with a very heavy voice and strong eye contact that he too was a doctor and knows what is about to happen.  The doctor became very quiet and just continued to listen.  Andre then began explaining to the doctor that I am a dancer and to please pay special attention not to lacerate any nerves and to make the incision as small and clean as safely possible.  The doctor understood and gave Andre a very understanding “got it” and then stopped talking about his gosh darn fun weekend and started concentrating on my birth.  Then with one slice I was told it was a girl and as tears streamed down my face I told Andre not to leave the baby for one second and that I would be all right.

The days and weeks that followed my birth were incredibly humbling.  Not only could I not walk, urinate, sleep, or even lift my head off the pillow, but the mental implications of now having to take care of this little angel that I had brought into this big bad world would send me into crying episodes for hours.  I would lock my self in the bathroom and cry and cry (not knowing why I started crying in the first place) as Andre reassured me that I was acting totally “normal” for a woman just having a baby.  I felt like a total loser and how could I ever be worthy of Isabella.  Not only did I feel like I had become someone I didn’t recognize each time I looked in the mirror, but I felt that my spirit was so exhausted that I didn’t know if I would ever feel like myself again.  I was Suhaila Salimpour.  I am the chick on “Suhaila Dances for the Sultan” video.  I am the one that Royalty from all over the world would travel and fight over.  Yes… me!  And now I’m 60 lbs over weight locked in the bathroom crying my eyes out hoping that the next time I have to pee it doesn’t hurt.

It didn’t bother me that I had to wait six weeks before beginning an exercise program.  I was so tired that I was happy to blame the “doctors orders” on my time out from bring in shape.  I was looking forward to getting my energy and health back, but not looking forward to doing the work that needed to be done to get there.  But we all start somewhere and I was as ready as I would ever be.  Since I knew how to do squats, sit ups, and drill my own technique I unfortunately had no excuse.  My first day of working out was truly memorable.  After feeding Isabella I quickly put on my sports bra (that I could barely fit into mind you), tights and t-shirt.  I stood in front of a mirror and began my warm up.  I think I made it though the first side stretch before my eyes filled with tears and for the next two hours I cried (and howled at times) going through all my own drills that I had created for my students.  I could only do ONE deep knee bend while holding onto the back of a chair while shaking the whole time.  Not only was my body tired, stiff, and twice the size, but my C-section hurt me and I was scarred that I would not feel like myself ever again.  I had been warned by my doctor that my incision would hurt me as I started to work out again, but I guess each time I felt that pain it only reminded of me of how far I had to go.  And with a performance only 2 ½ months away now I was beginning to feel worried. 

The choreography I chose to do was very physically demanding.  Maybe it was my way of forcing myself to show the audience that I had not lost my skill, but then the pressure to “perform” was growing greater each day.  I was working out now 2 hours a day and I was dropping weight and still trying to keep healthy and full of nutrients for breast- feeding.  But I still had one last thing to conquer.  I was to do splits, and then a Turkish drop into a back bend (who’s bright idea was that…. Oh ya…. Mine).  I had been working on my splits, but I had not gone into a Turkish drop or back bend out of fear for my incision.  So one week before the performance I knew I had to begin working up to it.  I took a yoga strap and wrapped it the ballet bar at the gym and held on tight while on my knees facing the bar.  I dropped my head back and slowly let my arms move me down towards the floor one hand over the other.  I think the first day I was able to bend 2 inches, but as each day went by I got closer and closer to the floor.  The day before the show my head was able to touch the floor and I felt that I had made progress. 

Weeks before the show I had dreams of dancing.  I would be dancing and taking my bow at the end of my show and I would look to my left and in the wings was my husband holding our baby.  The feeling I had was that I was enjoying the applause, but felt distant from the audience with my real need for approval coming from the eyes of my family.  In one dream Isabella was sitting on a skateboard (in her diapers) and came rolling out to me as I took my final bow.  The skateboard stopped and I picked her up and I could feel her proud of me as I held her in the surround sound of the applause. 

I can look back now and see that this show was so important for many reasons.  It was a huge reminder that I was not just Isabella’s mom, but also an individual with passions and goals outside motherhood.  It gave me the motivation to start my path of healing my body and getting into shape.  It also was a test to see if I was dancing for myself or the image the I had created of the girl in “Dances for the Sultan”.  I knew she liked to dance with her size 6 and her 18 year old boobs.  But now as a 31 year old mother, constant lactating boobs, with a C-section and 25 lbs. more than the girl in the video, would I still be able to have the same passion as my ego was altered at this stage. 

And the answer was yes.  I dance for myself, and the love for this art and not to please anyone else.  I dance for the love I have I my heart and the power it gives me inside my soul that can’t be explained.  As a little girl, dancing was the only thing that made me happy in my life.  And at this night, as an adult with years of admiration from so many nightclub nights filled with being showered with gifts of appreciation for my looks (first) and ability (second) I was able to go inside my soul and dance for the love of the dance and to heal myself through the art form.  It was really the first time in my life I had to say to myself “who am I dancing for” and the answer has always been “Myself”.