some things are not hereditary

I will never understand how my grandmother, God rest her soul, endured her first three pregnancies. Her first she carried while a million miles from home, 20 yrs old, a newlywed in a strange country (the Philippines). The entirety of her second she carried while a prisoner of war, in an internment camp, while chasing her toddler. The third pregnancy began in the camp (while chasing both children), survived a starvation period wherein she was making bread out of laundry starch, journeyed home, and concluded in New York. Knowing her, she never breathed a word of complaint to her husband, and never faltered in keeping up her energy or her smile, even while she vomited a very expensive turkey dinner upon hearing that other prisoners had killed and eaten a cat for Christmas.

I'm having trouble getting through ten-hour days at my desk in my air-conditioned office, writing motions, making phone calls, and talking to old ladies. Clearly I'm not made from the same stuff she was.