The Tooth Fairy vs. The Prophet Elijah

Last night while I was brushing Raphaela's hair, her first tooth fell out.

It was a cause for great celebration and "happy tears" in our house, as this meant that she was really getting big and more important, it meant that the Tooth Fairy would be visiting our house in the night, after Raphaela fell asleep.

First thing Raphaela did was call her current BFF "N", upon which she got a five minute lecture from her friend that it is stupid to believe in the Tooth Fairy and that the real culprit is our mother or father.  Six and a half years old, and already so jaded...

Undaunted, Raphaela carefully wrapped her tooth and put it under her pillow.  Lo and Behold, when she woke up this morning her tooth had magically disappeared, and in its place, a note from the Tooth Fairy and a gift of ten New Israeli Shequel. (It was the smallest change the Tooth Fairy had on such short notice...)

"AHA!" Raphaela showed me, in triumph. "I guess N was wrong about the Tooth Fairy."

I took a picture of the new gap in her row of teeth, this milestone recorded for all posterity. 

I also noticed that she has another tooth pushing in quite aggressively already, I see that Raphaela inherited my compressed jaw.  Time to start saving for braces, I suppose.

Meanwhile, Raphaela is already anticipating the visit of our next mysterious and magical visitor, The Prophet Elijah, who will visit us the night of Seder and drink some wine while we are sleeping.  He might also leave Raphaela a gift and a note, if she finds the Afikoman, the hidden matza at Seder.

I just hope that Raphaela doesn't do a handwriting comparison between the Tooth Fairy and the Prophet Elijah.

As an afterthought, Santa Clause has his own song, don't you think the Tooth Fairy and the Prophet Elijah deserves one as well?

Kardashian Syndrome

Internet goddess Kim Kardashian, her husband Kanye West, their two old daughter North and the 'fragile' Kardashian sister, Khloe, landed their private plane in Ben Gurion earlier this week for a brief visit, along with their support staff and their massive marketing machine.  Immediately, a group was set up on Facebook to follow their every move, with abundant tweets begging Kanye to arrange a free concert.  The magical duo were featured on the covers of every major Israeli newspaper, and the info-tainment industry will probably air a special program on the outfits they all wore to little North's baptism.  Rabid hordes of fans began to stake out hotels and high-end restaurants in Jerusalem, with the hopes of spotting, and maybe even, yes, touching the sparkly celebrity couple.  As if simply being near their assets (pun intended) would rub off on the common folk in some small way.


Who cares, really.  This is a woman who comes from a family more than eager to prostitute themselves for fame and fortune.  We have suffered through daily updates about Kim's gynecological issues and her frequency of love making, her sister's painful divorce, her other sister's dysfunctional non-marriage, her step-father's transgender evolution, and her brother's spiral into mental illness.


I feel dirty just reading that last sentence.


Kimberly even used the Armenian Genocide to manipulate a photo opportunity. Her husband, Kanye West, is at the very least a thug and an anti-Semite, a rapper who felt it appropriate to humiliate a disabled man at one of his concerts;  one of the human beings least qualified for public admiration.


You could argue that I am reacting out of jealousy. After all, I don't have a full make-up and wardrobe team, my apartment could fit inside one of their walk-in closets, and Kimye's clothing budged rivals the GNP of our small country of Israel.  Whereas I can only dream of actually being able to afford a home of my own, something modest in Jerusalem, the Kardashians flew in for two days to purchase a multi-million dollar penthouse in Tel Aviv, on a whim.


This is not about envy, I pity this family for having strayed so far from the norms of basic decency.  I do not aspire to my own reality program, I have enough to deal with on a daily basis in my real life, between single parenting and living in a country surrounded by our genetic cousins who want to wipe us off the map.


This rant is about the Kardashians, the Honey Boo Boos and the Toddlers with Tiaras. The parents who find it praise-worthy to exploit their offspring and actively place their children in harm's way, in order to make a buck.  It is not a far leap from the 21rst century mental illness called "Kardashian Syndrome" to the ongoing tragic news story coming out of Maryland.


It is this same set of skewed and twisted values that allows two Jewish parents to purposely send their ten year old Rafi and his younger sister Devorah alone to the park, so they can be picked up by local police and held hostage for several hours by CPS.  After, all, when the authorities in Maryland have already threatened to remove their children from the home forever, why take that seriously?  And now that the parents are suing the local police, they can expose their children to even more trauma, forcing them to testify in court and relive the nightmare.


The more drama, the better the reality show...


All to make a point about Free Range Parenting and American Constitution, whatever that point may be; and more importantly, to stand in front of the camera while the mother weeps crocodile tears and the father grins with giddy excitement, soaking in the attention from the media.


Let's end the 15 minutes of fame of these parents, the Kardashians and their ilk.  If we really care about our own children and their future, let's stop elevating pond scum into false gods.

A Day in the Life

Day three of the completely superfluous five-day Shavuot vacation from school.

3:30 am, Harry decides that we need to talk. I remind him that I do not have to take Raphaela to Gan today, and that I am planning on sleeping in.

5:30 am, Raphaela decides that we need to wake up. I remind her (and Harry, again) that I do not have to get out of the house on a regular schedule, and would really LOVE to sleep in.

6 am, I understand that I am not going to be sleeping in.

6-8:30 am, Feed Harry breakfast, feed the fish, take Harry outside and feed his friends.  Play with Raphaela, eat breakfast, take a shower, get dressed, help Raphaela get dressed.  Start one load of laundry, darks.

8:30-11 am, Hadassah Hospital (Ein Kerem) at the Mother and Baby wing, where Raphaela's eyes are examined by an expert pediatric ophthalmologist, who reports that Raphaela should start wearing glasses now, today, in order to get a decent resolution before she starts First Grade, almost two years from now.  The Polish heritage in me starts to feel guilty for having passed on lousy genes.

11:15 am, Arrive home, start Raphaela's lunch, put washer into dryer, attempt to set up Raphaela's follow up appointment through the hospital, only to be told that their first available spot seems to be eight months from now.  At least I have a half hour before my baby sitter arrives, and 45 minutes before my first patient arrives.

11:20 am, My first patient arrives super duper [G-d damnit!] early, along with her daughter-in-law and three children.  I want to scream but I hold myself back; all children do not have school today, not just my daughter.

11:45 am, The baby sitter arrives, exactly on time.  She asks me if she is expected to take care of the four children seated in the living room and playing together, in which case she is charging me extra.

12-3:30 pm, In which I work as a Chiropractor, fold laundry as a Mom, make phone calls and snarf in lunch in my five free minutes.

3:30-5 pm, Raphaela and I take the bus into the center of town, to order her eye glasses.  She tries on about thirty pairs, looks fabulously chic in all of them, and we settle on the reddish frames that do not seem to fall off her "small nose." (According to the optometrist.)  I then explain that genetically speaking,  while Raphaela received my ears and my lips and my eyes, the shape of her face and her cute little button nose come from her father.

5-5:30 pm, We take our weekly pre-weekend trip to the library, to refresh the reading material in the house for Shabbat.

6 pm, Raphaela takes a bath and I practically fall asleep watching her. 

7:30 pm, Raphaela falls asleep in the first line of [the bed time prayer] Shema Yisrael.  Actively snoring...

Good thing we have another day of vacation tomorrow.

Get this Girl a Sandwich!

I remember a specific two weeks during my pregnancy when the doctors were concerned that Raphaela's stomach was not growing in proportion with the rest of her body.  Until they performed that second ultra-sound and confirmed that she was in fact healthy, I had made a lot of bargains with G-d.

From the moment she emerged, my daughter has enjoyed the experience and sensuality of food, without over-eating.  I feel like I spent most of this past vacation either preparing snacks for an outing, or answering the question, "What can I eat?" 

This morning when we arrived at Gan, one of her friends sat at a little table eating a sandwich his mother has sent.  One of Raphaela's teachers came over to me and quietly asked, "Is there a reason you don't send a sandwich for Raphaela for morning snack? She always seems hungry."

I replied, "I don't send a sandwich because I know that Raphaela will not eat it. She and I are not 'bread people,' now matter how hard I try to introduce her to the joy of the P and J."  (Believe me, I would rather not have to be quite so creative with her options for snack time.)

When her teacher continued to look concerned, I asked why the staff was under the impression that Raphaela goes hungry, and she explained that during snack time, Raphaela devours her fruit.

"That's because Raphaela loves fruit." I explained to the teacher.  "In fact, given the choice between junk food and a fruit, she will more often than not take the healthy option.  She has always been a solid eater."

The teacher seemed puzzled and murmured under her breath, "A child who likes fruit rather than sweets, hmmm."

And just to assure her further, I added that Raphaela eats a small breakfast before even arriving at Gan.  The teacher's face lit up (how Israeli...) and hugged Raphaela and exclaimed, "Ah, your mother takes such good care of you!"

Post script:  One of my patients a 91 year old Holocaust survivor, takes a special interest in Raphaela.  Today, when this woman came for an appointment, she asked to see an updated picture, and then said with a smile, "This is clearly a child who is well-fed and well-loved."  It's all about perspective.

Holiday Jet Lag

Nothing like a four day Jewish holiday weekend, loaded with meals and social opportunities and going to sleep around midnight.

My daughter, whom I believe to be genetically programmed to wake up between five and five thirty am since the day she was born, learned the art of the sleep-in over Rosh Hashanah, staying in bed until almost seven am, gasp!  (It's a personal record!)

On her first day back to the routine of school this morning, Raphaela was sound asleep past seven, and no amount of purposeful yet gentle noise was enough to wake her. When her eyelids finally fluttered open, she pushed her curls out of her face, and with clear intent said two words [in Hebrew], "Lo Rotzah."  ["I don't want to get up!"]

She then promptly rolled over to the side I could not see and refused to get out of bed.

I concur, though I ultimately had to get us moving, and don't anticipate any easier a transition when they change the clocks.

Matchmaker Manipulations

A client of mine who works within the health system of the Ultra-Orthodox community told me a sad and alarming statistic, that the number of Ultra-Orthodox children born with physical or mental disabilities has grown exponentially in the last ten years. 

She then explained the phenomenon to me:  the shame of having an unmarried child only doubles the shame of having given birth to a child with a physical or mental disability in the first place.  Thus, the matchmaking process rarely involves the future husband and wife meeting each other in person, until a day or two before the wedding, and then only briefly;  the parents and the matchmaker smooth out the issues of dowry etc, paying little attention to actual compatibility.  Once the two young people are stuck with each other, they must (by tradition and halacha) consummate the marriage and start making babies as soon as possible.  By the time that one of the partners in this union realize that the other may be suffering from a physical or mental disorder, it is too late to get divorced (because that would bring more shame upon the family) and at least one child has already been brought into the world.

And the cycle continues, as each generation ignores common sense, refuses to do genetic testing during pregnancy to determine if there will be serious developmental issues, and continues to grapple with the sticky wicket of getting these children married off before anyone notices a problem.

Flash forward to this week, when a matchmaker called me to suggest a blind date.  She kept her details simple, "He is a really sweet guy, very tall and a good friend of the family."  Something niggled at the back of my head and I insisted that the matchmaker employ full disclosure.  She stammered and paused, and after several sighs, said, "OK, here's the story.  He is in his mid-40's and has never been in a serious relationship, not even a girlfriend.  There is something off about him, he does not make eye contact when he speaks to other adults, though he always seems to have a lot to say. He is good looking but makes a terrible first impression because he does not know how to dress himself and present himself properly.  He has a college degree in engineering but cannot hold onto any steady job, and mostly works in part-time under the table gigs. I am thinking that he suffers from some version of undiagnosed autism, but I am not a medical professional."

Me:  And what part of what you just told me disturbs you the most? (Still trying to process...)
Matchmaker:  Well, it always bothered me that he couldn't get a decent job.
Me:  You know I am a single mother with a toddler right?  What makes you think that this person is ready for marriage with an adult, never mind becoming an instant father with all the responsibilities that parenthood entails?
MM:  He is my kids favorite Shabbat meal guest!
Me:  Don't you think there is a difference between someone who entertains children for a few hours, and a man who must step up, become an equal partner within a relationship, and take care of the emotional, physical and financial needs of a family?  A baby sitter can be great with their charge for a few hours, a father falls into a completely different category.
MM:  Well, you seem to know what you want.
Me:  Yes, I don't want to get married so I can care for two children instead of one.  Qualifying that, I don't blame him for being autistic, and I wish him the best, but don't you think that maybe more thought ought to be put into your decisions, and not just the fact that he is a man and I am a woman and we are both unmarried and in our 40's?
MM:  Hmmm, you might have something there.  Perhaps this wasn't the best idea.

Biological Beacon

Way before Raphaela was born, when it was just myself and Harry "The Highlander," I could hear Harry meowing from three floors downstairs, and always had this sixth sense regarding his feelings.  I used to think that he had somehow imprinted on me, and that a small piece of my brain was now dedicated to his care.

A recent article in Scientific American explained that beyond the expected emotional and physical bond between mother and child, there are actual deposits of the cells of the first born child within the brain of the mother;  like a permanent homing beacon that connects a mother to the needs and unspoken desires of her offspring, a possible scientific reason that each mother recognizes their own baby's cry within the crowd.  The more children a woman brings into the world, the less the "biological deposit."  This might also explain why mothers seem to know what mischief their kid is brewing when it becomes suddenly too quiet; the "eyes in the back of the head" phenomenon.

The research also noted that within a mother's brain, the location of cell deposits of their progeny compete with the cell deposits of their own mother, the child's grandmother.  Which might explain why grandmothers constantly tell their daughters that they know better because they've been doing this parenting thing longer, and that we are somehow getting it wrong and ruining our own children.

Thoughts for a Wednesday

Last night I had a most disturbing dream:  Raphaela and I were crossing an intersection in Teaneck, New Jersey, when she let go of my hand and started running ahead of me, in a way that clearly endangered her life.  She made it to the other side, but a white car hit another little boy and broke his leg, trying to avoid hitting my daughter.  As I stood and watched, I felt tremendous guilt, because somehow my child had led to this other boy's injury.

This morning, channeling my anxiety, I reviewed with Raphaela the entire pedestrian procedure IE how to cross the street, that she must hold Mommy's hand and that we only walk on the white lines.  I leave the interpretation to Freud.

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From the New York Times this morning, an article entitled, "Unmarried, over 30 and proud of it," by Didi Kirsten Tatlow:  "...single Chinese women in their mid to late 20's have endured being called 'shengu,' or 'leftover women,' by relatives, by the state-run media and by society."  Apparently, the variation of the meaning of the word in Chinese is "victorious" or "successful."

There are 20 million more men under 30 than women in China, because of the ability to choose the gender of a fetus, and in most cases, to abort if parents are 'disappointed' that they have conceived a girl.

Sounds like a eugenics policy out of a science fiction movie.  And if 25 is past its shelf life in China, then I am ancient.

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A woman called me at work today, explaining that her 13 year old daughter suffered from scoliosis, and asked if Chiropractic could help.  I answered that at this age and until the end of puberty, a lot of good could be accomplished, with a combination of Chiropractic adjustments, stretches and exercises at home, and monitoring.

Then the woman hesitated, before she added the information that her daughter was not like "other kids," but rather Special Needs, and did that affect her prognosis.  I assured the mother that I have worked successfully with both children and adults with special needs, and that in the long term it would not make a difference in my treatment.

The woman then hesitated again, and asked,

Mother:  Are you a religious woman?
Doc:  Why would you ask that?  What does that have to do with my professional credentials?
Mother:  My special needs daughter feels more comfortable around people who are religious.
Doc:  My personal observances are none of your business.  Whether or not I am religious, and whether or not that is relevant, I can tell you that I wear pants at work, if that offends you.  You can tell your daughter anything you want, if you think it will make the treatment more effective, but I am not going to dignify the question.

The woman than said she would get back to me, which means I will probably not hear from her ever again.

I have in fact helped children with Downs Syndrome and other special needs, and one thing I have consistently observed is that fact that these amazing human beings, no matter what their chronological age, behave in a way that is more open and more loving that most adults or kids.  In fact, they generally do not employ the selfish and misguided filters that roam through most of so-called civilized society.

If this 13 year old girl harbours a prejudice against the secular within Israel, it is only because her parents and environment have wrongfully instilled it, and to that I say, "Shame on you!  Shame on you!"

Hadassah Eye Exam

A year after Raphaela's eye exam, as part of the larger investigation of her late walking, we returned to Hadassah Hospital this afternoon for her follow-up exam.  The doctor was running 45 minutes late, and I found that disturbing for a Pediatric Opthamologist with a waiting room full of active and over-tired children.  (As a Chiropractor, I hate making my patients wait even five minutes past the scheduled time, especially those who arrive with younger ones.)

Ultimately, Raphaela was examined and re-examined by both Dr. Veronica and Dr. Hadass, and they both came to the same conclusion:  Raphaela has 20/30 vision with astigmatism.  Practically it means that before she reaches the First Grade she will most surely need eye glasses, since the astigmatism is atypical for a child her age.

The good news?  The astigmatism is the same measurement in both eyes and is still small enough so as not to be considered clinically significant, an emergency.  Dr. Hadass felt comfortable enough with the situation to recommend that we wait one year to start the process of correction with glasses.

AND Raphaela got a Barbie sticker from the doctor, possibly the best part of the visit.  We are very into Barbie lately, and when Raphaela enters her teens and starts going to the mall with her friends, my credit card will be crying fashionista tears.

I love my daughter, and will love her no less if we must find her lovely fashionable eye wear. Some small part of me feels disappointed that now she cannot become a fighter pilot in the Israeli army.

 Her clear vision represents the key to her growth and confidence, and most certainly her ability to excel in school.  I suppose on some level I blame myself for having given her that genetic inheritance; I needed glasses and then contact lenses from age 12, though my astigmatism only appeared as an adult, after I gave birth to Raphaela.

After our hospital adventure, we took a bus back towards the center of town (the bus, another adventure!), where we had a light dinner (dinner downtown for the first time ever, another adventure!).  Because of the traffic hassles due to the secret meetings of the new Secretary of State John Kerry, Raphaela and I started walking.  For a kid who started only at 20 months, she did a phenomenal job, walking skipping and jumping from the center of town of Jerusalem, down Aza Road and all the way the home;  that route can take up to 45 minutes at a decent pace, and Raphaela accomplished it like a pro.

We will be walking more than usual for the next three days, when President Obama arrives and shuts down most of the streets of Jerusalem, five days before Pessach...

Land of the Luddites

For the past two weeks my desk top computer has been non-functional, a reflection of its age, almost eight years old;  when I tell those better versed in modern tech that I just replaced it now, they are gobsmacked, and can't believe that I trusted my clinic data to a machine that by all rights died along with the dinosaurs.

During this last two weeks, before I finally broke and ordered a new super-speedy super-quiet and all around pleasure-to-work-with new computer, I recorded my office data by hand, and checked email on my iPad only  when absolutely necessary.  Turns out, I wasn't missing much in terms of information, and in fact it freed up much of my evening and gave the time and attention back to me and Raphaela, because I wasn't sitting in front of the screen.  Much to my surprise, I survived this lack of access to the Internet, and even went to bed earlier than usual.

In college at Barnard, computers and automated systems were so simple and mostly unguarded by passwords and sophisticated programs, and so it was easy enough to hack, an activity in which my friends and I dabbled.  Today the technology has evolved faster than the blink of an eye, and I can barely use my phone without knowing that my three year old understands it and utilizes it better than I, me with my generational genetic flaw.

I have felt this way about Internet dating for a while now and my brief computer-less experience only reinforces my belief:  technology, while it may contribute to the overall efficiency of the business of globalization , it is not so slowly corrupting the essential experience of the human race. 

We have forgotten how to sit in a room with people we don't know, introduce ourselves and over the long term become friends, and maybe even lovers. 

We have forgotten that people deserve time and space to consider a contract, even if you just sent it by fax or email. 

Classic grammar and spelling is shot to hell.

We have let ourselves become accessible to anyone from anywhere in the world, 24 hours per day, and created an illness for the 21rst century called "Adrenal Overload Syndrome"; our body physically and emotionally does not have enough hours of sleep in order to repair and recover, causing an increase in all sorts of cancers and the eventual collapse of entire organ systems.

Families sit in the same house, separated and isolated, this one texting on the phone, this one checking email, this one watching television.  The concept of going outside to take a walk together or ride a bike down the street has vanished, to be replaced by childhood obesity, increases in ADHD and spectrum Autism and horrific posture.

I appeal to you, my readers and all inhabitants of Gaea:  shut off your phone and your computer, go play outside with someone you love.

Relative Age-ism

I distinctly remember the phrase, "You know you are old..." floating around during the entire process of my fertility treatments, because in Israel - considered planetary experts on bringing children into the world - any woman over the age of 35 should have decreased expectations regarding a healthy and normal pregnancy.

Now, a joint committee of the Israeli Fertility Association and the Maternal Fetal Medicine has issued a report in which they recommend that any woman over 45 be considered "high-risk" to the extreme, and that these women undergo a whole slew of extra monitoring throughout the pregnancy.  This gamut of testing would specifically target any woman undergoing IVF, but views all such females over the age of 45 as having a higher risk for blood pressure, diabetes and obesity issues, not to mention a statistical increase in multiple births and children with disabilities.  Women over 50 would be further subjected to heart function tests and screening for cancer.

The oldest woman to ever give birth in Israel was a 64 year old, who utilized both egg donation and IVF in 2004, and acted against both Israeli and international policy.

There is a fine line in medicine between facilitation and Big Brother tactics, and the larger question must be debated regarding the role of the hospitals and the government in deciding which women are "allowed" to enter into pregnancy, regardless of potential health risks.

IVF and the American Embassy

An article in this weekend's Haaretz reported that the "American embassy and consular officials in Israel are requiring applicants seeking US citizenship for their children to prove parentage in cases where they received fertility treatments."  This bureaucratic nightmare has afflicted both single mothers and married women, and the demands of proof of genetic parentage are almost impossible, as in many cases of sperm and egg donation, the donor remains anonymous.

Ellie Lavi, an American-born JSMBC  who started the organization "&baby makes two," stated that when she went to acquire citizenship for her twins, experienced the following:  "The interviewing officer asked me over a microphone, 'Are these your eggs?'...I was absolutely stunned, humiliated."  The Embassy and US State Department claims that their policy and approach has not changed at all over the years, but rather, Israel as one of the leading countries on the planet in fertility technology, accentuates the issue.

Raphaela has American citizenship since the age of five months, and I remember that the experience was at the very least tiring and infuriating; at a certain point they sent me over to a psychologist, so the woman could asses my veracity and reactions, to make sure I was not a crazy women claiming to be a single mother, using someone else's baby.  If I would have had to provide proof of my fertility treatments, her application would have been refused, as I signed a legal non-disclosure agreement with Hadassah Hospital and the sperm bank.

I find it disturbing that both secular international government offices and the Israeli Rabbinate are trying to link "true" identity, halachic or otherwise, to genetic material rather than to the woman who carried the child for nine months and will raise him/her for the rest of their lives.  With all the cutting edge developments in fertility, the societal aspect of pregnancy and birth is taking several million steps backward.

That Spongy Amazing Human Brain

Yesterday we had a play date with Raphaela's friend Mika, and her mother, with whom I shared the pregnancy experience.  In Mika's house they straddle between Russian and Hebrew, and in our house we float between English (mostly) and Hebrew, with a little Spanish and Yiddish added to the mix.

Mika's Mommy and Raphaela's Mommy sat and talked, more like commisserated;  she may be married and I may be single, but we both feel at the end of our ropes from being the almost exclusive care taker of our beautiful girls, born one week apart.  What a relief to know that I am not the only parent who feels this way, that I have friends who understand me, and that we can support each other.

After about a half hour of play, Raphaela came over to Mika's mother and said something in what I thought was her very serious and well-developed mystery language.  Mika's mother answered her in Russian, and then had a long conversation with my daughter in a language that I did not realize she knew.   Apparently, Raphaela soaked up Russian vocabulary from Mika in the short time since we had arrived at their house.

I am amazed at the learning capacity of the human brain, and especially that of a child.  It appears my daughter also has a flair for languages, a trait she inherited from me.  Perhaps some day she will be a spy, like my great-grandfather, who had a photographic memory, and was fluent in eight languages.  Or a diplomat, that would be OK as well, though I failed miserably when I worked at the United Nations.

Tonight, when I rested with Raphaela before she fell asleep, I watched her expertly change the diaper on her doll, and then give him a Chiropractic adjustment.  She has leapt in her development since her surgery, and my sense of wonderment continues to grow.

Journal from the Surgery III

The Cough

Once we got permission to go home, I started worrying that maybe I had pushed Dr. Weinberger into releasing us, and I started thinking about all the things I could do wrong for Raphaela once we got home.  As she sat in the stroller on the way to the car, she started coughing, and I thought about turning around and checking us back in.  Rationally, her throat area is still inflamed and she is clearing junk from the system, but irrationally, I imagined worse case scenario.

This train of thought started the day before her surgery, where every action and every small event felt huge and final.  I must keep reminding myself that now that Raphaela is healthy, we have a new beginning, both of us, one that will be even more of adventure once we move to the new apartment in September.

The Bastard Landlord

Lest I forget that I have more on my plate than I can handle, no more than five minutes after I had been escorted to the waiting area by the nurse, I got a call from my current landlord;  he wanted to know when the electrician could come that day and wire up my apartment to his illegal space downstairs. I reminded him that I had informed him that I would be unreachable for the next several days, due to my daughter's surgery.  He didn't even respond with a sympathetic "Get well soon," but rather wanted to be sure that I would allow the electrican into the apartment as soon as possible.

Karma's a bitch, and he's got a real wallop coming.  It comforts me, even if I don't personally see the karma bite him on the gluteus maximus.

Political Statement

I feel like I have to preface this bit of the blog by saying this:  the following represent my observations and opinions on a particular aspect of the Middle East conflict. I have no issue with Arabs as individual people, nor do I think that I can solve the problem of peace in the Middle East.

During our stay, both in the surgical area and in the ward itself, Hadassah Hospital was 75% populated by Arabs and Palestinians, receiving the highest quality care from both Israeli and non-Israeli physicians and medical staff.  I did not feel uncomfortable in the least, and these children were treated with the same compassion as my child, or any other Israeli citizen.  It did, however, make me wonder how they spit in our faces and proclaim war and tell their children that it is laudable to blow themselves up and take some Jews with them; at the same time they enjoy a higher quality of life under the supposed Israeli reign of suffering than they ever would under Arab rule.

There, I said it.

What to Expect?

When we had gone to Tipat Chalav several weeks ago, Nurse Shoshana said that once Raphaela could breathe properly, she would expect to see significant weight gain.  Would Raphaela, a "foodie" to begin with, become a chubby child?  Or do my tall/thin genes prevent that?

I can already report that she is speaking more clearly, and I felt compelled to check on her last night while she was sleeping, because for the first time I couldn't hear her snoring.  This is all good.

What is not so good is the trauma she has suffered as regards doctors, nurses, hospitals and medication.  Since the surgery, she refuses to take her anti-biotics, she is more wary of strangers or people she hasn't seen recently;  and if someone walks up to her wearing scrubs or holding a stethoscope, she starts screaming.  Hopefully time will heal that wound.

The Exploration Stage

Years ago, when I had the time to date full time, I bought a book by Harville Hendrix, entitled "Keeping the Love You Find."  The book provides a step-by-step process toward examining how personal relationships at every stage of your life has brought you to the state of being Single, starting at birth and until your last adult fling.  In fact, the exercises can raise such intense feelings that he recommends that you not date until you have finished and digested the whole book, and can jump in to the gene pool armed with a new and healthy perspective.

I have kept this book because it did force me to see repeating patterns in my unsuccessful dating, and because his descriptions of each stage of childhood development help me understand how Raphaela now views the world and her place in it.  As a parent, I strive, to the best of my awareness,  to prevent her from getting stuck in later years, when she starts forming love and friendships outside our small circle; especially given the unconventional aspect of her conception.

Hendrix writes, regarding the Exploration stage:  "The child's drive is not to be autonomous or separate, but to explore the world...Actually he is torn between his newfound fascination with the world and his conflicting need for reassurance of his mother's continued availability. He wants to leave, but only if everything will be the same when he returns.

Like all children, he refuses to go to bed peacefully.  He wants more experience, more fun, another story.  He doesn't want to miss anything. What seems like defiance is more indicative of the powerful drive to explore and experiment, and the degree of frustration when that drive is thwarted.

He is exploring, not rebelling."

As a mother, it is my job to set protective limits, watch Raphaela conquer her world, and be proud of her assertiveness.

Raphaela's world is more complicated than mine.  Today at the zoo, I heard a child say, "Those bears are from Syria, they are terrorists."  The adults snickered and launched into a discussion of Middle East politics.  The most I worried about as a sheltered child was the neighbor who lived near the park, who had a large and scary dog.  Raphaela's reality in Israel will make her grow up more quickly in many respects, and will give me far more to worry about than whether she knows how to cross the street to visit her friend's house. 

Regardless, for the quality of life we have in Jerusalem, and the happiness I feel with Raphaela, we are staying, for now.

Happy Allergic Birthday

Today Raphaela turned one and a half, and to honor the occasion, we both stayed home suffering from allergies.  In particular, Raphaela got bitten by some bug thing, all over her face and her left hand, and the areas are now red and swollen.  I plan on taking her to the doctor tomorrow, just to make sure it isn't anything more severe.

Luckily, the replacement HMO cards arrived just in time for Raphaela to require medical care.  

I know that nature and genetics shuffles the deck, and that Raphaela Thank G-d turned out very well, but I can't help but feel a little guilty for giving her my allergies and my sensitive skin.

Character and Genetics

Of all the children at her nursery, my daughter, the youngest of the whole group, is the only to have finished the Megilla art project, all 12 pages.

It makes me proud, and I am glad that somehow I have passed onto Raphaela my personal code of perseverance and committment.

Israel Fertility Statistics

I would like to thank the Macabi HMO for paying the bulk of my expenses of the treatments, pregnancy and birth of Raphaela.

They reported today the following regarding the steep rise in fertility treatments among women 40 and older, since 2005.  The HMO provides fertility and IVF treatments through the age of 45, and they note that for "relatively older women...the chances of a successful pregnancy are not necessarily connected to technology, but to the quality of the woman's eggs."

Beer Sheva  +76%
Rishon LeTzion  +76%
Bat Yam  +60%
Tel Aviv/Bnei Brak  +52%
Rechovot  +42%
Jerusalem  +37%
Ashkelon  +31%
Ashdod  -16%

Of particular note are the increases in Jerusalem and Bnei Brak, two cities dominated by the religious and Ultra-Orthodox populations.

I love being a statistic.

Gan, Next Year

It's that time of the year when parents have to decide where their child will attend Gan in September of 2011, a time of signing contracts and writing out pre-dated checks.  In principle, I am quite happy with Raphaela's Gan, with the progress she has made there socially, and with their approach toward the early childhood educational experience.

The only reason I could see not attending this Gan is if we move to a completely different neighborhood or city, and then, obviously, the commute makes no sense, no matter how good the nursery school.

They have joined with me in encouraging Raphaela to start walking, the next Herculean task for Raphaela's physical development.  She can stand with stability, and cruises no end, but does not seem to want to walk.  As one of her care takers said to me the other day, she tends to take the "easy way out," ie crawling, which she does well and speedily. 

I actually asked my mother when I started walking, and she replied that I was a late bloomer at a year and a half.  I know that some aspect of Raphaela's walking is genetic, and I am trying my best not to pressure her, but it would nice if I did not have to carry her everywhere.

Allergy Allegory

If my daughter were one of the seven dwarfs, she would be Sneezy.
If my daughter were one of the Star Wars characters, she would be Darth Vader.

With so few genetic diseases, she had to get my seasonal allergies?
Here's hoping that we both breathe better in the United States, where the flora and fauna, and weather, are vastly different.