Immediately after Raphaela almost died from an anaphylactic reaction to the simple surgery of stitches on her chin two months ago, a new imaginary friend joined the ranks, the one she calls "Ach." [brother in Hebrew] Since Ach seemed to help Raphaela survive both the physical trauma and the emotional earthquake of the event, I accepted him into the family.
Several times a day, I hear, "Ach taught me how to do this." "Ach says it's time to eat something." "Ach is coming to Gan with me today." Etc.
This past Shabbat, Raphaela said to me, "From now on, I am not going to listen to you, I am going to listen to Ach instead."
I got down to her eye level, and in a totally calm and quiet voice said the following: "Ach is wonderful, but in this house I am Mommy and I am the boss. You can accept my authority and keep Ach, or you can find another Mommy."
Raphaela seemed shocked, and after yelling at me for hurting "Ach's feelings," she apologized and behaved beautifully for the rest of the weekend.
Showing posts with label surgery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label surgery. Show all posts
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Medical Update II
Six doctor visits later, including the ENT who originally diagnosed the need for Raphaela's surgery at Hadassah Hospital last year; and the general consensus regarding her cough is...."I have a theory...." Meanwhile, time marches on and I see small improvements every day for the last three weeks.
IE They don't know what exactly is causing it or how to get rid of it, and have thus far suggested medicine that has made it worse, or folk remedies which keep the situation at status quo. I will therefore continue to adjust her Chiropractically, make sure she has plenty to drink to dilute the mucous, elevate her head at night when she sleeps, and keep on the humidifier. My crazy neighbor lady said that Green Tea cures everything, and another person recommended a Chinese herbal remedy.
Not that it would resolve the health issues, but it might be nice if at some point, someone said in the most honest way possible, "I don't know. Conventional medicine does not have all the answers."
IE They don't know what exactly is causing it or how to get rid of it, and have thus far suggested medicine that has made it worse, or folk remedies which keep the situation at status quo. I will therefore continue to adjust her Chiropractically, make sure she has plenty to drink to dilute the mucous, elevate her head at night when she sleeps, and keep on the humidifier. My crazy neighbor lady said that Green Tea cures everything, and another person recommended a Chinese herbal remedy.
Not that it would resolve the health issues, but it might be nice if at some point, someone said in the most honest way possible, "I don't know. Conventional medicine does not have all the answers."
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Better Late than Never
In the Summer, Raphaela had already taken her first steps but seemed hesitant to embrace the activity of walking over speed-crawling. Concerned, our family doctor referred us for physical therapy, but as it happens with managed care, the first available appointment with a pediatric specialist was scheduled for today, approximately three months later, after Raphaela started officially walking.
While I see improvement in her stability and skill every day, I want Raphaela to receive a full work-up from an unbiased source; it doesn't hurt, and I also need advice from the Childhood Development Center as to how to encourage Raphaela to feel more confident going up and down stairs. Besides, it gives us the excuse to take a bus downtown, and my daughter loves busses and tractors, in fact any large moving vehicle is a source of great fascination.
Other than the cold and rain of our Israeli Winter, which made standing outside a bit prohibitive, Raphaela found walking through the center of town highly stimulating, said "hello" to everyone who walked by, and counted all the busses and taxis on the road. The Childhood Development Center itself was far more impressive than I expected, we were treated by a bilingual, highly qualified PT in a bright room full of toys and balancing beams and trampolines. Raphaela essentially had a gymboree room all to herself, and other than a few specific tests, the PT did not interrupt her play, but rather observed.
Today I learned the following: one, Raphaela's delay in walking may or may not have been caused by her pre-surgery breathing issues, combined with low-grade hypotonia. Two, because Raphaela is such an active child, the hypotonia (though it remains in the system) should not affect her in any real way, for the rest of her life. Three, given that she only started walking recently, she is "on track" and will catch up quickly. Four, Crocs are not the spawn of the Devil, just less preferrable footware. Five, for all of her good intentions, the head nursery teacher must stop pressuring me and Raphaela, and should respect Raphaela's natural growth rate.
The PT gave me some exercises to do at home with Raphaela, to improve stair-climbing and jumping, but happily informed me that we do not need to return for extended visits. On the way home, I treated Raphaela to a cookie, and she happily munched while looking outside the window of the bus, humming to herself.
While I see improvement in her stability and skill every day, I want Raphaela to receive a full work-up from an unbiased source; it doesn't hurt, and I also need advice from the Childhood Development Center as to how to encourage Raphaela to feel more confident going up and down stairs. Besides, it gives us the excuse to take a bus downtown, and my daughter loves busses and tractors, in fact any large moving vehicle is a source of great fascination.
Other than the cold and rain of our Israeli Winter, which made standing outside a bit prohibitive, Raphaela found walking through the center of town highly stimulating, said "hello" to everyone who walked by, and counted all the busses and taxis on the road. The Childhood Development Center itself was far more impressive than I expected, we were treated by a bilingual, highly qualified PT in a bright room full of toys and balancing beams and trampolines. Raphaela essentially had a gymboree room all to herself, and other than a few specific tests, the PT did not interrupt her play, but rather observed.
Today I learned the following: one, Raphaela's delay in walking may or may not have been caused by her pre-surgery breathing issues, combined with low-grade hypotonia. Two, because Raphaela is such an active child, the hypotonia (though it remains in the system) should not affect her in any real way, for the rest of her life. Three, given that she only started walking recently, she is "on track" and will catch up quickly. Four, Crocs are not the spawn of the Devil, just less preferrable footware. Five, for all of her good intentions, the head nursery teacher must stop pressuring me and Raphaela, and should respect Raphaela's natural growth rate.
The PT gave me some exercises to do at home with Raphaela, to improve stair-climbing and jumping, but happily informed me that we do not need to return for extended visits. On the way home, I treated Raphaela to a cookie, and she happily munched while looking outside the window of the bus, humming to herself.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
A Time for Change
I have never looked forward to my own birthday, and generally found their celebration a let-down. I cannot remember more than one or two parties out of the 40 plus years of my life that left me feeling happy about turning one year older. This past year, I did not even remember my birthday, because it was the day after Raphaela's surgery.
I want that to be different for Raphaela, and today represented a fantastic start. I dressed up for the occasion, as the mother of birthday child; fancy dress, jewelry and make-up, the works. The cake my friend made was stunning and tasty, a pink Barbie Princess chocolate cake creation; the kids danced and sang, played with balloons and colored. Although it took Raphaela a little time to get used to being the center of attention, she quickly adapted, and then feigned shyness every time one of the other parents came over and wished her a "Happy Birthday."
After Gan, Raphaela and I, and two other parents and their children went to the nearby Jerusalem Botanical Gardens and fed the swans and enjoyed a light dinner.
Before tucking Raphaela into bed this evening, I showed her some of the photos from her busy day, and we talked about all the kids in her class, and I sang her the birthday song one more time, as she grinned from ear to ear.
Now that's what I call a positive birthday experience.
I want that to be different for Raphaela, and today represented a fantastic start. I dressed up for the occasion, as the mother of birthday child; fancy dress, jewelry and make-up, the works. The cake my friend made was stunning and tasty, a pink Barbie Princess chocolate cake creation; the kids danced and sang, played with balloons and colored. Although it took Raphaela a little time to get used to being the center of attention, she quickly adapted, and then feigned shyness every time one of the other parents came over and wished her a "Happy Birthday."
After Gan, Raphaela and I, and two other parents and their children went to the nearby Jerusalem Botanical Gardens and fed the swans and enjoyed a light dinner.
Before tucking Raphaela into bed this evening, I showed her some of the photos from her busy day, and we talked about all the kids in her class, and I sang her the birthday song one more time, as she grinned from ear to ear.
Now that's what I call a positive birthday experience.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
New Apartment, New Habits
Ever since we moved to the new apartment, and Raphaela has discovered the drawer with the (theoretically) decommissioned baby items, she has decided for the first time in her two years of life that she wants to start using pacifiers. Since her birth, and as a baby she rejected them outright, and now the combination of peer pressure and the stress of the move has made them fashionable.
Many children in her Gan, including her best friend "Na Nu," have a pacifier perpetually attached and nearby.
At the very least, Raphaela only asks for the pacifiers at home, and when it comes time to leave the house does not insist upon taking them (that's right, two of them) into the car or during outside errands. I am very much hoping that this is a phase, a reaction and brief regression because of our recent change of address.
Other than the issue of future braces and their exhorbitant cost, and other than the negative effect it has on language development and facial muscles; I have observed too many Israeli parents using the pacifier as a way to shut up their children in public. Then the attachment goes beyond the original plan, with four and five year olds walking around the supermarket with their mouth stuffed and their emotional growth infantilized.
Raphaela turns two next week, and with all the increadible achievements I have witnessed since her surgery, it would be a shame to take several steps backward.
Many children in her Gan, including her best friend "Na Nu," have a pacifier perpetually attached and nearby.
At the very least, Raphaela only asks for the pacifiers at home, and when it comes time to leave the house does not insist upon taking them (that's right, two of them) into the car or during outside errands. I am very much hoping that this is a phase, a reaction and brief regression because of our recent change of address.
Other than the issue of future braces and their exhorbitant cost, and other than the negative effect it has on language development and facial muscles; I have observed too many Israeli parents using the pacifier as a way to shut up their children in public. Then the attachment goes beyond the original plan, with four and five year olds walking around the supermarket with their mouth stuffed and their emotional growth infantilized.
Raphaela turns two next week, and with all the increadible achievements I have witnessed since her surgery, it would be a shame to take several steps backward.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
The Naked Truth
Some of my loyal blog readers have been critical of me in the past, claiming that I only present the "rosy" side of parenting, and of single motherhood. Well, you guys will enjoy this posting.
Here is the unvarnished reality, the overwhelming experience that is the life of the JSMBC:
I cannot pee, shower, eat, read the newspaper, wash the dishes, check email or throw out the garbage without having an active, curious and at the moment, willful and slightly destructive toddler undertoe. When Raphaela is awake, I must sacrifice all my personal needs in order to keep her happy and entertained, and to make sure that she does not get into areas of sharp objects or poisonous house cleaning products.
I am the only adult in the house saying, "The garbage pail is ichy, it is not a toy." "Harry's litter box is special sand, not the kind of sand we play with at Gan." "When we eat, we sit at the table, we don't carry and spill food all over the house." "Make nice to Mommy, in our family we don't hit and we don't throw."
I am the only adult in the house telling Raphaela how much I love her, reading her stories and playing with her, bathing her and cuddling her.
Sometimes an overenthusiastic hug is accompanied by accidental hair pulling, head bashing or stepping of toes, several times per day. I know that Raphaela does not mean to cause me physical pain, but just because I am a Mommy, "if you prick me, do I not bleed?"
I need a shot of coffee in the morning to give me a jump start, and I would enjoy a nice glass of red wine once Raphaela goes to sleep, but I cannot be sluggish the following morning, when my daughter wakes up at 5:30 am.
I have been meaning to get a haircut since Pessach. At this point I don't know when this will happen, because it must be coordinated with my work in the Chiropractic clinic, and Raphaela's time in Gan. In the mornings I pray that Raphaela acclimate to Gan quickly, so I am not stuck there for an hour when I need to do other errands before work. I have not had a vacation in the truest sense of the word since I started fertility treatments. I have not seen a movie in the theatre in over two years, and when I rent a video at home, I fall asleep in the middle out of sheer exhaustion.
In between patients, I prepare meals and fold laundry, wash dishes and straighten up the house and return phone calls. As soon as I finish work, I pick up Raphaela from Gan and the rest of the evening belongs to her. As soon as I tuck Raphaela into bed, we realize that Bunny - her most treasured and essential of transition objects- has gone missing. By the time I find Bunny, Raphaela has regained her state of alertness and will not settle into bed.
I worried about Raphaela when I was hospitalized after the emergency appendectomy, and I put everything on hold when Raphaela had her surgery.
Now that Raphaela is walking, when she refuses to leave the elevator or starts running into the street, it is me and only me who drops whatever I am holding and protects her. When she makes a fuss about getting dressed or being fastened in the car seat, it is me and only me who must calm her down and explain rules, in the most loving and quiet voice I can muster. When she gets tired of walking, it is me and only me who picks her up and carries her, now matter how far the distance and no matter how much my back hurts.
And then the cracks in my armor break open, and I want to cry and scream and run away to a deserted island where I have no responsibilities.
You may want to argue that with minor exceptions, most of the scenario I have described applies to any mother. But women in a couple relationship have another person in the house, even if they are a shitty partner. There is another income coming into the house. Someone else can go to the supermarket if necessary. When I hit my leg on a moving box, fall on the floor and start crying, no one comes to check on me or help me stand up. When I desperately need to take a nap to make up for lost sleep, no one says, "Let me take Raphaela to the park, so you can get the rest you so deserve."
No one hugs me, or asks me, "So, how was your day?" No one says, "You look great in that outfit." No one tells me, "I love you."
I am not sure that my parents would be available baby sitters, even if we lived on the same continent. And other than a few hours of baby sitting here and there, I would not want a nanny living in my house to take care of my child; why did I have my beautiful daughter if I planned on handing her off to someone else to raise?
If you are a first time reader of this blog, know that I love my daughter and that there is not a single moment with her that I regret. Also know that if you are planning on bringing a child into the world, you need a reliable and available support system around you, otherwise you will lose yourself in the process.
Here is the unvarnished reality, the overwhelming experience that is the life of the JSMBC:
I cannot pee, shower, eat, read the newspaper, wash the dishes, check email or throw out the garbage without having an active, curious and at the moment, willful and slightly destructive toddler undertoe. When Raphaela is awake, I must sacrifice all my personal needs in order to keep her happy and entertained, and to make sure that she does not get into areas of sharp objects or poisonous house cleaning products.
I am the only adult in the house saying, "The garbage pail is ichy, it is not a toy." "Harry's litter box is special sand, not the kind of sand we play with at Gan." "When we eat, we sit at the table, we don't carry and spill food all over the house." "Make nice to Mommy, in our family we don't hit and we don't throw."
I am the only adult in the house telling Raphaela how much I love her, reading her stories and playing with her, bathing her and cuddling her.
Sometimes an overenthusiastic hug is accompanied by accidental hair pulling, head bashing or stepping of toes, several times per day. I know that Raphaela does not mean to cause me physical pain, but just because I am a Mommy, "if you prick me, do I not bleed?"
I need a shot of coffee in the morning to give me a jump start, and I would enjoy a nice glass of red wine once Raphaela goes to sleep, but I cannot be sluggish the following morning, when my daughter wakes up at 5:30 am.
I have been meaning to get a haircut since Pessach. At this point I don't know when this will happen, because it must be coordinated with my work in the Chiropractic clinic, and Raphaela's time in Gan. In the mornings I pray that Raphaela acclimate to Gan quickly, so I am not stuck there for an hour when I need to do other errands before work. I have not had a vacation in the truest sense of the word since I started fertility treatments. I have not seen a movie in the theatre in over two years, and when I rent a video at home, I fall asleep in the middle out of sheer exhaustion.
In between patients, I prepare meals and fold laundry, wash dishes and straighten up the house and return phone calls. As soon as I finish work, I pick up Raphaela from Gan and the rest of the evening belongs to her. As soon as I tuck Raphaela into bed, we realize that Bunny - her most treasured and essential of transition objects- has gone missing. By the time I find Bunny, Raphaela has regained her state of alertness and will not settle into bed.
I worried about Raphaela when I was hospitalized after the emergency appendectomy, and I put everything on hold when Raphaela had her surgery.
Now that Raphaela is walking, when she refuses to leave the elevator or starts running into the street, it is me and only me who drops whatever I am holding and protects her. When she makes a fuss about getting dressed or being fastened in the car seat, it is me and only me who must calm her down and explain rules, in the most loving and quiet voice I can muster. When she gets tired of walking, it is me and only me who picks her up and carries her, now matter how far the distance and no matter how much my back hurts.
And then the cracks in my armor break open, and I want to cry and scream and run away to a deserted island where I have no responsibilities.
You may want to argue that with minor exceptions, most of the scenario I have described applies to any mother. But women in a couple relationship have another person in the house, even if they are a shitty partner. There is another income coming into the house. Someone else can go to the supermarket if necessary. When I hit my leg on a moving box, fall on the floor and start crying, no one comes to check on me or help me stand up. When I desperately need to take a nap to make up for lost sleep, no one says, "Let me take Raphaela to the park, so you can get the rest you so deserve."
No one hugs me, or asks me, "So, how was your day?" No one says, "You look great in that outfit." No one tells me, "I love you."
I am not sure that my parents would be available baby sitters, even if we lived on the same continent. And other than a few hours of baby sitting here and there, I would not want a nanny living in my house to take care of my child; why did I have my beautiful daughter if I planned on handing her off to someone else to raise?
If you are a first time reader of this blog, know that I love my daughter and that there is not a single moment with her that I regret. Also know that if you are planning on bringing a child into the world, you need a reliable and available support system around you, otherwise you will lose yourself in the process.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Who's the Boss
After this week, I am feeling like somewhat of a failure as a parent.
One morning, I promised Raphaela that she could see some Sesame Street youtube.com videos, and when my computer would not comply, I allowed her to watch a little bit of a television instead. I have sworn that I would never use the television as a baby sitter.
Savta Shira and I had a long conversation about the lack of formality that I have adopted around Raphaela's meal times. She urged me to set up a "proper meal atmosphere," even if it is just the two of us sitting together and eating yogurts or cereal. She is right of course, but I must be honest; in the morning, that ten minutes when Raphaela eats her breakfast is the only time I have to shower and get ready for work.
I took Raphaela to the our pediatrician this morning, as a post-op visit and to ask her advice regarding Raphaela's walking. My daughter knows how to walk, she no longer has the limitations of shortness of breath, and yet she mostly prefers crawling still, for convenience and speed. Our doctor agreed that it was a confidence issue and not a developmental delay, but pointed out that it is clear from the little she was able to observe while in the clinic, that Raphaela rules the house. Why should Raphaela walk when I will carry her, or when I will immediately offer her a hand to hold while walking? For all of Raphaela's independence and spirit, my relaxed parenting and eagerness is impeding her potential, and that is the last thing I want.
And apparently I bought Raphaela the wrong summer shoes, and according to the doctor, I "should know better," presumably as a Chiropractor.
Raphaela was not talkative at the pediatrician, which also caused concern regarding bilingual language confusion; trilingual if you count her very elaborate mystery language. It is not enough that Raphaela has the inherent understanding of sentence structure, her reliance upon body language and Hebrew /English /Gibberish may create problems. This is also apparently my fault, if I do not strictly adhere to English in the house, Hebrew at Gan.
Truth be told, I have often felt envious of the parents of Raphaela's Israeli (uni-lingual) class mates, whose children seem to have a more highly developed talent for conversation.
I did get points, however, for our bedtime and night time routine, and for the fact that Raphaela is clearly a comfortable, opinionated and joyous little girl.
Not even two years old, am I ruining my child?
One morning, I promised Raphaela that she could see some Sesame Street youtube.com videos, and when my computer would not comply, I allowed her to watch a little bit of a television instead. I have sworn that I would never use the television as a baby sitter.
Savta Shira and I had a long conversation about the lack of formality that I have adopted around Raphaela's meal times. She urged me to set up a "proper meal atmosphere," even if it is just the two of us sitting together and eating yogurts or cereal. She is right of course, but I must be honest; in the morning, that ten minutes when Raphaela eats her breakfast is the only time I have to shower and get ready for work.
I took Raphaela to the our pediatrician this morning, as a post-op visit and to ask her advice regarding Raphaela's walking. My daughter knows how to walk, she no longer has the limitations of shortness of breath, and yet she mostly prefers crawling still, for convenience and speed. Our doctor agreed that it was a confidence issue and not a developmental delay, but pointed out that it is clear from the little she was able to observe while in the clinic, that Raphaela rules the house. Why should Raphaela walk when I will carry her, or when I will immediately offer her a hand to hold while walking? For all of Raphaela's independence and spirit, my relaxed parenting and eagerness is impeding her potential, and that is the last thing I want.
And apparently I bought Raphaela the wrong summer shoes, and according to the doctor, I "should know better," presumably as a Chiropractor.
Raphaela was not talkative at the pediatrician, which also caused concern regarding bilingual language confusion; trilingual if you count her very elaborate mystery language. It is not enough that Raphaela has the inherent understanding of sentence structure, her reliance upon body language and Hebrew /English /Gibberish may create problems. This is also apparently my fault, if I do not strictly adhere to English in the house, Hebrew at Gan.
Truth be told, I have often felt envious of the parents of Raphaela's Israeli (uni-lingual) class mates, whose children seem to have a more highly developed talent for conversation.
I did get points, however, for our bedtime and night time routine, and for the fact that Raphaela is clearly a comfortable, opinionated and joyous little girl.
Not even two years old, am I ruining my child?
Thursday, August 11, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
"Have a Great Life"
This morning, Raphaela and I had our first (and last) post-op consultation with Dr. Jefferey Weinberger, our most excellent surgeon and most modest of men. Dr. Weinberger gave my daughter a huge 'thumbs-up,' and closed our medical case. As we walked to the door, Dr. Weinberger said, "Have a great life!" One of the sweetest sentences I have ever heard, and I hope that both Raphaela and I never see the inside of a hospital again, unless of course it represents another chance for me to provide Raphaela with a younger brother or sister.
Because of the construction at Hadassah Hospital, we were seriously re-routed and spent time in many elevators and random connecting hallways. Raphaela, G-d bless her, flirted with the Ultra-Orthodox man in our elevator, with the older gentleman who stood with us in the hallway, and a host of others. I actually felt proud and relieved that at the age of almost two, she has not YET hard-wired the filters of bias that epitomize the human condition; she granted warm smiles to all, regardless of age or gender or style of dress. I myself know that I have certain prejudices that I try not to express, though in the long run it will become more difficult to shelter Raphaela from my shortcomings, and the reality of a fragmented Israeli society.
Recently I have wondered how I will pass onto Raphaela a love and appreciation of Judaism, its rich history and culture, and standards for moral behaviour, without all the crap that goes hand-in-hand with organized religion.
Today, the last day of Gan, they threw a wonderful party for the children and the parents. I got emotional, despite the objective knowledge that in three weeks she will return to the same nursery with many of the same children. Afterwards, a group of the parents went to the air conditioned (thank you!) Gymboree together, and I realized that Raphaela has made me an official, international member of the Moms' Club. It felt wonderful.
Because of the construction at Hadassah Hospital, we were seriously re-routed and spent time in many elevators and random connecting hallways. Raphaela, G-d bless her, flirted with the Ultra-Orthodox man in our elevator, with the older gentleman who stood with us in the hallway, and a host of others. I actually felt proud and relieved that at the age of almost two, she has not YET hard-wired the filters of bias that epitomize the human condition; she granted warm smiles to all, regardless of age or gender or style of dress. I myself know that I have certain prejudices that I try not to express, though in the long run it will become more difficult to shelter Raphaela from my shortcomings, and the reality of a fragmented Israeli society.
Recently I have wondered how I will pass onto Raphaela a love and appreciation of Judaism, its rich history and culture, and standards for moral behaviour, without all the crap that goes hand-in-hand with organized religion.
Today, the last day of Gan, they threw a wonderful party for the children and the parents. I got emotional, despite the objective knowledge that in three weeks she will return to the same nursery with many of the same children. Afterwards, a group of the parents went to the air conditioned (thank you!) Gymboree together, and I realized that Raphaela has made me an official, international member of the Moms' Club. It felt wonderful.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Much Needed Laughter
With Raphaela's surgery, and this current legal affair, I find that I have very little resources to deal 100% with work, or with Raphaela. Sometimes I give into her demands, only because it is easier and I don't have the strength to do otherwise; I know that this trend cannot continue without affecting Raphaela and her mother negatively in the long term.
Today in the mail I received my latest Amazon package, which contained the best seller, "Go the F**k to Sleep." Brilliant! First time I laughed in days, and I recommend this book to every parent. BTW, this is by no means children's night time reading naterial, but the pictures are actually beautiful, and the entertainment value, priceless.
Today in the mail I received my latest Amazon package, which contained the best seller, "Go the F**k to Sleep." Brilliant! First time I laughed in days, and I recommend this book to every parent. BTW, this is by no means children's night time reading naterial, but the pictures are actually beautiful, and the entertainment value, priceless.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
A moment of silence to honor my friend A's husband, who was already in a coma at Hadassah Hospital when Raphaela checked in last Wednesday for her surgery. A young man, a husband and a father to three children, he had been ill for the last several years, and today he died. I hope that his suffering is over now, though I suspect that A's suffering will continue.
May G-d comfort her and her family.
May G-d comfort her and her family.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Surgical Jet Lag
The surgery reset Raphaela's internal clock, and since that stay overnight in the hospital, she now wakes up at 2:30 am, ready to go and greet the day. Here I thought that her usual time of 5:30 am was godawful early. I know that this week represents a different and confusing schedule, and hopefully once Rapaela returns to Gan, her sleep schedule will stabilize as well.
I have also noticed an amped level of aggression as another unanticipated side-effect of the surgery. It is likely that some part of Raphaela is angry at me, after all, I was the person who brought her to the hospital and to the surgical theatre. It is just as likely that Raphaela has more energy than she ever did before in order to fully express her "terrible twos." In any case, there has been lots of testing of limits and pronounced Israeli shoulder shrugs, along with frustration at being stuck close to home this week, and eating a more limited diet than she would like.
Tonight it took four attempts before Raphaela would stay in bed, and she ended up going to sleep several hours past her bedtime. Maybe she will sleep later tomorrow morning? A Mommy can dream.
I have also noticed an amped level of aggression as another unanticipated side-effect of the surgery. It is likely that some part of Raphaela is angry at me, after all, I was the person who brought her to the hospital and to the surgical theatre. It is just as likely that Raphaela has more energy than she ever did before in order to fully express her "terrible twos." In any case, there has been lots of testing of limits and pronounced Israeli shoulder shrugs, along with frustration at being stuck close to home this week, and eating a more limited diet than she would like.
Tonight it took four attempts before Raphaela would stay in bed, and she ended up going to sleep several hours past her bedtime. Maybe she will sleep later tomorrow morning? A Mommy can dream.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Happy Birthday to Me
Today, Sunday, on the occasion of my 43rd birthday, I will be staying home and keeping Raphaela under observation, feeding her food that she would rather not have. If I am feeling less paranoid, we will do two errands outside the house, yipee.
In more recent years I have wanted to give my birthday a proper celebration, a change from the pattern of most of my life, so I am bummed that this year will be mostly neglected. I find it symbolic that as a one-year old, I sat in front of the television and watched the first moon landing, and this past week, NASA shut down its manned space program.
In more recent years I have wanted to give my birthday a proper celebration, a change from the pattern of most of my life, so I am bummed that this year will be mostly neglected. I find it symbolic that as a one-year old, I sat in front of the television and watched the first moon landing, and this past week, NASA shut down its manned space program.
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.
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.
Journal from the Surgery II
For he was a Modest Man
I must praise our surgeon, Dr. Jeffery Weinberger. Every other staff person involved in our case told me how lucky I was that Dr. Weinberger would be performing the procedure, that he is the best in the county. His care was beyond exemplary, his compassion and post-op supervision beyond any expectation, and yet, when I wanted to thank him, this humble man literally ran away so as to avoid the scene or the attention.
On Friday afternoon, when I began to fear that we would not get home for the weekend, he arranged a last-minute diagnostic test that showed that Raphaela's oxygen saturation was high enough to get us out of the intermediate care unit, into the car and into our own beds for the night. If he had said that she was not stable enough to get discharged, I would have listened as well, because...he is the best.
It's a Jewish Country
Starting quite early on Friday morning, all sorts of volunteers, religious and secular, started coming around the intermediate care unit with sandwhiches, Shabbat snacks and Shabbat basics (candles, challah etc), to help those families who would be stuck in a hospital over the weekend. Throughout our stay, the Sherut Leumi volunteers brought around art projects and small gifts to keep Raphaela busy, and to keep her mind off the more uncomfortable aspects of the event. The man who took Raphaela to the surgical area in the morning, and returned us to the pediatric floor afterwards chatted with my daughter and pointed out pictures on the wall, so she would be less tense. He told me that he worked with patients because he himself has survived cancer, and he wanted to 'pay it forward.'
With all these wonderful distractions, Raphaela is not nor will she ever be stupid, not my girl. She realized that the operating room was not a desirable place, and had to be held down. I have a huge gash across my face where she scratched me, crying and struggling.
Hysterical Mother
I stayed with Raphaela until she was sleeping (from the gas), but before they put in all the tubes. I thought I could handle it, but as she cried real tears, I fell apart, and one of the nurses had to escort me from the room. Dr. Weinberger joked with me afterwards, reminding me that I had requested to be in the room during the surgery itself. "You would have collapsed. You would have been worse off than Raphaela."
The Royal We
Only once during our three days at Hadassah Hosptial did the JSMBC issue arise. One of the nurses on staff asked me why my husband wasn't coming to give me some relief from the 24 hour vigil, and I replied that I am a single mother by choice, and have no real family in the country. The expression on her face looked like pity, that I had to go through this by myself, and she asked me if it was hard on a daily basis, the life I had chosen. I told her that even sitting here, watching Raphaela recover and feeling it hurt in every part of my body, I did not regret a single moment.
Her questions also made me aware that often, if someone asks me a question about Raphaela, I answer with "Anachnu" ["We" in Hebrew], and allow people to assume that there is a father and a mother making joint decisions for this child. It is easier that way, but I wonder if I am chickening out of a more meaningful discussion.
I must praise our surgeon, Dr. Jeffery Weinberger. Every other staff person involved in our case told me how lucky I was that Dr. Weinberger would be performing the procedure, that he is the best in the county. His care was beyond exemplary, his compassion and post-op supervision beyond any expectation, and yet, when I wanted to thank him, this humble man literally ran away so as to avoid the scene or the attention.
On Friday afternoon, when I began to fear that we would not get home for the weekend, he arranged a last-minute diagnostic test that showed that Raphaela's oxygen saturation was high enough to get us out of the intermediate care unit, into the car and into our own beds for the night. If he had said that she was not stable enough to get discharged, I would have listened as well, because...he is the best.
It's a Jewish Country
Starting quite early on Friday morning, all sorts of volunteers, religious and secular, started coming around the intermediate care unit with sandwhiches, Shabbat snacks and Shabbat basics (candles, challah etc), to help those families who would be stuck in a hospital over the weekend. Throughout our stay, the Sherut Leumi volunteers brought around art projects and small gifts to keep Raphaela busy, and to keep her mind off the more uncomfortable aspects of the event. The man who took Raphaela to the surgical area in the morning, and returned us to the pediatric floor afterwards chatted with my daughter and pointed out pictures on the wall, so she would be less tense. He told me that he worked with patients because he himself has survived cancer, and he wanted to 'pay it forward.'
With all these wonderful distractions, Raphaela is not nor will she ever be stupid, not my girl. She realized that the operating room was not a desirable place, and had to be held down. I have a huge gash across my face where she scratched me, crying and struggling.
Hysterical Mother
I stayed with Raphaela until she was sleeping (from the gas), but before they put in all the tubes. I thought I could handle it, but as she cried real tears, I fell apart, and one of the nurses had to escort me from the room. Dr. Weinberger joked with me afterwards, reminding me that I had requested to be in the room during the surgery itself. "You would have collapsed. You would have been worse off than Raphaela."
The Royal We
Only once during our three days at Hadassah Hosptial did the JSMBC issue arise. One of the nurses on staff asked me why my husband wasn't coming to give me some relief from the 24 hour vigil, and I replied that I am a single mother by choice, and have no real family in the country. The expression on her face looked like pity, that I had to go through this by myself, and she asked me if it was hard on a daily basis, the life I had chosen. I told her that even sitting here, watching Raphaela recover and feeling it hurt in every part of my body, I did not regret a single moment.
Her questions also made me aware that often, if someone asks me a question about Raphaela, I answer with "Anachnu" ["We" in Hebrew], and allow people to assume that there is a father and a mother making joint decisions for this child. It is easier that way, but I wonder if I am chickening out of a more meaningful discussion.
Journal from the Surgery I
The Food Factor
On the morning of the surgery, Raphaela needed to be fasting, and I felt guilty eating or drinking in front of her, she is such a "foodie." And so I fasted along with her, and don't know when I will get a normal meal again. One of the reasons they allowed us to go home was because Raphaela, less than 24 hours after the surgery, was eating and drinking like there was no tomorrow, and her energy levels were even higher than usual, probably due to all that elevated (ie normal) oxygen saturation in her blood. For this whole week, Raphaela is meant to eat cold liquid foods, and after one day at home, she is already begging for crunchy "real" food. It represents a complete step backward when we have reverted to runny Gerber type food and bottles with formula. I can only eat my grown-up non-surgical food when she is sleeping or not paying attention. This is going to be a long week.
The Hand of G-d
Throughout this journey, I have seen the direct and almost immediate intervention of The Higher Power. It occurred to me while sitting in the waiting room that the original sleep clinic appointment at Shaarei Zedek was supposed to be September 19th; and instead, we registered for the surgery itself on September 20th. It was a blessing that someone canceled and gave the space to Dr. Weinberger for Raphaela. It was sheer luck that the doctors' strike shut down the operating rooms right after they finished with my daughter's procedure. I can hardly overstate the gift from G-d that Raphaela was able to breathe on her own immediately after the surgery, and did not need to be in Pediatric ICU for two days.
The human body is the most amazing and complicated machine that exists, and watching Raphaela rip out her IV and monitoring tubes and start running around the hospital ward, one day after her surgery. She was extremely frustrated, because they had placed the IV on her left hand, and being a lefty it prevented her from using her dominant hand. I could only think that the Universe has given her super-natural powers. I have so much for which to be thankful, I don't even know where to begin.
Who are the People in your Neighborhood
Amazing, being in a hosptial in Jerusalem, and bumping into all these people you know, sometimes for the best reasons and often with less positive stories. I saw Alice, the doctor who performed my IUI and fertility procedures, for the first time in three years. She and her husband, both Arabs, work in Hadassah as specialists. I bumped into my good friend A, whose husband has unfortunately been in a coma for the last week and a half. One of Raphaela's nursery teachers came to see her mother, who works at Hadassah, and stopped in for a visit; you could see the look of confusion on Raphaela's face, when her beloved care taker appeared quite out of context. My friend's new wife apparently works in the Hemotology department, and she brought me some food while I sat in intesive care, waiting for Raphaela to wake up.
Of course, a huge thank you to Savta Shira, who entertained a fasting Raphaela in the morning, and who sat with me while I tried not to worry. (No go, but I tried...)
On the morning of the surgery, Raphaela needed to be fasting, and I felt guilty eating or drinking in front of her, she is such a "foodie." And so I fasted along with her, and don't know when I will get a normal meal again. One of the reasons they allowed us to go home was because Raphaela, less than 24 hours after the surgery, was eating and drinking like there was no tomorrow, and her energy levels were even higher than usual, probably due to all that elevated (ie normal) oxygen saturation in her blood. For this whole week, Raphaela is meant to eat cold liquid foods, and after one day at home, she is already begging for crunchy "real" food. It represents a complete step backward when we have reverted to runny Gerber type food and bottles with formula. I can only eat my grown-up non-surgical food when she is sleeping or not paying attention. This is going to be a long week.
The Hand of G-d
Throughout this journey, I have seen the direct and almost immediate intervention of The Higher Power. It occurred to me while sitting in the waiting room that the original sleep clinic appointment at Shaarei Zedek was supposed to be September 19th; and instead, we registered for the surgery itself on September 20th. It was a blessing that someone canceled and gave the space to Dr. Weinberger for Raphaela. It was sheer luck that the doctors' strike shut down the operating rooms right after they finished with my daughter's procedure. I can hardly overstate the gift from G-d that Raphaela was able to breathe on her own immediately after the surgery, and did not need to be in Pediatric ICU for two days.
The human body is the most amazing and complicated machine that exists, and watching Raphaela rip out her IV and monitoring tubes and start running around the hospital ward, one day after her surgery. She was extremely frustrated, because they had placed the IV on her left hand, and being a lefty it prevented her from using her dominant hand. I could only think that the Universe has given her super-natural powers. I have so much for which to be thankful, I don't even know where to begin.
Who are the People in your Neighborhood
Amazing, being in a hosptial in Jerusalem, and bumping into all these people you know, sometimes for the best reasons and often with less positive stories. I saw Alice, the doctor who performed my IUI and fertility procedures, for the first time in three years. She and her husband, both Arabs, work in Hadassah as specialists. I bumped into my good friend A, whose husband has unfortunately been in a coma for the last week and a half. One of Raphaela's nursery teachers came to see her mother, who works at Hadassah, and stopped in for a visit; you could see the look of confusion on Raphaela's face, when her beloved care taker appeared quite out of context. My friend's new wife apparently works in the Hemotology department, and she brought me some food while I sat in intesive care, waiting for Raphaela to wake up.
Of course, a huge thank you to Savta Shira, who entertained a fasting Raphaela in the morning, and who sat with me while I tried not to worry. (No go, but I tried...)
Friday, July 22, 2011
Briefly stated, Raphaela was discharged from the hospital today, and we got home two hours before Shabbat started. She ate like a maniac today, drank (water, juice) with abandon, and is basically acting just like herself. Except that she seems to have even more energy and she is snuffling so much less that you can barely hear her breathe.
More details to follow. I myself have barely eaten or slept in the last three days, and am about to collapse.
More details to follow. I myself have barely eaten or slept in the last three days, and am about to collapse.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Pre-Op II: By the Numbers
Consultations with nurse: 2
Individual meetings with doctors, in totally different parts of Hadassah Hosptial: 4
Crying when Raphaela saw medical personnel, ten feet away: 6
Number of times I heard "Who told you to come here? You are in the wrong place.": 4
Small random acts of kindness: Too many to count
Number of times that I had to hold back tears: Too many to count
Probability that my period would come early, the day before Raphaela's surgery and the day I am wearing my white skinny jeans: ?!@#$?
Hours spent waiting for various pre-op meetings: 4.5
Hours spent total in Hadassah today: 7.5
Paid for parking: 36 NIS
Raphaela apparently gave fits of happy dancing to all the doctors in the ENT ward, as she fits the perfect profile for a study that Hadassah is conducting, regarding the efficacy of the removal of tonsils and adenoids, as measured in oxygen saturation 24 hours after the procedure. When Dr. Weinberger said, "We have been dreaming of a case like your daughter's," I answered, "My dreams include an entirely different set of wishes."
Individual meetings with doctors, in totally different parts of Hadassah Hosptial: 4
Crying when Raphaela saw medical personnel, ten feet away: 6
Number of times I heard "Who told you to come here? You are in the wrong place.": 4
Small random acts of kindness: Too many to count
Number of times that I had to hold back tears: Too many to count
Probability that my period would come early, the day before Raphaela's surgery and the day I am wearing my white skinny jeans: ?!@#$?
Hours spent waiting for various pre-op meetings: 4.5
Hours spent total in Hadassah today: 7.5
Paid for parking: 36 NIS
Raphaela apparently gave fits of happy dancing to all the doctors in the ENT ward, as she fits the perfect profile for a study that Hadassah is conducting, regarding the efficacy of the removal of tonsils and adenoids, as measured in oxygen saturation 24 hours after the procedure. When Dr. Weinberger said, "We have been dreaming of a case like your daughter's," I answered, "My dreams include an entirely different set of wishes."
Monday, July 18, 2011
Raphaela's Pre-Op I
Monday: Worked like a dog to take in extra patients, since I will have a period of time after the surgery when my clinic hours will be limited. Strange playdate where the kids were great with each other, but the event itself did not impress the parents or the children. Blew up at the person who said, "You really need to move from that apartment, what are you doing about it?" (DUH!)
Tuesday: I have taken an inordinate amount of pictures of Raphaela today. I got teary at the thought that this would be her last day of Gan before the surgery. I got teary at the thought that tonight is her last swim lesson, before the surgery. I am making hysterical lists to keep my mind off the fact that tomorrow we go to Hadassah for pre-op consultations. What the hell is wrong with me?
Tuesday: I have taken an inordinate amount of pictures of Raphaela today. I got teary at the thought that this would be her last day of Gan before the surgery. I got teary at the thought that tonight is her last swim lesson, before the surgery. I am making hysterical lists to keep my mind off the fact that tomorrow we go to Hadassah for pre-op consultations. What the hell is wrong with me?
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Kick in the Butt
As if I was not aware that I need to move out of this apartment, the Universe gave me a monumental kick in the butt this morning.
My landlord (slum lord, to be exact), a religious elderly man, sent one of his goon contractors, an Ultra-Orthodox man, to threaten me; they are trying to illegally hook an apartment into my utilities, so he can rent it out, even though he doesn't have the permission of the city of Jerusalem, or of the Co-op Board of the buidling. When I stated my objection to having to pay double bills on an illegal apartment for an indefinite amount of time, the goon said that he was speaking on behalf of my land lord, that they had no problem whatsoever kicking me and my daughter out on the street so they could find someone who would be more "cooperative" with their plan. Then I had to beg to the point of tears, humiliating myself so that we would not be homeless, and you could see the goon jacking off in pleasure at seeing me in such a vulnerable place.
The entire year plus that this construction took place I have put up with many terrible experiences. There have been long periods of time that I suffered from headaches and Raphaela from panic attacks from the noise of the drills. There were many days that we had to move out, because the construction beneath us made the living situation unbearable. One of the cement trucks smashed into my car, and I paid 1600 NIS out of my own pocket to fix it, because my land lord and the goon contractor refused to take responsibilty for the damage.
This tops it all.
On the plus side, legally speaking he cannot actually kick me out tomorrow. Maybe he will wait until after Raphaela's surgery, though I doubt he cares one way or the other.
On the mystical side, some proof to me that there is a higher power who listens every once in a while, I happened to bump into a patient today, a kind and ethical man who deals in building and real estate. He told me that he knew of a rennovated apartment in my neighborhood that would be available September 1. He understood my story and could see the stress in my eyes, and said to me, "If you want it, all you have to do is hire the movers." Like I said, G-d listens sometimes.
My landlord (slum lord, to be exact), a religious elderly man, sent one of his goon contractors, an Ultra-Orthodox man, to threaten me; they are trying to illegally hook an apartment into my utilities, so he can rent it out, even though he doesn't have the permission of the city of Jerusalem, or of the Co-op Board of the buidling. When I stated my objection to having to pay double bills on an illegal apartment for an indefinite amount of time, the goon said that he was speaking on behalf of my land lord, that they had no problem whatsoever kicking me and my daughter out on the street so they could find someone who would be more "cooperative" with their plan. Then I had to beg to the point of tears, humiliating myself so that we would not be homeless, and you could see the goon jacking off in pleasure at seeing me in such a vulnerable place.
The entire year plus that this construction took place I have put up with many terrible experiences. There have been long periods of time that I suffered from headaches and Raphaela from panic attacks from the noise of the drills. There were many days that we had to move out, because the construction beneath us made the living situation unbearable. One of the cement trucks smashed into my car, and I paid 1600 NIS out of my own pocket to fix it, because my land lord and the goon contractor refused to take responsibilty for the damage.
This tops it all.
On the plus side, legally speaking he cannot actually kick me out tomorrow. Maybe he will wait until after Raphaela's surgery, though I doubt he cares one way or the other.
On the mystical side, some proof to me that there is a higher power who listens every once in a while, I happened to bump into a patient today, a kind and ethical man who deals in building and real estate. He told me that he knew of a rennovated apartment in my neighborhood that would be available September 1. He understood my story and could see the stress in my eyes, and said to me, "If you want it, all you have to do is hire the movers." Like I said, G-d listens sometimes.
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