Flashback Wednesday

Last year at this time, we here in Israel were sorting out the sirens and the bomb shelters and the consequences of a war.  It was a hard place to live.

This morning a test siren went off, the population had been told in advance and yet...when it started I had a flashback to last summer, and I had instant nervous tension in my stomach and the beginnings of a terrible headache.

And when the siren ended, I started thinking about the deal the United States just made with Iran, how that puts me and my child and everyone in my country in harms way, not to mention any other Western infidel within reach of long-range ballistic missiles.  Then the headache flowered, full force.

I love Israel, I would not want to live or raise my daughter anywhere else,  but during that siren I was less than convinced.

Prelude to Pessach III

Yesterday my cleaning person and I scrubbed and dusted,  my house was sparkling for Pessach and it made me happy.

This morning the stunning weather prompted me to open all the windows and hang my laundry on the line.

Some time this morning while I was out on errands, the Sharav, the 11th plague rolled into Jerusalem.  The winds were so strong that they grounded President Obama's helicopter and delayed his return flight to the United States.

The whirlwind of sand turned my pristine home into the beach; every time I breathe I feel like I am chewing sand.  At least it prepares me for eating matza on Monday night at the seder.

And if it does rain within the next two days, it will rain mud on the car that I washed yesterday.

Who says that G-d doesn't have a sense of humor?

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...

Woman Plans, G-d Laughs

With the park injury behind us and the wound beginning to heal, wouldn't you know it, Raphaela came home with an awful gash beneath her left eye, inflicted by another girl in her class known to be more aggressive than most.  Apparently Raphaela was minding her own business when this girl came over and slashed her;  if we were in high school I would have tell my daughter, "Oh, she is jealous of you..." or something to that effect. And in fact, the wound from this Wolverine child is deeper and even more serious than the one from the park on Shabbat.

I spoke to her teacher, who basically told me some version of "Kids will be kids" and then proceeded to assure me that Raphaela was not the instigator (because that makes me feel better how?) and that she will heal. "Thank G-d it barely missed her eye etc. etc."

Disturbed by the vicious randomness of the attack, I asked how the teacher handled the incident with the group at large, and she answered that used the opportunity to give a lecture to the entire class about proper behaviour and the ban on hitting.  Then she reminded me that this is a "normal" part of the life of a toddler in nursery.

Later this morning, as I started cleaning my kitchen for Pessach, the apartment sprung a gas leak, one which was so asphyxiating that after three hours with all the doors and windows open I still could not breathe properly.  So instead of finishing up my holiday chores, taking care of patients, and going on my intended shopping trip, here I am writing this blog, waiting for the gas company to arrive "sometime today..." and hopefully before Obama arrives for his brief and badly-timed visit to Israel on Wednesday. 

I am most thankful, however, that this dangerous leak occurred after I took Raphaela to Gan and NOT in the middle of the night, when Raphaela and I may not have noticed it, with deadly consequences.

Matters of Perspective

One more week before we are meant to travel to the States for Thanksgiving.  I, or rather the nerdy girl in me who always hated missing even one day of class, sat with her teacher today and asked essentially how I could make up for the loss of "material" about Chanukah that Raphaela would miss while we are away.

Her Head Nursery Teacher, who recently lost her 91 year old mother to prolonged illness and old age.

Meanwhile, our actual Thanksgiving plans remain in the Undecided category;  the original plan included a festive meal with cousins (in Long Island) and Shabbat with my sister (in Long Island).  Due to Hurricane Sandy, my cousin does not have electricity, and my sister cannot live in her house. 

An Ultra-Orthodox mother of five and due to give birth in December to her sixth child, my sister and her family lost their car and the entire first floor of their house to the flooding.

Not Undecided is the American Public, who go to the polls today in an atmosphere of a dead-heat between Romney and Barack Hussein Obama.  Will it be the Muslim or the Mormon who wins the day?  Is there ever really a candidate who likes Israel, or just likes getting that bloc of votes?  What effect will Hurricane Sandy and its terrible aftermath have on the election?  When do the Americans get smart and abolish the Electoral College?  And how many lawyers are gearing up as we speak to fight the inevitable recounts and State-by-State law suits?

Hey, that's a thought, maybe my Absentee Ballot will count this year, for a change.

Bob the Builder

Raphaela recently discovered the television programs, Bob the Builder and Thomas and Friends, and we watch it every day for all of its ten minutes before bath time.  I have several observations as an adult and a parent as to its so-called educational value, as well of some questions:

One, are Bob and Wendy dating?  Is Bob turned on by the fact that Wendy has as much skill in  construction, or does he find it threatening as a man?

What is the general phenomenon of talking vehicles, such as the trucks in Bob the Builder or the trains in Thomas and Friends?  As an adult, I find it odd and at times scary, especially the expressions on the face of the trains in the Thomas and Friends.  (I am impressed, however, that they convinced Ringo Starr to narrate.)  Perhaps the reason that every show features a crash or injury due to negligence is because trains are not supposed to talk unless they are possessed a la Stephen King, and cement mixers with ADD are not meant to be left alone to finish the job.

What kind of message does Bob the Builder send to children with the scarecrow character Spud?  This individual in the show, in every show, plays pranks, disobeys instructions, refuses to do his job and holds back the group with his lack of consideration and carelessness.  Instead of teaching him, it becomes a joke, and it tells children that you can misbehave and not experience the consequences of your actions.  Every show has Spud saying, "Sorry Bob, I won't do it again."  And lo and behold, he has forgotten his promise by the next show.

Spud is like Gilligan, vote him off the island and their little world will be a better place.

Random note to the politically astute, Barack Obama poached his campaign from Bob.  "Yes We Can!" is a trademark of Bob the Builder, and I wonder if the President had any qualms about stealing from a children's show.

Yes, both Bob the Builder and Thomas teach teamwork and some version of socialization and morality, but I do feel the need to watch it with Raphaela, and make sure that the better lessons are understood and stated clearly.

Quite frankly, I would rather introduce Raphaela to classic Star Trek episodes, we would both enjoy it more.

America the Beautiful

While the rest of my family celebrated their second day of chag (ha!) I took Raphaela out for a walk, as the rain had subsided for the most part, and I felt the need to do something with my body besides eat.

I have lived in Israel for close to 13 years, and had not been back to the East Coast to visit in four years, and so I was struck by the preponderance of water, trees and space. Whereas in Israel we watch every drop of water and have dual flush systems in our bathrooms, Americans seem to take water for granted both inside their homes and outside. There are brooks in the middle of lush parks, and trees with giant thick trunks and more park areas than I can count. For the first time in years, I take a ten minute shower and never run out of hot water. It feels extravagant to me, when in fact it is the American lifestyle.

I cannot complain, my apartment in Jerusalem is nice, I have enough room to work and play and it has a good feng shui. My parents' house looks modest from the outside, but has four floors and seven bedrooms, a proper salon and dining room, and a separate play room and basement. Not to mention an actual backyard rather than a sad little patch of grass. There is a sense of division of space, and privacy, and for all that I have chosen to sacrifice in living in Israel, I don't think I will ever give up on the dream of a house, even if it is not the size or scope of my parents.

Despite the law, most construction projects in Israel conveniently ignore the need to install handicap access ramps and make sidewalks safe and stroller friendly. In contrast, it is a pleasure to take Raphaela out in the stroller in my parents' neighborhood, the upkeep on the roads and walkways keep them smooth and comfortable, dare I say civilized.

I won't even begin the discussion on the difference of the level of customer service I have experienced.

One of my concerns about the length of this trip was that the longer I would stay, and the more I would reconnect with family and friends, the harder it would be to return to Israel. I want to raise my daughter in Israel, because it is much more representative of my value system as a person and as Jew; but it is hard to argue with the allure of the United States.

Then I remember that Barack Hussein Obama was elected President here. At least in Israel, our enemies don't wear the fancy suits and give charismatic speeches, we know exactly what they intend.

There He Goes Again (Obama)

As a registered Democrat who did not vote for Obama - both in the primaries and in the general elections - and as an American citizen living in Israel, I am allowed to complain.

Along with his recent snub of our Prime Minister, here comes news that Obama's health care plan includes a (penalty) fee of $750 per person, for American citizens living abroad; for my $1,500 (myself and Raphaela) we receive the privilege of a health care plan which we cannot use.

Raphaela and I already have basic and additional private health insurance here in Israel.

As a woman with her own Chiropractic clinic, I already pay a self-employment tax to the American government, as there is no reciprocity agreement with Israel on this matter. By the time I reach the age of 65, the Social Security I am owed will be bankrupt.

As a single parent, trust me that $1,500 goes a long way towards paying for diapers, especially when I am on maternity leave and not earning money at the moment.

Braver Women than I

I want to devote very little time in this column today to myself and my surgery, and so here is the summary: It is a good thing that I brought my own soft Kleenex tissues, because I spent a lot of time on-and-off crying that morning before the procedure, mostly because I am a very bad patient and a sissy. Number two on the surgery list for the day, I was wheeled in and put under (for 47 minutes!) around 10:30 am, and brought back to my room around noon. Around four pm, after the doctors and nurses saw me getting up by myself, taking patient calls (don't ask) and moving furniture ( a medium sized chair), they decided that I was well enough to go home, which I did.

I was under anesthesia much longer than anyone had expected, and it was what I call a 'dead sleep,' meaning that while I did not feel any pain Thank G-d, but I also did not dream, and when I woke up, had no memory of having been asleep for almost an hour. I didn't like it.

"This Womb in Clean," [Reference: Poltergeist, the movie] declared the surgeon. After waking up today in my own bed around ten in the morning, I will make every attempt to rest for the next three days, before the boredom makes me want to scream.

While in hospital, Barack Hussein "What the Hell have I gotten myself into" Obama became the 44th President of the United States, and my sister in New York gave birth to a healthy baby boy, with only 15 minutes of labour time.

Now , I would rather focus on two extraordinary women who have shared their stories with me, as I go through this process toward having my own healthy pregnancy and my own healthy child.

The first is Irena, my roommate yesterday at Hadassah. Thanks to my protected status, I received a semi-private room with only two beds, with our own clean bathroom and shower. Irena, an Israeli-Russian nurse about my age, was happily pregnant at 22 weeks - no complications - until three days ago, when she abruptly lost her first child while on vacation with her husband. They rushed back to Jerusalem and she had a D&C, and despite the surgical and medical intervention, when I left yesterday her fever was getting worse rather than better. The surgeon in the Women's Unit had told her that they could only identify one of the two bacteria with which she was infected, and so they were "throwing the antibiotic book" at her system, hoping that one of them will strike the target.

Here's the kicker of this story: she became infected after some amniotic fluid was removed last week in a standard exam for women "our age," by a very capable doctor whom they hired privately at great expense. She did all the right things with all the right doctors, and fell into that small percentage who are harmed by this procedure.

In all this, she comforted me when I was crying, welcomed me with a smile when I returned from the recovery room, and shared her home-made blintzes that her husband had brought. Thanks to her, I did not feel alone, and I did not have to eat a stitch of hospital food.

The second woman I honor today is "A," a friend from college who recently contacted me on the net. In the last four years, she has apparently had too many miscarriages to count, and last year lost a pregnancy after nine weeks. She writes that tissue obtained from the D&C showed that the fetus had an abnormal chromosomal count, and would not have necessarily survived, or lived a healthy life.

Her persistent faith in G-d and Universe amazes and inspires me, she writes: "You should look at each unsuccessful try not as a setback but as part of your journey...I have not lost hope yet that I will have a healthy baby. "

Amen to all of us trying to become mothers, I hope to see you all in the maternity ward with me, within the year.