RivkA Redux

"Have Faith."
"Believe in Miracles."
"Choose Life."

RivkA Zuckerman Matitya, my brave and jubilant friend who died last year after a long battle with breast cancer, appeared larger than life on the screen, at the Memorial Gathering in her honor in Jerusalem tonight.  I recognized many people in the packed room, and marveled at the diversity of the gathered group:  young and old, religious and secular, Israeli and Anglo-Saxon, from all walks of life.  All the people that I knew, scattered among the crowd, unified by RivkA; they would not have been in the same room together otherwise.

A leader in the La Leche movement, a swim instructor, a special-needs educator, inspirational speaker, blogger, and a loving mother and wife.  I am overwhelmed how RivkA's embrace of life continues to influence those around her, one year after her passing.  I am sad for her three children and husband, her siblings and her parents, who must feel the loss every day.  I wonder how much more she could have accomplished had she defeated the disease.

I returned home tonight feeling ashamed of myself for not contributing more to my community and for the world at large, disappointed because I want to leave the world a better place than it was when I first entered this plane of existence.

 My mind started to recall the person I was in college, when I first met RivkA.  If there was a political cause, I joined with a vengance.  If I observed injustice in society, I pursued a solution with passion.  I can vividly recall a conversation in the Barnard-Columbia Kosher kitchen, in which it was decided that I would (naturally) be Prime Minister of Israel, the next woman PM after Golda;  and then I hand-picked my cabinet from my assembled close friends, based upon their individual strengths and our committment to Israel and the Jewish people.

I was going to be regularly featured on the front page of the New York Times.  I was going to change the world.

Yet here I am today, 43 years old, quietly helping my Chiropractic clients improve their health and lead better lives for themselves and their families. I volunteer with the Jerusalem Street Cat Society.   I don't feel like that is enough.  Here I am, 43 years old, raising my amazing daughter to G-d willing be the most fulfilled person, to be able to express the best parts of her.  Is that enough?  I can say for sure that if Raphaela is my legacy as a human being and as a mother, that will be enough for me, I take joy from that knowledge every day.  If my taking the step to become a single mother by choice helps another woman fulfill her dream, I am thankful to serve as an inspiration or a role model on some small level.

And yet, I want to do something bigger, something more substantial.  I need to rediscover my Inner Idealist, the woman who seems to have gotten lost in the shuffle of paying bills and managing schedules and simply surviving.

When my grandmother died, so many people came to the shiva, many of whom we did not know.  We listened to their stories, how they came to fall into my Bubby's sphere of influence.  One woman told us that my grandmother had been cooking her and delivering to her Shabbat meals,every week for the last twenty years.  One man told us that my grandmother had been volunteering at the hospital with him, in her "spare time."  Several married couples told us that if it had not been for my grandmother, their relationship would not have lasted intact all these years.  And on and on...

We always knew my grandmother didn't sleep much, but we had no idea how much she gave of herself, often at the cost to herself.

When I have lived a long life, when I move on, what will be said about me?  Will I have made a real difference?

The Last Bag

Today I defrosted the last bag of breast milk, marking the end of my back-up supply.  The Avent pump has been useless for over one month now.

As it should be, people will tell me.  She eats solid foods and is out of the house for much of the day at nursery.  Breast milk responds to demand, and Raphaela has clearly demanded less.  My daughter is growing up and appropriately, that which satisfied her as an infant applies less and less.

From now on, Raphaela will get whatever my body can give her, I still nurse in the morning and at night because I enjoy that time together.  Raphaela will switch back and forth between the left and right sides, as if somehow each breast provides a different flavour.  I find it amusing when she pulls my shirt to let me know that she wants to snack, though her clever communication is less desirable when it takes place at the post office or the bank.

Let's see how much longer this continues, her third tooth started to errupt this weekend...

RivkA

This blog is about motherhood, and so I dedicate this space today to RivkA Matitya, who I met as Karin Zuckerman, during my undergraduate years at Barnard College.

Yesterday RivkA lost her battle to cancer, I found out right before Shabbat started, and she will be buried at ten pm tonight in Jerusalem, Israel, where she lived with her husband Moshe and where she raised her children.

At Barnard and Columbia, before the size of the Jewish community grew to overwhelming and impersonal proportions, students of all class years who ate in the Kosher Cafeteria and prayed at Earl Hall on Friday night knew each other and befriended one another. I then reconnected with RivkA when I made aliyah 13 years ago.

I am grateful for the warm and unconditional support RivkA gave me during my pregnancy as a single mother, and for the guidance I received from her regarding nursing and parenting. Even throughout her five year battle with cancer, she always put her family first, and her story and force of personality continues to inspire.

She faced her illness with courage and nobility until the very end, including rather than shutting out the people around her, and the legacy she leaves behind is one of strength and joy.

Baruch Dayan HaEmet.

Performance Anxiety II

Now that I am back to work full-time, I must schedule milk expressing in between patients, as I miss two of Raphaela's feedings while she plays at the care taker; if I don't pump, my breasts feel like they will explode, not to mention that it directly affects the quantity of milk I am able to produce on average.

Most of my Chiropractic clients either come on time, or a little late, and some arrive early on purpose, thinking that if they make their presence known, they will be seen sooner than planned. That used to work, before the breast feeding thing happened.

Yesterday, I started my expressing break and got about 100 ml (4 ounces), quite pleased with myself because the day before I was unable to pump as much as I thought I should have. I was about to switch to the other side, when a patient arrived, a whole 20 minutes early. Despite her protest - "Pretend I am not here...I won't bother you...etc." - as soon as she walked in the door my professional brain kicked in, and the milk stopped flowing.

I tried to go into another room and close the door, but then the patient started her usual campaign of what I call 'active quiet,' meaning that she coughed, moved chairs around, talked loudly on her cell phone; all so I wouldn't forget that I left her camping out in my salon.

I gave up, put the Avent pump away, and invited her into the treatment room, her protests trailing all the way. She should not take it personally, the milk would stop if I was feeling stressed or pressured for time in any way.

This working mother routine is harder than it sounds.

Resenting the Breast

In Gina Ford's Contented Little Baby Book, she writes that it is not a badge of shame if a mother chooses the bottle over the breast - even though "Breast is best." - because the most important key to a happy child is a happy and well rested mother. No child ever died from being breast fed.

I have to admit that she made me feel a little better about the feelings of guilt I have been experiencing lately, when Raphaela latches on and I feel this pain and sensitivity in my nipples, and I wonder if the breast feeding is worth all the fuss.

Both my La Leche counsellor (and a Barnard sister) and my doctor assure me that the sensitivity could be a commonplace Candida (Thrush) infection, and I have already started using the cream the doctor gave me. Mostly, I love the time with her on my breast because I know that it serves us both well emotionally and physically; I look forward to that smile on her face when she is done eating.

But I am human, and I cannot deny that the pain makes me jump and instills in me some fear, which would then presumably affect the supply of my milk in the short and long run. Sometimes I like expressing much better and giving it to Raphaela in a bottle, it is my milk without the pain. I am hoping that this period passes and we resume our happy routine, because I intend on breast feeding for at least six months.

Feeling Grossly Inadequate

Moved to the edge of insanity by two days in which Raphaela did not nap for close to 15 hours straight, followed by two nights where it took several hours to get her to sleep, I finally got the electric breast pump I had borrowed from Yad Sarah over two months ago, and took it out of the box. You see, the other night I was so exhausted and frustrated that I had no desire to put my own child on my breast, and wanted at least to have the option of giving her a bottle with my milk. I also did not want to get to a place where my very kind neighbor - whom I had called over around eight pm in a state of panic - asked me if I thought the baby was hungry, and I said, "I don't care."

My friend Rachael pointed out that since Raphaela and I had spent the whole day together, and into the night, she was probably as sick of me as I was of her. It is in these moments that I truly feel the burden of being a single parent.

True to the scientist part of my nature, this breast pump may have provided the key as to why my daughter gets so ornery at certain parts of the day, and sometimes needs over two hours to calm down at night: she may very well be hungry.

When I started pumping, I expected to receive at least 60 ml from the effort, and barely scraped away with half that amount. At this stage, Raphaela needs between 90-120 ml at each feeding, and clearly, my milk supply is inadequate. That is one of the fundamental problems with breast feeding, you cannot measure the serving you have provided.

First off, I feel like a failure; despite my best efforts and intentions, I am not giving my child enough food. That translates to serious guilt in every religion, not just the Jews.

Now I must come up with a plan, which includes supplementing throughout the day with bottles, but finding the right formula that will not activate what I suspect is lactose intolerance. (I find the soy based formulas stinky.) I plan on pumping as often as possible, to increase my own milk flow. I also plan on reading the latest book borrowed from my friend and upstairs neighbor, which tackles the specific issues of sleep patterns and behaviours.

Thank G-d babies do not remember most of the traumas of early infanthood, hopefully all she will remember is that I tried my hardest and that I love her.