I don't know how those with piercings in sensitive body parts function normally, these staples are distracting at the least and painful at the most. Worse, Shaarei Zedek has yet to give me a definitive time and date for their removal, and that keeps me awake at night.
The day started out nicely, Raphaela and her Gan friends dressed in blue and white to celebrate Israel's 63rd birthday one day early, as they are closed for the holiday tomorrow. After dropping her off, my mother and I attended the brit milah of my neighbor, their first grandchild. How affirming to spend a day which commemorates sacrifice and death by welcoming into the world and the Jewish people a new life!
At this point in the morning my belly and pelvic area were still doing well, and so my mother and I went to the mall. (I apologize to all Israelis on the road, my mother is indeed a Boston driving hazzard, but I have no choice...) I needed to exchange some of Raphaela's clothing for a larger size, and reward myself for the end of nursing by buying some new bras. My bra size, along with my overall weight, has reduced so dramatically since Raphaela's birth and the last year and a half of breast feeding, and so it was actually a pleasure to get fitted/groped by the Ex-KGB Female Bra saleswomen.
My mother and I have been bickering on and off since she arrived. I keep apologizing and saying thank you, even when I want to shout at her, because I need her to look after Raphaela when I am not allowed to hold her, or even change her diaper. For example, when I was selecting bras, my mother said to the saleswoman (as if I were 12), "Give her an under wire model, she needs it." I think at the age of 42, I am perfectly capable of making my clothing choices clear, and letting a sales person know which style I prefer, especially when I am paying for it out of my own pocket.
We stood in silence for the two minute siren along with the other shoppers, the life fantastic put on hold to remember those who died protecting us and the dream of a State of Israel.
The excursion was the last straw for my body. How terrifying to me that something like one store, or a few small errands have enough impact to shut me down for the rest of the day.
As well, now that we have an assesment from the doctor vis a vis Raphaela's walking and breathing, my mother has found other medical issues upon which to harp, and I keep reminding her that if she trusts me as a parent, and trusts our family doctor, she needs to stop pushing my buttons. Then comes the speech of "I raised five children, don't tell me you think you know more than I do..."
I believe the problem lies in the patterns that get frozen in our consciousness and experience. My mother said something to me last night, her observation that I was "always so clinical," that made me realize that she has not fully understood that I am not the dutiful, quiet and quite frankly, miserable teenager I was when I lived in their house. I have gone out into the world, received an education and traveled, and expanded my acceptance and interactions with others. Yes, I will make mistakes with myself and my daughter because I am human, but a far different human than the picture of a girl in my mother's head.
For the moment, I try to disengage the tension when we fight, I say, "You know how hard it is for me to feel so unconnected from my body and so dependent on others." That's my story and I am sticking with it.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Surgery, It's All in the Family
Tonight both Raphaela and I consulted with our family doctor; I showed her my staples and had her examine me, to make sure there were no resultant infections. Raphaela had her "make-up" consultation, the original appointment had been canceled as I was in the hospital at the time.
Good news, I suppose: our GP said that my surgeon "did a great job," that I will have no scarring and that my body is reacting in a normal post-surgical path.
Bad news: Raphaela will most probably need adenoid surgery. I don't begrudge my daughter the gift of mucous-free breathing, but when our doctor explained that the procedure requires general anesthesia, I freaked.
Used to be that the word "lice" set me off, it has now been deposed by the concept of general anesthesia. Yes, many children have this surgery and go to Gan the next day, and have a higher quality of life. But since my own recent surgery, rationalizations and intellectual validations only make me feel more angy and more frightened.
This appendectomy affected me, deep into my core, and I need the time to process the frustration, the anger and the fear on an emotional level. Telling me that "it could have been worse" and pointing out the statistics of the success of various surgeries does not help me at the moment.
Good news, I suppose: our GP said that my surgeon "did a great job," that I will have no scarring and that my body is reacting in a normal post-surgical path.
Bad news: Raphaela will most probably need adenoid surgery. I don't begrudge my daughter the gift of mucous-free breathing, but when our doctor explained that the procedure requires general anesthesia, I freaked.
Used to be that the word "lice" set me off, it has now been deposed by the concept of general anesthesia. Yes, many children have this surgery and go to Gan the next day, and have a higher quality of life. But since my own recent surgery, rationalizations and intellectual validations only make me feel more angy and more frightened.
This appendectomy affected me, deep into my core, and I need the time to process the frustration, the anger and the fear on an emotional level. Telling me that "it could have been worse" and pointing out the statistics of the success of various surgeries does not help me at the moment.
Wouldn't You Know...
I now have a combination of the side effects of the surgery, and my period.
At least it didn't happen in Shaarei Zedek.
At least it didn't happen in Shaarei Zedek.
Emergency Surgery: The Journey Home
My mother and I arrived at the house a few hours before Shabbat, while the nursery teacher brought Raphaela back home to me. That's all I need, no food, no drinking and no medications, just to see my beautiful daughter's face, see her smile and know that she is sleeping in the next room.
Many people have come out of the wood work to cook meals and to help, at least I know that we will eat this Shabbat. It is wonderful to know that my mother can help me, though it becomes tedious at times when I wish that I could get up and do it myself, rather than explain or point or watch in frustration, feeling damaged and bloated and looking like I am in my second trimester of pregnancy. If there were a baby growing inside there I would feel less ugly, and every time Raphaela touches the staples by accident, it hurts like hell.
Shabbat was OK, if I ignored the well-meaning questions from my mother about my level of religious observance, her frustrations with my state of being single, my mother's distrust of my family doctor, and her misconception that I have no friends. My mother and Raphaela have bonded, Raphaela looks for "Bubby", and that is most important. And after a rocky start, my mother and Harry have come to terms for now, at least they have stopped hissing at each other. I explained to my mother that if you pretend Harry is a human being, his behaviour has mirrored Raphaela; they are both reacting to the fact that their Mommy suddenly disappeared for three days, and now that she is home, she doesn't move the same way.
This morning, getting Raphaela to Gan was more difficult than I anticipated. My mother for all her intentions doesn't have the strength or stamina she once did when raising her own kids, and everything felt slow; she couldn't believe that Israeli parents are actually out of the house and ready to go by 7:30 am.
Then she ran a red light, and now I have an expensive ticket and points on my driver's license. (She does feel badly about that one.) I tried to do one or two essential errands this morning, with my mother's help of course, and realized that I had pushed my body too far.
At least I have enough sense to have canceled any Chiropractic related activity for this week, the workaholic is dead, and more interesting, there is a part of me that could easily accept never going back to work. I am barely obsessing about the lost income this event represents. Almost dying changed my priorities, I want to give to myself and to Raphaela, and not necessarily to my patients. Change must take place, once I can funtion again as a single mom.
Many people have come out of the wood work to cook meals and to help, at least I know that we will eat this Shabbat. It is wonderful to know that my mother can help me, though it becomes tedious at times when I wish that I could get up and do it myself, rather than explain or point or watch in frustration, feeling damaged and bloated and looking like I am in my second trimester of pregnancy. If there were a baby growing inside there I would feel less ugly, and every time Raphaela touches the staples by accident, it hurts like hell.
Shabbat was OK, if I ignored the well-meaning questions from my mother about my level of religious observance, her frustrations with my state of being single, my mother's distrust of my family doctor, and her misconception that I have no friends. My mother and Raphaela have bonded, Raphaela looks for "Bubby", and that is most important. And after a rocky start, my mother and Harry have come to terms for now, at least they have stopped hissing at each other. I explained to my mother that if you pretend Harry is a human being, his behaviour has mirrored Raphaela; they are both reacting to the fact that their Mommy suddenly disappeared for three days, and now that she is home, she doesn't move the same way.
This morning, getting Raphaela to Gan was more difficult than I anticipated. My mother for all her intentions doesn't have the strength or stamina she once did when raising her own kids, and everything felt slow; she couldn't believe that Israeli parents are actually out of the house and ready to go by 7:30 am.
Then she ran a red light, and now I have an expensive ticket and points on my driver's license. (She does feel badly about that one.) I tried to do one or two essential errands this morning, with my mother's help of course, and realized that I had pushed my body too far.
At least I have enough sense to have canceled any Chiropractic related activity for this week, the workaholic is dead, and more interesting, there is a part of me that could easily accept never going back to work. I am barely obsessing about the lost income this event represents. Almost dying changed my priorities, I want to give to myself and to Raphaela, and not necessarily to my patients. Change must take place, once I can funtion again as a single mom.
Emergency Surgery II
I was wheeled out of surgery approximately one hour later, woozy from the general anesthesia and with three large metal staples in my stomach from the laproscopic proceedure. Because of lack of bed space in the surgical ward, I was sent to Urology, where my room mates were an Arab woman who had just had a birth followed by a hysterectomy; and an Israel woman, a spokes person for the JNF, in hospital for the last week because of a kidney stone that would not pass. The Arab woman snored like a saw, and it gave me so much comfort because Raphaela makes all sorts of noises at night, and I missed her terribly.
I had no appetite, though the next day I was given persmission to eat and drink, and damnit, they wouldn't give me any more Morphine (Lovely Morphine) for the pain. Every time a new group of nurses or students would arrive for rounds, they would introduce me as, "This is Ms. Leeder, she is a Chiropractor and has undergone an emergency appendectomy." IE She has a medical background so if there is something you don't want her to know about her condition, don't presume that medical-ese will do the trick.
The constant anti-biotics make me feel nauseaus, and the anti-nausea medication does not alleviate it. I cannot even turn in bed without ringing for the nurse or one of the National Volunteer girls to help me. This recovery is already ten times worse than my natural birth with Raphaela.
Rachael continues to perform miracles, getting my mother (who is not all that spontaneous a person to begin with) to grab a last minute flight so she can help me with my life and with Raphaela, whom I am not allowed to lift for the next week. The Nursery School couple continue to perform miracles, telling me that Raphaela is happy and healthy and has barely noticed that I did not pick her up from school yesterday. They bring her to the hospital to visit me and it plays out like a soap opera: Happy Reunion, Tearful Separation. They must drag Raphaela away crying, while I sit in a wheel chair bawling myself, and while everyone watching the scene cannot stop their own tears.
Damn these robes are awful, I trade them in for trendy pink Shaarei Zedek patient pajamas. I attempt a shower but still have no appetite. I also realize that de facto, I am no longer breast feeding. Almost three days away from Raphaela and milk has dried up; even if I could, the doctors tell me I am not allowed, because my daughter must not be exposed to all the medications and inflammation running through my body.
The surgeon says that I can be release in the afternoon on Friday, assuming there are no complications. They had feared internal bleeding the first night I spent after the surgery, and that Thank G-d has passed.
After being re-routed through Cyprus because of a gasoline problem, my mother arrived from Boston at my house in Jerusalem very late Thursday night, but will be able to help me get home on Friday.
I am not 85 years old, I am 42 years old and I cannot go to the bathroom without help.
I had no appetite, though the next day I was given persmission to eat and drink, and damnit, they wouldn't give me any more Morphine (Lovely Morphine) for the pain. Every time a new group of nurses or students would arrive for rounds, they would introduce me as, "This is Ms. Leeder, she is a Chiropractor and has undergone an emergency appendectomy." IE She has a medical background so if there is something you don't want her to know about her condition, don't presume that medical-ese will do the trick.
The constant anti-biotics make me feel nauseaus, and the anti-nausea medication does not alleviate it. I cannot even turn in bed without ringing for the nurse or one of the National Volunteer girls to help me. This recovery is already ten times worse than my natural birth with Raphaela.
Rachael continues to perform miracles, getting my mother (who is not all that spontaneous a person to begin with) to grab a last minute flight so she can help me with my life and with Raphaela, whom I am not allowed to lift for the next week. The Nursery School couple continue to perform miracles, telling me that Raphaela is happy and healthy and has barely noticed that I did not pick her up from school yesterday. They bring her to the hospital to visit me and it plays out like a soap opera: Happy Reunion, Tearful Separation. They must drag Raphaela away crying, while I sit in a wheel chair bawling myself, and while everyone watching the scene cannot stop their own tears.
Damn these robes are awful, I trade them in for trendy pink Shaarei Zedek patient pajamas. I attempt a shower but still have no appetite. I also realize that de facto, I am no longer breast feeding. Almost three days away from Raphaela and milk has dried up; even if I could, the doctors tell me I am not allowed, because my daughter must not be exposed to all the medications and inflammation running through my body.
The surgeon says that I can be release in the afternoon on Friday, assuming there are no complications. They had feared internal bleeding the first night I spent after the surgery, and that Thank G-d has passed.
After being re-routed through Cyprus because of a gasoline problem, my mother arrived from Boston at my house in Jerusalem very late Thursday night, but will be able to help me get home on Friday.
I am not 85 years old, I am 42 years old and I cannot go to the bathroom without help.
Emergency Surgery
Tuesday 3/5/11: In the middle of Raphaela's swim lesson, I feel an odd gurguling in my stomach and figure it's something I ate.
Wednesday morning 4/5/11, 3 am: Wake up with severe cramping and nausea, it reminds me of my usual PMS only a little bit worse, so I sit on the toilet for about an hour and then go back to bed, figuring it will go away by the time Raphaela wakes up.
Wednesday morning 4/5/11, 6 am: Raphaela wakes up, and in between waves of sharp stomach pains and vomitting bile, I somehow manage to get my daughter dressed (including cute little pig tails), feed her breakfast and driver her to Gan. I drive myself home from Gan, park badly and collapse.
After trying several people who just happened to be in my speed dial, I reach my friend Rachael and beg her to either kill me or get me to the emergency room. This pain is worse than any labour complications I can remember.
Wednesday morning 4/5/11, 10 am: We arrive at Shaarei Zedek hospital where they want me to walk myself into the emergency room while Rachael parks her car. I collapse on the spot because I can no longer feel my legs and arms, they call a gurney to get me inside. The attending asks why I am here, and I tell them that I have diagnosed myself with acute appendicitis, and that it is best we remove it before it ruptures. They all look at me with skepticism and say, "What, are you a doctor or something?" It is only on the second ultra sound that they find that I am correct, and they schedule me for immediate surgery.
Wednesday night 4/5/11, 7 pm: After a back up in the surgical unit, and after I finally get Morphine (Lovely Morphine) to control the pain, I am wheeled in for surgery. Rachael has been with me the entire day, getting me through the hospital system and becoming my secretary; canceling patients and making arrangements for Raphaela.
In a state of extreme grace, the Head Nursery teacher and her husband assure me that they will adopt Raphaela - take her home at night, feed her, bathe her and love her - for as long as I am incapacitated.
I spend the whole day crying, thinking that the last time I will ever see my daughter was this morning.
Wednesday morning 4/5/11, 3 am: Wake up with severe cramping and nausea, it reminds me of my usual PMS only a little bit worse, so I sit on the toilet for about an hour and then go back to bed, figuring it will go away by the time Raphaela wakes up.
Wednesday morning 4/5/11, 6 am: Raphaela wakes up, and in between waves of sharp stomach pains and vomitting bile, I somehow manage to get my daughter dressed (including cute little pig tails), feed her breakfast and driver her to Gan. I drive myself home from Gan, park badly and collapse.
After trying several people who just happened to be in my speed dial, I reach my friend Rachael and beg her to either kill me or get me to the emergency room. This pain is worse than any labour complications I can remember.
Wednesday morning 4/5/11, 10 am: We arrive at Shaarei Zedek hospital where they want me to walk myself into the emergency room while Rachael parks her car. I collapse on the spot because I can no longer feel my legs and arms, they call a gurney to get me inside. The attending asks why I am here, and I tell them that I have diagnosed myself with acute appendicitis, and that it is best we remove it before it ruptures. They all look at me with skepticism and say, "What, are you a doctor or something?" It is only on the second ultra sound that they find that I am correct, and they schedule me for immediate surgery.
Wednesday night 4/5/11, 7 pm: After a back up in the surgical unit, and after I finally get Morphine (Lovely Morphine) to control the pain, I am wheeled in for surgery. Rachael has been with me the entire day, getting me through the hospital system and becoming my secretary; canceling patients and making arrangements for Raphaela.
In a state of extreme grace, the Head Nursery teacher and her husband assure me that they will adopt Raphaela - take her home at night, feed her, bathe her and love her - for as long as I am incapacitated.
I spend the whole day crying, thinking that the last time I will ever see my daughter was this morning.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Yom HaShoah 2011
As I type this, my little girl sits on my lap eating cheerios and trying to play with my Palm Pilot. Harry wants attention as well, now that the working day has started. My daily worries center around moving to a new apartment, making enough money to support us, and hoping that Raphaela's allergies pass soon, so she can start breathing fully again.
Here in Israel, we are surrounded by Arab countries, enemies who want to wipe us and our people off the planet. At least they are upfront about their intentions.
Here in Israel. There is an Israel, controlled by Jews and sworn to protect Jews and Israelis around the world. Despite all the beaurocracy and the internal conflict, we Israelis know how to pull ourselves together when threatened from the outside.
Watching the ceremony for Yom HaShoah, I can't help but be affected by the stories of the survivors, those who made it out of Europe and re-built their families. I can't help but play the scenario in my head, how I would go to any lengths to protect my daughter, and how agonizing (if there are even words) it must have been for mothers and fathers to take their children onto the trains and into the camps, knowing what awaited them.
Thank G-d there is an Israel, and I thank the Universe every day for my daughter and our life. Strip away all the toys cluttering the living room and the sleepless nights, and I have a beautiful healthy girl. We are all of us, all Jews living today, lucky beyond measure.
Here in Israel, we are surrounded by Arab countries, enemies who want to wipe us and our people off the planet. At least they are upfront about their intentions.
Here in Israel. There is an Israel, controlled by Jews and sworn to protect Jews and Israelis around the world. Despite all the beaurocracy and the internal conflict, we Israelis know how to pull ourselves together when threatened from the outside.
Watching the ceremony for Yom HaShoah, I can't help but be affected by the stories of the survivors, those who made it out of Europe and re-built their families. I can't help but play the scenario in my head, how I would go to any lengths to protect my daughter, and how agonizing (if there are even words) it must have been for mothers and fathers to take their children onto the trains and into the camps, knowing what awaited them.
Thank G-d there is an Israel, and I thank the Universe every day for my daughter and our life. Strip away all the toys cluttering the living room and the sleepless nights, and I have a beautiful healthy girl. We are all of us, all Jews living today, lucky beyond measure.
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