I am too exhausted and drained to write about our day at UCSF today, but I will write more soon.
For now, I ask you to continue praying for Tikva and for us.
It is a force holding us up and we continue to need it very much.
Thank you for your abundant love and generous contribution to all that is positive in the world.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Agnes Mae
We received this incredible email yesterday from Colleen, a friend of Dave's cousin Lorrie... I am so deeply moved by the love and prayers and hope coming our way that I asked Colleen if I could share her email here:
Dear David and Gal and Dahlia,
I feel I not only know you but that we are family. Your cousin, Lorrie, is a spiritual sister and member of our women's group in Tahoe City. Her request for prayers for you and your family led me to read your blog and Tikva's story. Through my tears still falling softly, I remembered my own baby sister, Agnes Mae. Her birthday was November 12, 1948. Her life was only a few hours long, but her gift is forever. Her lungs never developed enough to support life. As my Mother told us, she was perfect in every way, a precious Angel, but she just couldn't breathe on her own. In today's world of medical miracles and technological advances, she would most likely be with us, thriving and living her purpose. As it was, she became our Angel Unaware. As a child, I talked to her and was sure I heard her singing and laughing and sharing angelic wisdom. We have all felt her presence during times of struggle and grief. Her life inspired my parents to create a Foundation and a legacy devoted to serving children in need.
I am inspired by your courage and willingness to allow a miracle to be brought to life. And I am asking our Angel to give your Angel strength for the journey into your loving arms.
God bless you.
Colleen
Dear David and Gal and Dahlia,
I feel I not only know you but that we are family. Your cousin, Lorrie, is a spiritual sister and member of our women's group in Tahoe City. Her request for prayers for you and your family led me to read your blog and Tikva's story. Through my tears still falling softly, I remembered my own baby sister, Agnes Mae. Her birthday was November 12, 1948. Her life was only a few hours long, but her gift is forever. Her lungs never developed enough to support life. As my Mother told us, she was perfect in every way, a precious Angel, but she just couldn't breathe on her own. In today's world of medical miracles and technological advances, she would most likely be with us, thriving and living her purpose. As it was, she became our Angel Unaware. As a child, I talked to her and was sure I heard her singing and laughing and sharing angelic wisdom. We have all felt her presence during times of struggle and grief. Her life inspired my parents to create a Foundation and a legacy devoted to serving children in need.
I am inspired by your courage and willingness to allow a miracle to be brought to life. And I am asking our Angel to give your Angel strength for the journey into your loving arms.
God bless you.
Colleen
Monday, February 25, 2008
Receiving Help
For most of my life, I have been the helper.
I enjoy helping others, and I'm a good organizer of group help for someone or something or someplace in need.
I've worked professionally in nonprofit and philanthropic work for almost 13 years, and I (think I still) want to become a nurse.
Helping, giving feels good, feels right, feels easy, and comes naturally.
I have always been awed by how people can come together around something important.
An email on one of the parent lists I'm on goes out, calling for extra breastmilk for a mama and baby in need, and within a few days, they have more than they need.
People asking for donations to a cause in lieu of birthday or wedding gifts, even children's birthdays.
Communities are truly amazing.
And of course I am the one who is always crying at the end of that incredibly cheesy TV show, Extreme Makeover Home Edition.
I always think that if I lived in Hollywood, I would use my organizing skills to be a producer for that show, calling potential corporate sponsors for donations for the families in need.
Now I find myself on the other side - on the receiving end of so much help and support.
It completely brings me to my knees with humility.
And at the same time, it is an incredibly empowering experience.
To receive help, to let that in graciously, gracefully.
We have been offered an amazing home in San Francisco by Dave's aunt and uncle, not to mention an incredibly comfortable temporary home here in Marin until we move to the city.
We have barely mentioned to a few people that all of our furniture and belongings are in storage in Cincinnati, and all of a sudden we have been offered almost everything we need by so many incredible people, many of whom we don't even know yet.
Our friends Suz and Dean have loaned us a car to drive until we find the right used cars on Craig's List to replace those we sold when we left for Israel.
Friends who are healers have offered us bodywork.
Friends who are parents, and friends who are not, have taken Dahlia for a day and treated her like a queen, while we've been taking care of business.
Dahlia's amazing babysitter Alex, and her equally amazing mom Ellen, have made Dahlia feel so at home in their home, in their family, have made all of us feel like family.
Cal and Liz offering us a room in their home, care for Dahlia in their kids' preschool, anything they can do.
Friends and family from every corner of the earth have been reaching out to us with prayers and emails asking how we're doing, how they can help.
I have spent a lot of time on my knees the past few weeks, starting during our final weeks in Jerusalem.
I am continually humbled, empowered, in deep gratitude for the abundant blessings that shower over us and make this transition just a little easier.
Empowered and energized by the love and support flowing our way so consistently and generously, from a place of such heart and sincerity.
From the deepest place in my heart: THANK YOU.
I enjoy helping others, and I'm a good organizer of group help for someone or something or someplace in need.
I've worked professionally in nonprofit and philanthropic work for almost 13 years, and I (think I still) want to become a nurse.
Helping, giving feels good, feels right, feels easy, and comes naturally.
I have always been awed by how people can come together around something important.
An email on one of the parent lists I'm on goes out, calling for extra breastmilk for a mama and baby in need, and within a few days, they have more than they need.
People asking for donations to a cause in lieu of birthday or wedding gifts, even children's birthdays.
Communities are truly amazing.
And of course I am the one who is always crying at the end of that incredibly cheesy TV show, Extreme Makeover Home Edition.
I always think that if I lived in Hollywood, I would use my organizing skills to be a producer for that show, calling potential corporate sponsors for donations for the families in need.
Now I find myself on the other side - on the receiving end of so much help and support.
It completely brings me to my knees with humility.
And at the same time, it is an incredibly empowering experience.
To receive help, to let that in graciously, gracefully.
We have been offered an amazing home in San Francisco by Dave's aunt and uncle, not to mention an incredibly comfortable temporary home here in Marin until we move to the city.
We have barely mentioned to a few people that all of our furniture and belongings are in storage in Cincinnati, and all of a sudden we have been offered almost everything we need by so many incredible people, many of whom we don't even know yet.
Our friends Suz and Dean have loaned us a car to drive until we find the right used cars on Craig's List to replace those we sold when we left for Israel.
Friends who are healers have offered us bodywork.
Friends who are parents, and friends who are not, have taken Dahlia for a day and treated her like a queen, while we've been taking care of business.
Dahlia's amazing babysitter Alex, and her equally amazing mom Ellen, have made Dahlia feel so at home in their home, in their family, have made all of us feel like family.
Cal and Liz offering us a room in their home, care for Dahlia in their kids' preschool, anything they can do.
Friends and family from every corner of the earth have been reaching out to us with prayers and emails asking how we're doing, how they can help.
I have spent a lot of time on my knees the past few weeks, starting during our final weeks in Jerusalem.
I am continually humbled, empowered, in deep gratitude for the abundant blessings that shower over us and make this transition just a little easier.
Empowered and energized by the love and support flowing our way so consistently and generously, from a place of such heart and sincerity.
From the deepest place in my heart: THANK YOU.
From Jerusalem
Nicole, one of Dave's fellow students from HUC, posted "A Tribute To Our Classmate" on the blog of the Jerusalem campus. It brought tears of sweetness to both of our eyes. I asked Nicole if I could share it here, with deep appreciation for the love we feel coming our way from this place that, after less than two weeks, already feels strangely far away...
"I wanted to be mad at God. But you told us to pray, for Tikva.
I wanted to stop giving thanks for the blessing of being here, because suddenly it just seemed so unfair. But you told us to be grateful every day for this opportunity.
I wanted to mourn the interruption of your dream, because I know so well what it is like to have waited so long to get here. But you told us you were going home to try to save a life.
I wanted to be sad about the inconceivable notion of you returning to a former profession–after you had always shared my elation at finally landing in the right place. But you told us to only think positive thoughts.
I wanted to stay after your announcement and offer comfort. But you told us to go to Hebrew class.
You stood there at services, modeling what it means to be fully human. Modeling how to make Jewish choices and truly live them out. This modeling was a language we could understand. A language we will always remember. A language that inspired.
We will miss you and look forward to the day when you rejoin us.
And we will stay here and continue learning how to pray. We'll pray that God can bring healing and wholeness. We'll pray for help in making sense out of the absurd. We'll pray for the day when those who sow in tears will reap in joy. We'll pray for Tikva."
"I wanted to be mad at God. But you told us to pray, for Tikva.
I wanted to stop giving thanks for the blessing of being here, because suddenly it just seemed so unfair. But you told us to be grateful every day for this opportunity.
I wanted to mourn the interruption of your dream, because I know so well what it is like to have waited so long to get here. But you told us you were going home to try to save a life.
I wanted to be sad about the inconceivable notion of you returning to a former profession–after you had always shared my elation at finally landing in the right place. But you told us to only think positive thoughts.
I wanted to stay after your announcement and offer comfort. But you told us to go to Hebrew class.
You stood there at services, modeling what it means to be fully human. Modeling how to make Jewish choices and truly live them out. This modeling was a language we could understand. A language we will always remember. A language that inspired.
We will miss you and look forward to the day when you rejoin us.
And we will stay here and continue learning how to pray. We'll pray that God can bring healing and wholeness. We'll pray for help in making sense out of the absurd. We'll pray for the day when those who sow in tears will reap in joy. We'll pray for Tikva."
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Being With Tikva
I wrote a little while back that I am someone who is guided very much by my intuition and my emotions, with my brain as assistant, but not as leader.Right now, I am also guided very much by Tikva, who comes with me everywhere I go, and who I feel is so deeply present.
Not only because all of the movement we have made in the past month has been primarily for her, but because she is the one I am really listening to right now.
Tikva is active, wiggling in my belly, giving me punches to answer questions that flow through my thoughts.
She thanks me when I eat by enjoying what I am sharing with her.
Energetically, she is completely present, and she is not shy.
She's not telling me what the next year is going to look like, but she is letting me know that she's ready to work really hard to make it, and that she feels she can thrive.
She feels strong, and hers is not a force that is going anywhere anytime soon.
I think she is going to take after her big sister, and after her parents.
The other night we were at a Shabbat at Ahri and Jay's, and I was talking to a few women I'd just met about homebirth and midwives.
One asked if I was going to work with the same midwives for Tikva's birth as I had with Dahlia - this was the first time I've been asked about Tikva's birth.
I replied so easily, "No, this one's going to be born in the hospital. She has some challenges that are going to require medical help."
Those words didn't feel loaded at all, nor heavy, and I felt at peace saying them.
In a way, Tikva's birth story is already being written, even if I can't say a thing beyond the knowledge that she will be born in a hospital.
I don't really get sad about not having a homebirth - that feels like it would be about ego - and as much as I am challenged by the medicalization of regular birth in our time, I completely appreciate that hospitals are there when we need them.
This is a very clear instance where Tikva and I will need them, and I am grateful that we will be in the care of the best of the best.
Today a friend's mom asked me what my baby's name was, and I said Tikva.
Dahlia followed my response with, "It means hope."
It does indeed... you tell 'em, Dahlia.
I am very pregnant right now, as I approach my third trimester.
My belly looks as though I swallowed one of those round watermelons, and at certain times of day, it feels like that too.
All that is crammed inside me is putting pressure on some artery in my back, making me short of breath at times.
Those are the times I think about Tikva and her little lungs - and I pray that she will be able to breathe well and deeply.
I have a hearty appetite, and I am loving eating to my heart's delight.
I had a hard time gaining enough weight when I carried Dahlia, and I have a hard time gaining weight in general.
So I am really aware of that and doing my best to eat very regularly, like 6 times a day.
The 240 calorie containers of Greek style fig yogurt from Trader Joe's, which I am completely addicted to, are extremely helpful.
I ate a lot of dairy with Dahlia, too - must be the part of me that grew up in France as a kid.
Each time I went to the cheese guy at the open market in Jerusalem, a little voice in me always said quietly, "Aah... this is my happy place."
Tikva really likes music.
When we've been in the car with music playing lately, she has always done a bunch of flips in my belly.
She seems especially fond of the new Eagles double album (thanks Frankie).
I had cranial sacral energy work with Sirena earlier in the week, and it was wonderful.
We spent a lot of time helping me recollect my energy from all the corners of the universe where I had left it, in large part from Jerusalem - our apartment, the two hospitals we visited during those final weeks, the streets I'd walked that became familiar.
And places like the MediCal office here in San Francisco.
I actually feel surprisingly grounded amid all the movement, probably because this place is such a familiar and comfortable home for me: Marty and Frank's house in Marin, San Francisco in general, the East Bay, and the community that holds us here.
Yesterday we went to Woodside to visit see my best friend Karina where she and her family are visiting her parents, and even though I don't really know Woodside, it's still a part of the South Bay, which was my home since 1978.
Delightfully familiar.
Sirena asked me during our session if I wanted to ask Tikva why she had a hole in her diaphragm.
I hadn't really asked myself why - only wondered if it was something we did that could've caused it (all the doctors say they really don't know what causes it, but they don't think it's as easy as eating the wrong food).
It was an interesting question, so I asked Tikva.
She didn't have an answer for me, and I found myself really not needing one.
This is just part of Tikva, part of her body and spirit, part of her becoming, part of her story, and part of mine and of our family's.
It's just one of those things that IS, and I am dropping into that and trusting its unfolding.
I am trusting that I have seen Dahlia dancing in a garden with her little sister, both of them jumping on their daddy for tickles and giggles.
I am trusting those images because I've seen them in my intuitive heart's eye since before Dahlia was even conceived.
Since the possibility of Dave and me together became a reality.
They are images conceived out of our love, and so far we've done a pretty amazing job at creating reality from possibility.
I feel great possibility in the child growing and wiggling in my belly.
I feel it because she feels it, and because she expresses it inside me.
Friday, February 22, 2008
In The Doing
Apologies for being away from my blog for several days.
We have been so in the doing, and I am so pooped at the end of each day, that I haven't been able to write down all the thoughts and feelings running through me so abundantly.
Lately I've been falling asleep at night composing blog entries in my head, contemplating getting out of bed to write, then a few moments pass and I'm off to dreamland.
I feel deeply grateful that I've been sleeping well since we got to California - first because jetlag just knocked me out, and a few days later, after I stopped waking up in the middle of the night, just because all this doing takes a lot out of me, not to mention being pregnant.
The c-shaped maternity pillow Sharon got me makes me feel like a cat curled up in a basket of soft blankets, and I am sleeping like a baby in spite of the awkwardness of the large belly I carry everywhere with me.
Life is very full right now and we are doing a lot.
Doing is empowering, less paralyzing than sitting, waiting and thinking.
I am definitely a doer, and I'm married to one as well.
We had a busy and successful week.
Tuesday we worked everything out to get me on MediCal, so I am now happily insured and can start seeing the doctors.
It took many hours, and two trips into SF in one day dealing with getting all the right paperwork together,
But with the help of the angels that continue to watch over us, and a very patient counselor who worked with us and explained all the options, it all worked out.
It's a blessing to be on MediCal - it's entirely free, very easy for UCSF to work with, and when Tikva is born, she is automatically covered by MediCal for a year no matter what the rest of us do.
Sometimes the system works...
I can't tell you the amazing relief I felt when I was handed my MediCal number and told I was covered as of that moment.
And when I called UCSF and they set up a series of appointments for me for next Wednesday.
Ultrasound, echocardiogram, OB-GYN, pediatric surgeon, social worker, all in one day, all coordinated by them.
It makes me feel held, supported, monitored, and safe - both for me and for Tikva.
My sister Sharon is going to be with us for the entire day, to help us take in all the information and just be there for help and support.
Dahlia was in great hands that day, playing with Grace, her new one and a half year old friend, daughter of Dave's old buddy Jason and his wife Tina, all three of them huge sweeties.
Dahlia has been in such good hands since we got here - having playdates with such loving, caring members of her community.
She's had two wonderful days with her babysitter Alex and Alex's wonderful mom Ellen, with whom she feels so at home - they are true angels.
She's spent a bunch of time with her very special friend Maia, and also with her friend Delilah.
And last night we shared Shabbat with Izzy and his amazing parents Ahri and Jay, kindred spirits in our lives, and we got to see some of our special friends and their kids, who have grown so much in the 8 months we've been away.
I feel deeply grateful for Dahlia - who is so easy going and adaptable, who loves people, who loves making new friends, who is patient with us through all these changes.
On Wednesday we went to the house where we will soon be living, in the Outer Sunset district of San Francisco.
We needed to go through it to see what we will need to fill it - comparing that to the most amazing lists of furniture and household items that so many amazing angels are offering us.
Then we went to Crepevine for lunch with Auntie Sharon.
Next week we are meeting with the head rabbi at Temple Emanuel, to ask him for help in finding a spot for Dahlia in their preschool.
One step at a time, one thing at a time, we are taking care of all that needs doing.
Preparing mentally and emotionally for our meetings with the doctors on Wednesday.
I know those are going to bring up a lot, and that it will be the beginning of probably a whirlwind of medical activity.
But I am trusting that we'll be in good hands, and that the challenges will be outweighed by the relief of finally getting some answers and clarity of what the coming months have in store for us.
We continue to pray, and ask for prayers.
We continue to hold hope.
And Tikva continues to let me know that we are on the right path.
We have been so in the doing, and I am so pooped at the end of each day, that I haven't been able to write down all the thoughts and feelings running through me so abundantly.
Lately I've been falling asleep at night composing blog entries in my head, contemplating getting out of bed to write, then a few moments pass and I'm off to dreamland.
I feel deeply grateful that I've been sleeping well since we got to California - first because jetlag just knocked me out, and a few days later, after I stopped waking up in the middle of the night, just because all this doing takes a lot out of me, not to mention being pregnant.
The c-shaped maternity pillow Sharon got me makes me feel like a cat curled up in a basket of soft blankets, and I am sleeping like a baby in spite of the awkwardness of the large belly I carry everywhere with me.
Life is very full right now and we are doing a lot.
Doing is empowering, less paralyzing than sitting, waiting and thinking.
I am definitely a doer, and I'm married to one as well.
We had a busy and successful week.
Tuesday we worked everything out to get me on MediCal, so I am now happily insured and can start seeing the doctors.
It took many hours, and two trips into SF in one day dealing with getting all the right paperwork together,
But with the help of the angels that continue to watch over us, and a very patient counselor who worked with us and explained all the options, it all worked out.
It's a blessing to be on MediCal - it's entirely free, very easy for UCSF to work with, and when Tikva is born, she is automatically covered by MediCal for a year no matter what the rest of us do.
Sometimes the system works...
I can't tell you the amazing relief I felt when I was handed my MediCal number and told I was covered as of that moment.
And when I called UCSF and they set up a series of appointments for me for next Wednesday.
Ultrasound, echocardiogram, OB-GYN, pediatric surgeon, social worker, all in one day, all coordinated by them.
It makes me feel held, supported, monitored, and safe - both for me and for Tikva.
My sister Sharon is going to be with us for the entire day, to help us take in all the information and just be there for help and support.
Dahlia was in great hands that day, playing with Grace, her new one and a half year old friend, daughter of Dave's old buddy Jason and his wife Tina, all three of them huge sweeties.
Dahlia has been in such good hands since we got here - having playdates with such loving, caring members of her community.
She's had two wonderful days with her babysitter Alex and Alex's wonderful mom Ellen, with whom she feels so at home - they are true angels.
She's spent a bunch of time with her very special friend Maia, and also with her friend Delilah.
And last night we shared Shabbat with Izzy and his amazing parents Ahri and Jay, kindred spirits in our lives, and we got to see some of our special friends and their kids, who have grown so much in the 8 months we've been away.
I feel deeply grateful for Dahlia - who is so easy going and adaptable, who loves people, who loves making new friends, who is patient with us through all these changes.
On Wednesday we went to the house where we will soon be living, in the Outer Sunset district of San Francisco.
We needed to go through it to see what we will need to fill it - comparing that to the most amazing lists of furniture and household items that so many amazing angels are offering us.
Then we went to Crepevine for lunch with Auntie Sharon.
Next week we are meeting with the head rabbi at Temple Emanuel, to ask him for help in finding a spot for Dahlia in their preschool.
One step at a time, one thing at a time, we are taking care of all that needs doing.
Preparing mentally and emotionally for our meetings with the doctors on Wednesday.
I know those are going to bring up a lot, and that it will be the beginning of probably a whirlwind of medical activity.
But I am trusting that we'll be in good hands, and that the challenges will be outweighed by the relief of finally getting some answers and clarity of what the coming months have in store for us.
We continue to pray, and ask for prayers.
We continue to hold hope.
And Tikva continues to let me know that we are on the right path.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Kicks
The entire flight home from Israel, Tikva was kicking and wiggling like crazy in my belly.
Perhaps it was because she was feeling the changes in pressure in the womb.
But I have a feeling it was because she knew why we were making this big move.
And she was letting us know that she appreciates it, and that she is excited and ready for what is ahead.
She kicks a lot, possibly even more than my very active Dahlia did.
She kicks when I eat - this is a kid who definitely appreciates food already.
She kicks when I'm thinking or talking about her.
She wiggles a lot at night.
And she is incredibly responsive when someone who loves her - Dave or Dahlia or my sister Sharon - has their hand on my belly, or is kissing my belly or talking to her really close.
Yesterday Sharon put her hand on my belly where she was kicking, and she kicked so hard that I could see Sharon's finger pop up.
She knows she is loved.
She knows we are waiting for her.
And I believe that she is ready for what is ahead.
In many ways, I almost rely on her lead to guide me.
Perhaps it was because she was feeling the changes in pressure in the womb.
But I have a feeling it was because she knew why we were making this big move.
And she was letting us know that she appreciates it, and that she is excited and ready for what is ahead.
She kicks a lot, possibly even more than my very active Dahlia did.
She kicks when I eat - this is a kid who definitely appreciates food already.
She kicks when I'm thinking or talking about her.
She wiggles a lot at night.
And she is incredibly responsive when someone who loves her - Dave or Dahlia or my sister Sharon - has their hand on my belly, or is kissing my belly or talking to her really close.
Yesterday Sharon put her hand on my belly where she was kicking, and she kicked so hard that I could see Sharon's finger pop up.
She knows she is loved.
She knows we are waiting for her.
And I believe that she is ready for what is ahead.
In many ways, I almost rely on her lead to guide me.
Final Amnio Results: Everything Looks Good
I called to get the final results of the amnio yesterday, and a very nice Israeli woman at Hadassah Hospital confirmed that everything is normal in Tikva's chromosomes and AFP.
This means that we are facing just one thing - the CDH - and nothing else to complicate future decisions and Tikva's beginning.
I had a feeling that would be the case, but it is always good to receive good news these days.
I was remarking to Dave yesterday that because we can't plan beyond a few days now, all we can do is take care of one thing at a time.
I'm relieved that this one thing - the amnio - is behind us and that it was worth the scariness of it for the good news.
This means that we are facing just one thing - the CDH - and nothing else to complicate future decisions and Tikva's beginning.
I had a feeling that would be the case, but it is always good to receive good news these days.
I was remarking to Dave yesterday that because we can't plan beyond a few days now, all we can do is take care of one thing at a time.
I'm relieved that this one thing - the amnio - is behind us and that it was worth the scariness of it for the good news.
Bed of Feathers
Even into a warm bed of soft feathers, landing takes time.My feet are on the ground, getting used to how it feels under my toes.
It feels good, yet so different from how the ground felt under them just last week.
California is so deliciously familiar, so comforting.
The sun is shining and warm, apparently after 2 weeks of intense rainstorms I am thankful we missed.
Everything is the same, as if seven and a half months haven't gone by without us.
I love it here - it is my home more than any place in the world, and always will be.
Our arrival went smoothly.
The Lufthansa agent at the Tel Aviv airport didn't even weigh our extremely overweight luggage when we checked in, saving us $300.
Our stroller, which had been sitting in the open lobby of our Jerusalem building all fall/winter and serving as a bed and toilet for the neighborhood stray cats, reeked of cat pee so we checked it in all the way to San Francisco.
When we arrived at Dave's aunt and uncle's in Marin, Auntie Marty figured out how to detach the fabric from the stroller frame and stuck the whole thing in the washing machine.
Within an hour, it was good as new, cat pee smell a faint memory of every time we entered our building for the past several months.
Funny things like that to remind us of where we just came from.
Yet I have to admit that Jerusalem already feels like a strange dream.
I think if we'd left Jerusalem and come to somewhere new, I might feel more connected to that place that was our home these last 7+ months.
But since we've landed in such familiar territory, where we are surrounded, it's almost hard to believe I was even in Jerusalem just a few days ago.
It's a really strange sensation.
And yet I smile when I think of the sweet friends I now have who are still there - you know who you are.
Of the incredible sendoff we received, the healing love, the blessings.
The team that came over to clean our apartment the day before we left.
Everything everyone did to help us there.
And now it continues here.
We are so held.
And our angels continue to watch over us.
We have a wonderful car to borrow from some very special friends.
Our soon-to-be home in the Sunset is already almost entirely furnished by an amazing community of friends, many of whom we don't even know personally, but who are praying and caring for us.
Taxes have been prepared and will be ready on Tuesday.
They are ready to welcome Dave back at the gym where he used to work, and will help him get new clients.
Tuesday morning we head to the MediCal office to get me medical insurance - hopefully on the spot.
Then I can finally start seeing some doctors and getting some answers to the many questions, the many unknowns.
So far what I know comes from reading Internet articles and talking to a few doctors in Israel.
But there is so much more to understand, and honestly I haven't even a tiny inkling of an idea what is ahead, because there seem to be so many possibilities.
I can't plan beyond Tuesday.
I, the queen of planning, who has made a living being a planner for a dozen years, can't plan.
Surrendering to the unknown... that is the ultimate act of faith.
And right now, I don't really have much choice but to surrender and trust that something much bigger than me is holding all four of us and guiding the way, even if we can't see the road yet.
It's good to be back in California.
It's good to drive around San Francisco and know every corner and every turn.
It's good to be close to my sister and my dad and our families and friends.
It's good to be HOME, to feel less alone.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Almost There
Deep breath...
All 6 suitcases are packed and all of them are overweight, but hopefully right at the limit for overweight luggage.
Dave and I were a super duper team this morning, and with his spearheading, we repacked most of the suitcases to make almost everything fit.
We only had to surrender a few unimportant, old or replaceable items.
It's all just stuff, really.
It's strange to think that we have even more stuff in a storage space in Cincinnati, and that we aren't going to see any of it for quite a while.
I feel so little attachment to any of it - except my old reliable Teddy packed in a box of toys somewhere deep within storage.
Already so many people have offered us furniture and household things for what will be our home in San Francisco.
A wealth of abundance surrounds us.
Four of Dave's fellow students came over this afternoon and cleaned our apartment from top to bottom, so we can leave it presentable for the next tenant, and not have to pay extra to have it cleaned.
We have just enough food in the fridge for scrambled eggs and broccoli for dinner, and some snacks for the plane.
Our Internet service will be cancelled once we're gone, and the van driver has confirmed that he'll be picking us up at 2:15am tonight to head to the airport.
My list of "Israel To-Do's" is all done.
Dave is watching Mary Poppins and eating popcorn with Dahlia.
We'll have our baths and showers, eat dinner, maybe get a little sleep, then we're on our way.
Phew...
It's been raining since last night, which makes the construction site outside our window look especially daunting and massive.
I won't miss that view, even if the YMCA and King David Hotel are just behind, looking much more lovely.
The jackhammer gave us our final sendoff - I won't miss that either.
It's time to go.
Last night at HUC, Dave's fellow students and some of the staff gave us a beautiful healing ceremony and sendoff.
I cried through most of it, and so did Dave.
Taking in all the love and good energy.
Feeling like I was sitting in between the bookends of that experience and what we experienced when we left the Bay Area.
Community on either end, holding us, praying for us, loving us.
I resisted getting attached to this place and its people for the first few months I was here.
But eventually you become attached no matter where you are, and there are such good people everywhere.
I felt it when I had shingles, and people showed such concern and brought us meals.
I have felt it tremendously the past few weeks with all this community has done for us.
We wouldn't have made it without them, at least not with most of our sanity and health intact.
Dave and Dahlia seem to be on the mend, and hopefully the flight won't be too much on their congested sinuses.
Dahlia got a beautiful melancholy sendoff at her school, from all of her friends and teachers.
She's been emotional the past week, but she is getting through it with her strength, patience, and a lot of support from her parents.
We are ready to go, and it feels good, it feels like time.
We'll see many of you soon.
All 6 suitcases are packed and all of them are overweight, but hopefully right at the limit for overweight luggage.
Dave and I were a super duper team this morning, and with his spearheading, we repacked most of the suitcases to make almost everything fit.
We only had to surrender a few unimportant, old or replaceable items.
It's all just stuff, really.
It's strange to think that we have even more stuff in a storage space in Cincinnati, and that we aren't going to see any of it for quite a while.
I feel so little attachment to any of it - except my old reliable Teddy packed in a box of toys somewhere deep within storage.
Already so many people have offered us furniture and household things for what will be our home in San Francisco.
A wealth of abundance surrounds us.
Four of Dave's fellow students came over this afternoon and cleaned our apartment from top to bottom, so we can leave it presentable for the next tenant, and not have to pay extra to have it cleaned.
We have just enough food in the fridge for scrambled eggs and broccoli for dinner, and some snacks for the plane.
Our Internet service will be cancelled once we're gone, and the van driver has confirmed that he'll be picking us up at 2:15am tonight to head to the airport.
My list of "Israel To-Do's" is all done.
Dave is watching Mary Poppins and eating popcorn with Dahlia.
We'll have our baths and showers, eat dinner, maybe get a little sleep, then we're on our way.
Phew...
It's been raining since last night, which makes the construction site outside our window look especially daunting and massive.
I won't miss that view, even if the YMCA and King David Hotel are just behind, looking much more lovely.
The jackhammer gave us our final sendoff - I won't miss that either.
It's time to go.
Last night at HUC, Dave's fellow students and some of the staff gave us a beautiful healing ceremony and sendoff.
I cried through most of it, and so did Dave.
Taking in all the love and good energy.
Feeling like I was sitting in between the bookends of that experience and what we experienced when we left the Bay Area.
Community on either end, holding us, praying for us, loving us.
I resisted getting attached to this place and its people for the first few months I was here.
But eventually you become attached no matter where you are, and there are such good people everywhere.
I felt it when I had shingles, and people showed such concern and brought us meals.
I have felt it tremendously the past few weeks with all this community has done for us.
We wouldn't have made it without them, at least not with most of our sanity and health intact.
Dave and Dahlia seem to be on the mend, and hopefully the flight won't be too much on their congested sinuses.
Dahlia got a beautiful melancholy sendoff at her school, from all of her friends and teachers.
She's been emotional the past week, but she is getting through it with her strength, patience, and a lot of support from her parents.
We are ready to go, and it feels good, it feels like time.
We'll see many of you soon.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Swallowing An Elephant
My husband asked me the question the other day, "How do you eat an elephant?" The answer: "One bite at a time." Today I feel as though I am a boa constrictor, trying get my entire mouth around an elephant in order to eat it (have you read The Little Prince?). That's my metaphor for packing. We have 6 suitcases, and we are not only overweight on 5 of them ($50 each on Lufthansa, ouch!) but we're not really sure how we're going to have enough space for everything. We're almost there, but it's going to be tight. Hopefully none of the suitcases will burst at the seams before we take them off the baggage carousel in San Francisco. We entertained the idea of repacking from scratch and taking out stuff we don't need. But that would completely push me over the edge of my sanity - no doubt about it. Sometimes there is a small price to pay to keep one's sanity relatively intact. No matter how tight money is going to be as the months unfold, my sanity is worth $250 today.I am so ready to get on that plane, and I think I will cry a lot when we take off. Mixed tears of relief, grief, disappointment, fear, happiness, and deep faith despite all the unknowns ahead. What I do know is that it is time to leave Jerusalem. The jackhammers at the construction site returned today to give us a proper send-off, just in case we were doubting that it is time to go. It had been a while, and we were blown away by how annoying they are, and that we put up with them almost every day for the first 4 months we were here. I look forward to the quiet of Marin, then the serenity of San Francisco's Outer Sunset. Quiet amid the storm helps to keep me sane. I'm tired. Dave is sick and exhausted. Dahlia fell asleep on the couch sitting up while watching Sleeping Beauty. Tikva continues to kick and wiggle happily in my belly. We're getting there... one foot in front of the other.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Tikva's Big Sister, Tikva's Mommy
Dave shot some video of Dahlia and me on the couch the other day.
(See February 8th, part VII.)
It was the morning Dave and I went to the Kotel to pray, and Dahlia was home from school with the bug she's had the past few days.
I was writing down my prayer, my message to my Baby Girl.
Dahlia sat next to me so sweetly, asking me what I was writing.
Opening my heart with the tiny gold key I am wearing on a chain these days.
It is a chain that used to belong to my mother, and on it is a small key, a tiny frame of Moses holding the Commandments with the Shma blessing on the back, and a Jewish star.
I usually wear the chain during holy times of the year - the 10 Days of Awe from Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur, and the eight days of Passover.
The morning after the first ultrasound, I took it from my jewelry box and have worn it ever since.
This feels like a holy time.
I've watched this video several times.
Noticing the sweetness of Dahlia's little voice, her gentleness and sense that something important is happening.
Her desire for connection, her compassionate nature.
How grown up I look, how in my life I am.
A few expressions that I get from my mom, who doesn't even know anything is happening yet because we don't talk often enough and I haven't had it in me to let her know yet.
I watch it and think about what is ahead.
I wonder about how it is going to transform Dahlia's life forever.
I hear the name of Tikva coming out of her mouth so sweetly, her connection to her little sister already forming.
Perhaps, even, it formed years ago, when they were both still baby spirits deciding what parents they would choose and who would come first.
I witness in this little movie my connection to my four year old girl, and at the same time I witness my connection to the Baby Girl in my belly.
I wonder what lies ahead for Tikva, body and spirit.
I wonder what lies ahead for my own body and spirit.
I hear the sweet sadness in David's voice behind the camera.
He's right... This is it. This is where we're at.
My prayer right now is that one day when she's old enough, Tikva will read all that I've written in my blog.
That she will have a story - her story - to read and understand her beginning, and her family, a little better.
I've always looked forward to sharing all that I've written during my life with my children.
My prayer is that what I write here will be a gift I can one day give to Dahlia and to Tikva.
I hope that one day they will sit on a couch together and read it all and feel my love within my words.
(See February 8th, part VII.)
It was the morning Dave and I went to the Kotel to pray, and Dahlia was home from school with the bug she's had the past few days.
I was writing down my prayer, my message to my Baby Girl.
Dahlia sat next to me so sweetly, asking me what I was writing.
Opening my heart with the tiny gold key I am wearing on a chain these days.
It is a chain that used to belong to my mother, and on it is a small key, a tiny frame of Moses holding the Commandments with the Shma blessing on the back, and a Jewish star.
I usually wear the chain during holy times of the year - the 10 Days of Awe from Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur, and the eight days of Passover.
The morning after the first ultrasound, I took it from my jewelry box and have worn it ever since.
This feels like a holy time.
I've watched this video several times.
Noticing the sweetness of Dahlia's little voice, her gentleness and sense that something important is happening.
Her desire for connection, her compassionate nature.
How grown up I look, how in my life I am.
A few expressions that I get from my mom, who doesn't even know anything is happening yet because we don't talk often enough and I haven't had it in me to let her know yet.
I watch it and think about what is ahead.
I wonder about how it is going to transform Dahlia's life forever.
I hear the name of Tikva coming out of her mouth so sweetly, her connection to her little sister already forming.
Perhaps, even, it formed years ago, when they were both still baby spirits deciding what parents they would choose and who would come first.
I witness in this little movie my connection to my four year old girl, and at the same time I witness my connection to the Baby Girl in my belly.
I wonder what lies ahead for Tikva, body and spirit.
I wonder what lies ahead for my own body and spirit.
I hear the sweet sadness in David's voice behind the camera.
He's right... This is it. This is where we're at.
My prayer right now is that one day when she's old enough, Tikva will read all that I've written in my blog.
That she will have a story - her story - to read and understand her beginning, and her family, a little better.
I've always looked forward to sharing all that I've written during my life with my children.
My prayer is that what I write here will be a gift I can one day give to Dahlia and to Tikva.
I hope that one day they will sit on a couch together and read it all and feel my love within my words.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Drained
23 weeks pregnant, which means Tikva has been growing inside me for 21 weeks - 5 months.
Here is a part of what it said at BabyCenter about her development:
"Your baby is more than 11 inches long and weighs just over a pound (about as much as a large mango). She may be able to feel your movements now, so put on some tunes and dance around the house. Blood vessels in your baby's lungs are developing to prepare her for breathing, but complete lung development will take many more months. The lungs are the last organ to fully develop."
The lungs... the ever important lungs.
I never really thought about Dahlia's lungs when she was just the Bean inside me.
I knew that it was important for her to be born after 36 weeks, so that the lungs would be developed enough to sustain her outside of me.
But I didn't give it much thought beyond that.
Now it's the most important thing for Tikva, more important than whether her organs will be able to be put back in the right place once she is born, which sounds easy compared to everything else that is ahead for her.
Whether her one developing lung will be developed enough that she will be successfully stabilized post-birth, so that she can get help from machines for her lungs...
Whether her brain or other organs will suffer in any way, and what that might look like in the future...
Whether she'll need in-utero surgery to help encourage the development of her lung pre-birth...
How long she will need to be stabilized by machines - if she can - before she'll be able to breathe on her own...
And how long it will take for her second lung to catch up - possibly years...
I've been doing an amazing job staying positive, holding it together, getting through this one step at a time.
AND... those fears do come up, and when they do I need to name them and acknowledge that they are there.
Take away their power so they don't consume me.
All the while holding hope and trust and optimism.
I feel like I am juggling so many balls right now, and I'm exhausted.
A lot of people here in Israel want to see us before we go, and I feel overextended.
It's an unavoidable part of leaving any place... I feel like we just did this.
When we get to the Bay Area, I just want to sleep for about 4 days.
But right away when we return, we have so much to do...
File our 2007 taxes so we can get Dahlia (and possibly Dave and possibly me) on MediCal/Healthy Families.
Go to the MediCal office to talk to a real person, NOT over Skype.
Visit a possible temporary preschool for Dahlia in Marin, and contact some others in San Francisco for afterwards.
Get cell phones.
I'm just looking forward to being able to make a morning-in-SF call in the morning, rather than at 11pm Israel time when the last thing I need is to be filling my brain with more thoughts and worries.
Dahlia is still fighting whatever virus she's had for the last 3 days.
And now Dave has a chest cold.
Making him toast with jam this morning, I dropped the jar of strawberry jam as I was reaching to put it back in the refrigerator.
Crash... jam and glass all over the kitchen floor.
As I was taking deep breaths and cleaning it up, I thought to myself, "I am ready to leave Jerusalem."
This has been a really hard 7.5 months for me... I can't really say it any other way.
I came here with colitis, and spent my first 3 months on prednisone to clear it.
I said that I was going to leave my colitis in Israel, and I am happy to say that I am.
But even though it worked, those three months on prednisone while I was trying to adjust to this new life away from my community and family... well, they were not the best three months for any of us.
Then I got into a little groove.
All the efforts I had made to make the best of things and get comfortable here were starting to pay off.
I was feeling okay here, even enjoying the few things that were keeping me busy: shopping trips for good food at the shuk; working on my psychology class for pre-nursing; visiting Marcelle at the nursing home on Thursdays; connecting with a few kindred friends I've made here; enjoying my Dad's visit when he came in October; loving seeing Dahlia start to learn Hebrew and get comfortable here and make friends at her gan.
Taking long walks around the city without even a hint of colitis to hold me back.
Our trip to Petra and Sinai during Sukkot.
Being pregnant.
Then these weird blisters appeared on my back at Thanksgiving, and I was knocked down with shingles for over a month.
In Jerusalem, away from the familiar, I found the doctors and alternative practitioners I needed for the shingles and my pregnancy.
And I spent almost a month on the couch, watching the entire series of Twin Peaks on the computer.
I don't know that I've ever experienced physical pain like I did those first 3 weeks of the shingles; nor worse sleep during the painful weeks and then afterwards with the itching.
Such relief when that was over... even if the scars are taking their sweet time to heal completely, and weird patches of psoriasis have appeared where the blisters had been, sometimes itching terribly during those hours in the middle of the night when I wake up and can't get back to sleep.
After that, a few more weeks of calm and normality.
Back into the groove, preparing for Dave's break after his first semester at school.
Really enjoying his parents' visit and our family trip up north, despite a nasty cold that I knew would go away if I just got into bed and slept for a few days.
Knowing that we were now on the downward slope home... more than halfway through our time in Israel, eventually headed towards the homebirth (in a birth tub) of our second child, and our move to Cincinnati, buying our first home, more adventure but in a place where everyone speaks English and they have a Trader Joe's.
Deep breath...
Not so fast - I should know by now to be suspicious when I am able to make too many long-term plans.
When I was able to picture the paint colors of our Cincinnati home.
All of our belongings are in Cincinnati - except the 6 suitcases we brought here - and we are going to leave it all there.
Because that is still our destination, where David will continue his rabbinical program.
But now we can't know just when we'll get there.
It could be 6 months, it could be a year, it could be 18 months.
If it takes that long, it will be because Tikva is doing well, and needs to be in one stable place close to UCSF in order to keep being well.
I am praying that we are in SF that long, for just that reason.
And because I really do love the Bay Area.
There, I admit it - I am relieved to be coming back home.
After such a hard year here - there, I've admitted that too - I am ready to return to the familiar, to the holding of family and community, to what I know.
Especially for this time that is going to be hard enough.
That's what I've felt a lot here in Jerusalem - that if something is going to be hard, it's made even harder to go through it away from almost all of my support.
David has been an amazing partner - all of these challenges continue to bring us deeper with and closer to each other.
But it's not fair to fall back on just one person for all your support all of the time.
I am thankful for my friends here in Israel - you know who you are - who have helped hold me.
And I am deeply grateful for the open arms that await us when we land back home next week.
Yesterday we went to the Kotel one more time.
I put a prayer in the Wall, and the prayers of three friends as well.
I pressed my big belly against the wall, feeling the cold of the stone on my bare skin, placed my hands just above my belly on the stone, and cried deeply for a long time.
Prayed deeply, specifically, asking for the support and holding that I need.
I released some of the pain I've felt here, because I don't need to take it with me.
I looked in wonder at all the beautiful Jewish women all around me, crowded into the women's section that is about 1/4 the size of the much emptier men's section (I won't even start in about that).
I looked up at the Wall with its huge ancient stones that used to surround the ancient temple.
And I prayed some more and spoke to Tikva, who knew full well where we were and was doing flips in my belly as we approached the Wall.
In a weird way, I am going to miss this fiery, intense, heavy and crazy place.
This place where I was born, and where I thought I would birth my Baby Girl.
I won't miss the construction site across the street, or the view of the cranes in front of the YMCA and King David Hotel.
But I will miss the stillness of Friday afternoon and Saturday, when the entire city grows still for Shabbat.
I won't miss the taxi driver who just got out of his taxi outside my window to make a pee in front of the construction site gate.
But I will miss the sweet and funny cab drivers we've had here: when Dahlia sang dreidl songs and spoke Hebrew with one during Hanukah; when the mac-daddy of smooth brothers (aka a VERY groovy young black man - not a common site in Jerusalem) drove us back from our second ultrasound in the most decked-out Mercedes with curtains on the windows, wearing gold chrome sunglasses and a huge smile when Dave exclaimed in Hebrew, "Nice ride"; when one driver asked us to help solve a problem he was having with a friend of his wife's who was putting the moves on him; when another man driving us home from the hospital spent the entire ride praying and reciting psalms under his breath...
Only in Jerusalem moments are unlike any other, and I will miss them in a weird way.
My belly is really big, much bigger I think than it was at this time with Dahlia.
Tikva continues to kick and wiggle and dance all the time.
She's definitely growing, and it's getting tighter for her in there, especially after I've had a bunch of food.
HUC students in Dave's class have brought us meals non-stop, for lunch and dinner.
Our refrigerator and bellies are full, and we are swimming in the abundance of community that is there to help us through these last few days in Israel.
Dahlia, too, is saying goodbye to her life here, her favorite friends.
I think I am the most sad for her, that she has to leave this little groove she's gotten into after some challenges in the beginning.
That she won't be immersed in Hebrew anymore.
That she is leaving her very special friends here, and the sweetest preschool she's been going to, where they so clearly love her so much.
That she has some challenging times ahead, times that will forever place their imprint on who she is and becomes.
In the same way that the challenges in my own life have formed who I am.
I wouldn't have it any other way as far as my own life goes - I am who I am because of those experiences - but I also wish I could have protected myself from some of those difficult experiences, that certain times could've been easier.
I can only do so much to protect my child, my children.
That is one of the most difficult things to face as a parent.
A rabbi friend here said to us recently, "I never truly knew fear until I had children."
Tikva kicks inside me right now to tell me that it's okay.
That even though it's hard, sad, exhausting, it is right.
That she is ready to do her part if the three of us are ready to do ours.
Okay, Baby Girl, I'll do my part.
I am breathing, allowing myself to fall apart, to be held, to ask for help.
I am here for you, completely, all the way.
I am trusting in your journey, my journey, and our journey together as a family.
And I am praying, and crying, a lot.
Here is a part of what it said at BabyCenter about her development:
"Your baby is more than 11 inches long and weighs just over a pound (about as much as a large mango). She may be able to feel your movements now, so put on some tunes and dance around the house. Blood vessels in your baby's lungs are developing to prepare her for breathing, but complete lung development will take many more months. The lungs are the last organ to fully develop."
The lungs... the ever important lungs.
I never really thought about Dahlia's lungs when she was just the Bean inside me.
I knew that it was important for her to be born after 36 weeks, so that the lungs would be developed enough to sustain her outside of me.
But I didn't give it much thought beyond that.
Now it's the most important thing for Tikva, more important than whether her organs will be able to be put back in the right place once she is born, which sounds easy compared to everything else that is ahead for her.
Whether her one developing lung will be developed enough that she will be successfully stabilized post-birth, so that she can get help from machines for her lungs...
Whether her brain or other organs will suffer in any way, and what that might look like in the future...
Whether she'll need in-utero surgery to help encourage the development of her lung pre-birth...
How long she will need to be stabilized by machines - if she can - before she'll be able to breathe on her own...
And how long it will take for her second lung to catch up - possibly years...
I've been doing an amazing job staying positive, holding it together, getting through this one step at a time.
AND... those fears do come up, and when they do I need to name them and acknowledge that they are there.
Take away their power so they don't consume me.
All the while holding hope and trust and optimism.
I feel like I am juggling so many balls right now, and I'm exhausted.
A lot of people here in Israel want to see us before we go, and I feel overextended.
It's an unavoidable part of leaving any place... I feel like we just did this.
When we get to the Bay Area, I just want to sleep for about 4 days.
But right away when we return, we have so much to do...
File our 2007 taxes so we can get Dahlia (and possibly Dave and possibly me) on MediCal/Healthy Families.
Go to the MediCal office to talk to a real person, NOT over Skype.
Visit a possible temporary preschool for Dahlia in Marin, and contact some others in San Francisco for afterwards.
Get cell phones.
I'm just looking forward to being able to make a morning-in-SF call in the morning, rather than at 11pm Israel time when the last thing I need is to be filling my brain with more thoughts and worries.
Dahlia is still fighting whatever virus she's had for the last 3 days.
And now Dave has a chest cold.
Making him toast with jam this morning, I dropped the jar of strawberry jam as I was reaching to put it back in the refrigerator.
Crash... jam and glass all over the kitchen floor.
As I was taking deep breaths and cleaning it up, I thought to myself, "I am ready to leave Jerusalem."
This has been a really hard 7.5 months for me... I can't really say it any other way.
I came here with colitis, and spent my first 3 months on prednisone to clear it.
I said that I was going to leave my colitis in Israel, and I am happy to say that I am.
But even though it worked, those three months on prednisone while I was trying to adjust to this new life away from my community and family... well, they were not the best three months for any of us.
Then I got into a little groove.
All the efforts I had made to make the best of things and get comfortable here were starting to pay off.
I was feeling okay here, even enjoying the few things that were keeping me busy: shopping trips for good food at the shuk; working on my psychology class for pre-nursing; visiting Marcelle at the nursing home on Thursdays; connecting with a few kindred friends I've made here; enjoying my Dad's visit when he came in October; loving seeing Dahlia start to learn Hebrew and get comfortable here and make friends at her gan.
Taking long walks around the city without even a hint of colitis to hold me back.
Our trip to Petra and Sinai during Sukkot.
Being pregnant.
Then these weird blisters appeared on my back at Thanksgiving, and I was knocked down with shingles for over a month.
In Jerusalem, away from the familiar, I found the doctors and alternative practitioners I needed for the shingles and my pregnancy.
And I spent almost a month on the couch, watching the entire series of Twin Peaks on the computer.
I don't know that I've ever experienced physical pain like I did those first 3 weeks of the shingles; nor worse sleep during the painful weeks and then afterwards with the itching.
Such relief when that was over... even if the scars are taking their sweet time to heal completely, and weird patches of psoriasis have appeared where the blisters had been, sometimes itching terribly during those hours in the middle of the night when I wake up and can't get back to sleep.
After that, a few more weeks of calm and normality.
Back into the groove, preparing for Dave's break after his first semester at school.
Really enjoying his parents' visit and our family trip up north, despite a nasty cold that I knew would go away if I just got into bed and slept for a few days.
Knowing that we were now on the downward slope home... more than halfway through our time in Israel, eventually headed towards the homebirth (in a birth tub) of our second child, and our move to Cincinnati, buying our first home, more adventure but in a place where everyone speaks English and they have a Trader Joe's.
Deep breath...
Not so fast - I should know by now to be suspicious when I am able to make too many long-term plans.
When I was able to picture the paint colors of our Cincinnati home.
All of our belongings are in Cincinnati - except the 6 suitcases we brought here - and we are going to leave it all there.
Because that is still our destination, where David will continue his rabbinical program.
But now we can't know just when we'll get there.
It could be 6 months, it could be a year, it could be 18 months.
If it takes that long, it will be because Tikva is doing well, and needs to be in one stable place close to UCSF in order to keep being well.
I am praying that we are in SF that long, for just that reason.
And because I really do love the Bay Area.
There, I admit it - I am relieved to be coming back home.
After such a hard year here - there, I've admitted that too - I am ready to return to the familiar, to the holding of family and community, to what I know.
Especially for this time that is going to be hard enough.
That's what I've felt a lot here in Jerusalem - that if something is going to be hard, it's made even harder to go through it away from almost all of my support.
David has been an amazing partner - all of these challenges continue to bring us deeper with and closer to each other.
But it's not fair to fall back on just one person for all your support all of the time.
I am thankful for my friends here in Israel - you know who you are - who have helped hold me.
And I am deeply grateful for the open arms that await us when we land back home next week.
Yesterday we went to the Kotel one more time.
I put a prayer in the Wall, and the prayers of three friends as well.
I pressed my big belly against the wall, feeling the cold of the stone on my bare skin, placed my hands just above my belly on the stone, and cried deeply for a long time.
Prayed deeply, specifically, asking for the support and holding that I need.
I released some of the pain I've felt here, because I don't need to take it with me.
I looked in wonder at all the beautiful Jewish women all around me, crowded into the women's section that is about 1/4 the size of the much emptier men's section (I won't even start in about that).
I looked up at the Wall with its huge ancient stones that used to surround the ancient temple.
And I prayed some more and spoke to Tikva, who knew full well where we were and was doing flips in my belly as we approached the Wall.
In a weird way, I am going to miss this fiery, intense, heavy and crazy place.
This place where I was born, and where I thought I would birth my Baby Girl.
I won't miss the construction site across the street, or the view of the cranes in front of the YMCA and King David Hotel.
But I will miss the stillness of Friday afternoon and Saturday, when the entire city grows still for Shabbat.
I won't miss the taxi driver who just got out of his taxi outside my window to make a pee in front of the construction site gate.
But I will miss the sweet and funny cab drivers we've had here: when Dahlia sang dreidl songs and spoke Hebrew with one during Hanukah; when the mac-daddy of smooth brothers (aka a VERY groovy young black man - not a common site in Jerusalem) drove us back from our second ultrasound in the most decked-out Mercedes with curtains on the windows, wearing gold chrome sunglasses and a huge smile when Dave exclaimed in Hebrew, "Nice ride"; when one driver asked us to help solve a problem he was having with a friend of his wife's who was putting the moves on him; when another man driving us home from the hospital spent the entire ride praying and reciting psalms under his breath...
Only in Jerusalem moments are unlike any other, and I will miss them in a weird way.
My belly is really big, much bigger I think than it was at this time with Dahlia.
Tikva continues to kick and wiggle and dance all the time.
She's definitely growing, and it's getting tighter for her in there, especially after I've had a bunch of food.
HUC students in Dave's class have brought us meals non-stop, for lunch and dinner.
Our refrigerator and bellies are full, and we are swimming in the abundance of community that is there to help us through these last few days in Israel.
Dahlia, too, is saying goodbye to her life here, her favorite friends.
I think I am the most sad for her, that she has to leave this little groove she's gotten into after some challenges in the beginning.
That she won't be immersed in Hebrew anymore.
That she is leaving her very special friends here, and the sweetest preschool she's been going to, where they so clearly love her so much.
That she has some challenging times ahead, times that will forever place their imprint on who she is and becomes.
In the same way that the challenges in my own life have formed who I am.
I wouldn't have it any other way as far as my own life goes - I am who I am because of those experiences - but I also wish I could have protected myself from some of those difficult experiences, that certain times could've been easier.
I can only do so much to protect my child, my children.
That is one of the most difficult things to face as a parent.
A rabbi friend here said to us recently, "I never truly knew fear until I had children."
Tikva kicks inside me right now to tell me that it's okay.
That even though it's hard, sad, exhausting, it is right.
That she is ready to do her part if the three of us are ready to do ours.
Okay, Baby Girl, I'll do my part.
I am breathing, allowing myself to fall apart, to be held, to ask for help.
I am here for you, completely, all the way.
I am trusting in your journey, my journey, and our journey together as a family.
And I am praying, and crying, a lot.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Good News About the Amnio
We got a call early this morning about the quick results from the amnio.
IT IS GOOD NEWS!
They tested chromosomes 13, 18, 21, and the sex chromosomes - the critical ones to rule out really big stuff like Down syndrome - and everything related to these came out clear.
The right number of chromosomes are there as they should be.
Now they will check all 46 chromosomes to make sure there are the right number and that they are structurally as they should be.
We should have those results in about 2.5 weeks.
It was a wonderful call to receive this morning.
We need some good news right now.
Dahlia stayed home from school today with a fever - her little body is fighting something, so she's been sleeping on and off all day.
We took advantage of the at-home time and packed more suitcases... 4 out of 6 packed so far.
And we cleared out and threw away a lot of clutter... even in 7 months we've accumulated clutter.
Please keep the prayers coming and the good thoughts rolling.
And a quick healing for Dahlia, so she can get back to the business of having playdates with her Israel friends.
IT IS GOOD NEWS!
They tested chromosomes 13, 18, 21, and the sex chromosomes - the critical ones to rule out really big stuff like Down syndrome - and everything related to these came out clear.
The right number of chromosomes are there as they should be.
Now they will check all 46 chromosomes to make sure there are the right number and that they are structurally as they should be.
We should have those results in about 2.5 weeks.
It was a wonderful call to receive this morning.
We need some good news right now.
Dahlia stayed home from school today with a fever - her little body is fighting something, so she's been sleeping on and off all day.
We took advantage of the at-home time and packed more suitcases... 4 out of 6 packed so far.
And we cleared out and threw away a lot of clutter... even in 7 months we've accumulated clutter.
Please keep the prayers coming and the good thoughts rolling.
And a quick healing for Dahlia, so she can get back to the business of having playdates with her Israel friends.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Guest House
From The Essential Rumi, translation by Coleman Barks This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep away your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.
(Thanks Ellen)
Two Weeks in the Life
It's been two weeks since we had the first ultrasound.
In two weeks, a life completely transformed.
No matter how this unfolds, we are forever changed.
This is the stuff that builds the story of one's life, that forms and defines who you are.
This is a chance to show life - to show ourselves, our families and community, our baby girl - what we're made of.
To step even more fully into ourselves.
With the help of some friends, one suitcase is packed, two more are half packed.
A bunch of cupboards and shelves in our apartment are emptied.
Beautiful meals have been brought for lunch and dinner by our HUC friends, and will continue to flow in until we leave.
Baby and I and Daddy and Big Sister are well nourished.
A group of HUC friends will help get our apartment clean right before we leave.
Others are helping with last minute small details.
Yesterday at the end of tefillah morning services, David and I stood up in front of everyone and he told them what is ahead for us.
Some people already knew, but most didn't.
Tears began welling up in people's eyes, and in our own.
We asked for prayers, for positive thoughts, for faith, and Dave asked them to fully relish every day of their lives, the opportunity to be learning and pursuing the paths they are on.
We got a lot of amazing hugs and love and blessings afterwards.
Yesterday was an emotional day, and afterwards we treated ourselves to haircuts - something that is much cheaper in Israel than in SF.
It felt good to walk and do something nice for ourselves.
I was drained by evening, and fell asleep like a log until Dahlia came into our room around 4am after she woke up from a bad dream about dragons.
For a while I lay awake just looking at her sleeping face in between us.
She's so unbelievably beautiful, like a doll.
My big brave girl who is also being called on to show what she's made of - which is some pretty amazing moxie and vitality, and a huge amount of compassion and love.
I had the amnio on Sunday, and that took a lot out of me emotionally and physically.
There is something that happens in the body when it goes through something that brings up fear.
Something like shock, or PTSD, on a smaller scale.
For the first time that morning before the amnio, I felt fear for myself.
Fear at having a large needle put into my belly, that visceral part of the body that feels so vulnerable.
Fear about my body going through yet another challenging thing; fear that can sometimes trigger some old body stuff.
My friend Alesia suggested something that helped: that allowing myself to fear something concrete and finite like the amnio was helpful amid the larger, more abstract fear of so many unknowns ahead.
So I closed my eyes and breathed as my heart raced and thumped in my chest until it was over, fortunately pretty quickly.
Dr. Yagel, who did our second ultrasound so he knew us, was very gentle, steady, calm and reassuring.
I continue to hold only optimism.
When my mind wanders to worrying - about things like when will my emergency MediCal come through and what will I do for insurance after it expires; like what the results of the amnio will be - I take a deep breath and bring myself back to the present, to a positive place.
I put my hand on my belly and feel Tikva kicking inside.
I swear she can read my mind, because I will be worrying, and she'll elbow me or punch her little hand outwards, telling me to knock it off.
Or when I am thinking beautiful things about her, with images in my mind of her dancing with her big sister, she'll wiggle around as if she is already dancing.
I don't want to hear negativity.
I cannot hold people's fears.
At HUC, one student asked me yesterday, "So, are you totally freaking out?!"
I blew it off and said not at all, that we're way past that stage now; that's his stuff projected outwards, and it's not about me, and it's not for me to work out for him.
I don't want to hear "what ifs?" and possibilities for the worst outcomes.
I'm not existing there, and that is not naive or idealistic.
I'm in the right here and right now, one moment and step at a time.
We're facing each challenge as it comes, in its time, guided by our hearts, our intuitive centers, and assisted by our minds.
I've often imagined my mind as a board room, with all the voices in my head as the members of the board.
It can get chaotic in there, especially when it feels like no one is in charge to facilitate the meeting.
When it gets too much, that's when I need to shut the meeting down completely.
Go down to the cafeteria that is my gut, get a snack, and listen to that quiet still voice of intuition.
My mind cannot lead the way, but it can serve as my loyal assistant, there to help me implement the choices and decisions I make.
The head of the board, of the organization that is Gal, is my intuition and my heart - co-directors.
They have never led me astray in 36 years, and they won't now.
But I have to keep listening to them, trusting them.
On February 13th we'll be on a plane home to San Francisco.
By Valentine's Day we'll be back in the place where I left a big chunk of my heart.
I wrote sometime many months ago that it took me about 3-4 months to feel as though I'd fully landed in Jerusalem.
Now I wonder if I ever did fully land, because when I picture myself landing with both of my feet, I see myself doing so in California.
When I close my eyes and picture myself hugging my sister, my father, all of our family and amazing friends, the image that comes to mind is of me falling backwards - completely trusting and held - into a bouncy bed of soft white feathers.
Aaahhh...
In two weeks, a life completely transformed.
No matter how this unfolds, we are forever changed.
This is the stuff that builds the story of one's life, that forms and defines who you are.
This is a chance to show life - to show ourselves, our families and community, our baby girl - what we're made of.
To step even more fully into ourselves.
With the help of some friends, one suitcase is packed, two more are half packed.
A bunch of cupboards and shelves in our apartment are emptied.
Beautiful meals have been brought for lunch and dinner by our HUC friends, and will continue to flow in until we leave.
Baby and I and Daddy and Big Sister are well nourished.
A group of HUC friends will help get our apartment clean right before we leave.
Others are helping with last minute small details.
Yesterday at the end of tefillah morning services, David and I stood up in front of everyone and he told them what is ahead for us.
Some people already knew, but most didn't.
Tears began welling up in people's eyes, and in our own.
We asked for prayers, for positive thoughts, for faith, and Dave asked them to fully relish every day of their lives, the opportunity to be learning and pursuing the paths they are on.
We got a lot of amazing hugs and love and blessings afterwards.
Yesterday was an emotional day, and afterwards we treated ourselves to haircuts - something that is much cheaper in Israel than in SF.
It felt good to walk and do something nice for ourselves.
I was drained by evening, and fell asleep like a log until Dahlia came into our room around 4am after she woke up from a bad dream about dragons.
For a while I lay awake just looking at her sleeping face in between us.
She's so unbelievably beautiful, like a doll.
My big brave girl who is also being called on to show what she's made of - which is some pretty amazing moxie and vitality, and a huge amount of compassion and love.
I had the amnio on Sunday, and that took a lot out of me emotionally and physically.
There is something that happens in the body when it goes through something that brings up fear.
Something like shock, or PTSD, on a smaller scale.
For the first time that morning before the amnio, I felt fear for myself.
Fear at having a large needle put into my belly, that visceral part of the body that feels so vulnerable.
Fear about my body going through yet another challenging thing; fear that can sometimes trigger some old body stuff.
My friend Alesia suggested something that helped: that allowing myself to fear something concrete and finite like the amnio was helpful amid the larger, more abstract fear of so many unknowns ahead.
So I closed my eyes and breathed as my heart raced and thumped in my chest until it was over, fortunately pretty quickly.
Dr. Yagel, who did our second ultrasound so he knew us, was very gentle, steady, calm and reassuring.
I continue to hold only optimism.
When my mind wanders to worrying - about things like when will my emergency MediCal come through and what will I do for insurance after it expires; like what the results of the amnio will be - I take a deep breath and bring myself back to the present, to a positive place.
I put my hand on my belly and feel Tikva kicking inside.
I swear she can read my mind, because I will be worrying, and she'll elbow me or punch her little hand outwards, telling me to knock it off.
Or when I am thinking beautiful things about her, with images in my mind of her dancing with her big sister, she'll wiggle around as if she is already dancing.
I don't want to hear negativity.
I cannot hold people's fears.
At HUC, one student asked me yesterday, "So, are you totally freaking out?!"
I blew it off and said not at all, that we're way past that stage now; that's his stuff projected outwards, and it's not about me, and it's not for me to work out for him.
I don't want to hear "what ifs?" and possibilities for the worst outcomes.
I'm not existing there, and that is not naive or idealistic.
I'm in the right here and right now, one moment and step at a time.
We're facing each challenge as it comes, in its time, guided by our hearts, our intuitive centers, and assisted by our minds.
I've often imagined my mind as a board room, with all the voices in my head as the members of the board.
It can get chaotic in there, especially when it feels like no one is in charge to facilitate the meeting.
When it gets too much, that's when I need to shut the meeting down completely.
Go down to the cafeteria that is my gut, get a snack, and listen to that quiet still voice of intuition.
My mind cannot lead the way, but it can serve as my loyal assistant, there to help me implement the choices and decisions I make.
The head of the board, of the organization that is Gal, is my intuition and my heart - co-directors.
They have never led me astray in 36 years, and they won't now.
But I have to keep listening to them, trusting them.
On February 13th we'll be on a plane home to San Francisco.
By Valentine's Day we'll be back in the place where I left a big chunk of my heart.
I wrote sometime many months ago that it took me about 3-4 months to feel as though I'd fully landed in Jerusalem.
Now I wonder if I ever did fully land, because when I picture myself landing with both of my feet, I see myself doing so in California.
When I close my eyes and picture myself hugging my sister, my father, all of our family and amazing friends, the image that comes to mind is of me falling backwards - completely trusting and held - into a bouncy bed of soft white feathers.
Aaahhh...
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Prayer
PRAY IS IF EVERYTHING DEPENDS ON GOD.ACT AS IF EVERYTHING DEPENDS ON YOU.
This was in the prayerbook at Shabbat services last night, and when I read it I just stared at it for several minutes.
It feels like my motto right now - trusting that we are held, and working with all my might to do all I can.
There are so many people praying for us, for Tikva, right now.
It feels amazing and so deeply powerful.
People we know, people we don't know.
People of all faiths.
Friends of friends of friends of friends.
It means so much to us.
Prayer is so powerful.
Tomorrow I am having an amniocentesis to get a genetic/chromosomal picture and make sure that nothing else is going on with Tikva.
I am praying that it comes out clear, so that the CDH is all we are facing.
We should know by the end of the week.
It's unlikely that there are other things going on, but it's always a possibility.
According to the ultrasounds, the heart, the brain, the facial features, the length of the limbs - things that can reveal other issues - everything else looks good.
Amazing angels are coming through for us with so much help.
I am staying positive, trusting in the many miracles that keep coming our way, trusting that we are on the right path and that we are held.
Please keep praying for us, and stay positive.
French Toast
I told Dave last night that my goal is to make French toast for breakfast every Saturday or Sunday for the rest of my life, or at least for the remainder of my pregnancy."Now that's a goal you can accomplish," he replied.
I make really good French toast - even Dahlia told me that this morning - with challah, yogurt, eggs, milk, cinnamon and cooked up in butter and dipped in maple syrup.
It's truly soul food, and it makes me feel good on a very deep level.
Tikva seems to love it too.
It's something I need right now - that kind of comfort that sometimes comes from good food made with love.
When she told me, "You make good toast, Mommy," I replied to Dahlia, "That's because I make it with love."
Dave went to services this morning, so Dahlia and I had a girl morning, ate our "toast" together and acted silly listening to Beatles songs.
We need that right now, to keep things light and truly relish each other.
Dahlia has made it very clear that she is BIG now that she is FOUR.
I honor that, knowing that she will soon be called on to really step up as the big sister, a real member of our family.
Dave and I have wondered many times if we waited too long to have another child, if the age difference would be too big between them.
Now, though, it makes sense.
Tikva's big sister needs to be a big girl.
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