Israel Journal: Week the Second

Just a quick post.  Am trying to care for my two little toddler grandkids like a parent: feeding, changing diapers, bathing two in the tub simutaneously and running after them to diaper them and pajama-them for bed.  In between I read them a story.  Today I took my first long walk with two in a stroller built for one, up and down the hills (there is no level area where we live.  Just hills.) to the shopping 'center,' basically a little strip-mall type thing with several stores including a small supermarket, some small clothing, toy and 'kol bo' store ('kol bo' means 'everything in it,' like a very small department store), a bakery and a small pizza place.  Oh and also a money-changing place, which I entered, having used almost all my shekels.

In between all that I try to help my daughter by waiting on her and giving her what she needs.  My son is the one who lifts her from the sofa to the wheelchair when she needs to use the bathroom, or needs to move back to the bed in the 3rd bedroom, which is really supposed to be my son's office.  I don't think I have the strength to lift her; at least, my kids don't think I do.

Today, after the kids' bath, my little granddaughter, 11/2 years old, ran naked from the bathroom into the living room, grabbed my daughter's reacher (a long handled grabbing tool for reaching into high cabinets or top shelves), and smacked her aunt in the leg--her right leg, which was developing RSD like the left one, which was the one hit by the car and the initial recipient of the RSD.  My daughter went into a flare-up.  My son was with her, helping her; I wasn't even aware that this had happened, having been in the bedroom getting her nephew ready for bed.  Her terrific, patient brother was with her, helping her by making jokes and putting on a favorite piece of music for her to distract her during the episode.  I was oblivious to the whole thing, being in the bedroom dressing the kids in pj's and reading them a story.

So I was the cause of this last flare-up, by not having watched the little one closely enough and not keeping her in the bedroom, away from her ill aunt.

Israel Journal: Day the Fifth - Eighth

Blogging daily, or even every two or three days will probably not be a possibility for me.   So far, although it might change,  my day looks like this:  I get up in the morning, sometimes early—around 5:30-6:30 a.m., because my window down in the basement mamad* room doesn’t have a curtain yet (there is one in a plastic bag, but the people whose house guest I am have not put it up yet).  I have two bath towels hanging over the window, which swings in towards the room to open, for a little privacy and sun-blockage.  The morning sun streams into the room at 0500 hours or so, basically forcing me to wake up even if I don’t want to, as I didn’t today.  Last night I stayed up till 1:00 a.m. Skyping with my D. H. and some friends, one of whom I thought was in Israel, but was in the States.  Suffice it to say, I shouldn’t have. Stayed up, that is.  I wanted to sleep this morning, so when Mr. Shemesh* woke me up at the unearthly hour of 5:30, I staggered out of bed and rummaged through my luggage to find the eye covers that El Al so kindly distributed on a previous trip several years ago.  Back in bed with my eyes covered, I was able to snooze another couple of hours.  Until 8-something, actually.  So today, I’m late.

Talk about going off on a tangent.  So I get up, stagger upstairs to get my morning cup o’ Joe (or is it ‘Jo?’), stagger downstairs to drink it while seeing if anyone is online, meaning my family—usually they’re not, having to actually WORK HARD at their day.  My son has to help his sister get off the bed to the bathroom.  She can’t use her crutches anymore as her right leg won’t support her, is beginning to hurt and feel the RSD, which seems to be spreading to that leg.  He then helps her get to the living room couch, where he sets up her backrest and pillows, especially the one with the soft flannel fabric which is the only thing she can tolerate, under her left leg.  Then he takes care of his two little toddlers, a two-and-a-half year old and a one-and-a-half year old, two rambunctious, adorable, incredible little kids—my grandkids—a veritable handful!

Meanwhile, I am trying to get ready at my host’s house, showering and getting dressed and packing a backpack with everything I’ll need to begin walking towards my son’s place.  I can’t walk it—it’s 2.5 kilometers away, up and down serious hills.  Mainly UP.  So I start walking, a thousand-year-old woman with problem legs (betja didn't know I was that old, eh?), with my water bottle hanging from my shoulder and a heavy backpack, complete with laptop bag attached (this is a great pack, acquired by my D.H. some years back at an electronics business convention somewhere) on my back, looking back the way I came for a “tremp” – how they say a ‘lift’ or a ‘ride’  here- trudging along until a car comes my way.  And I hitch a tremp to the next neighborhood, which is my son’s.

At his place I help with the kids, wash dishes, and stay with my daughter and keep her company, and help her maneuver to the bathroom, as long as I don’t have to lift her.  I bring her coffee and food, and whatever she wants—I attend to her needs.  I make calls: to her doctors, setting up appointments, speaking to social workers, asking for prescriptions, etc.  Yesterday I drove to the local shopping center and bought them groceries.  Depending upon how tired I may be, I get the kids ready for bed; once I bathed them, although it’s hard on my back and knees.  I may help in putting them in bed, and I sing them to sleep. 

On Sunday, my daughter had what is called a “flare-up.”  That is when she suddenly gets a terrific ‘attack’ of acute pain in her leg and elsewhere, over and above her regular, chronic, constant pain, which could last for minutes, which seem like hours. And there is nothing anyone can do about it.  We have to stay with her—not touching the leg—I can rub her upper back, perhaps, while talking her through the torture—because that is what it is: you are watching your daughter being tortured—by telling her to “breathe, inhale for a count of three, exhale from your mouth for a count of four,” or try to remember my LaMaze breathing at the worse contraction in labor: panting and blowing.  All while feeling helpless to do anything, while your daughter cries and contorts her face and shakes and her toes curl in in terrible muscle spasms.  Because RSD pain is higher on the McGill Pain Scale than labor pain.  There is nothing like it.

My son is an angel.  He is calm and controlled when these flare-ups happen.  He talks softly to her, with love, and tells her she will get through it, and puts a cold compress on her forehead.  I have been blessed with these incredible children who care so much about each other—all of them.

So, I don’t have time to blog, but I did want to post this to keep you informed, and I will try to post from time to time.  Today I am already late in starting out to my son’s, so I will stop here.   Post when I can…

Israel Journal: Day the First

My co-teacher actually triggered this idea for me, by giving me a "going-away" present on my next-to-last day of teaching, before I left for Israel. She gave me a feather-pendant necklace, which (according to its accompanying card) symbolized 'angel's wings or a bird in flight, for good luck. Together with that and a heartfelt personal card, were three thin little booklets to use as a "journal." 

I had thought about writing on this trip, but but it was just a thought-I didn’t think it through. After she gave me the gift, I told her that I had thought about writing, but not in such an antiquated format—my worsening arthritis which has made my thumbs not-so-opposable is making longhand writing a bit difficult.  My writing is now done on the PC, or on my friend’s Netbook (a friend was kind enough to lend me hers), as I don’t own a laptop…yet—it’s on my personal “wish list.”

I had intended to begin writing of this special, emergency trip to help my daughter, while on the flight over here, and I even made a serious attempt: I removed the Netbook from my laptop bag, which in itself was a pain, because I was packed to the gills with no stone unturned, no corner unstuffed, and no space unfilled.  I’m now absolutely certain that I brought too many Shabbat outfits.  But my thinking was, at the time, I’m going to be here for two entire months.  I have to bring my entire closet in only two bags and a carry on—an impossible task.  So after twisting and turning (I hate those narrow airplane seats), my leg muscles and back cramping from the effort, I extricated my Netbook, set up the tray table, and began to write.  And promptly fell asleep (apparently, I bore myself).

My intentions were so good. I had planned to opine about the flight itself, the hours of sitting, strapped in one place with problem legs & the constant need to stretch, and then the part of the journey which planted me in New York at JFK, schlepping a big carry-on bag (big. I do things BIG), a laptop case which in addition to the Netbook, was stuffed with STUFF, including a new NOOK E-reader, a portfolio with notes and numbers on my daughter’s condition, a camera, lots of tissues and high-blood pressure medication.  It was a royal pain to remove that Netbook, and after jerking myself awake several times, I finally gave up, and stuffed it back into the case.  With my extreme fatigue and crowded conditions, taking out that Netbook was just not worth the effort.

And I so wanted to write about the surreal feeling up being in flight, seemingly motionless while traveling at 500+ miles per hour.  Or was that kilometers…the thrill of watching the live map of our route, first circling north over Nova Scotia, and beginning the long traverse over the Atlantic Ocean.  I wanted to express the thrill I felt as we finally saw a land mass (although we flew over several island systems in th Atlantic before reaching Europe).  Flying over Marseilles. The thrill of flying over the boot of Italy knowing that we are over the Mediterranean, and very close. I was counting down the hours: from Marseilles or London, about 4 hours left to this interminable flight—about the same as from my neck of the woods in the Mountain States to New York’s JFK airport. And then, finally, a slightly bumpy landing at Ben Gurion Airport.  In the cabin, everyone applauded the pilots—still and only the only airline as far as I’m aware, where the passengers react this way, just because it’s Israel.

I am writing this motzei Shabbat (Saturday night), after my first Shabbat in Israel in over three years—at my son’s home in a beautiful yishuv south of Jerusalem. It was like old times, when all the kids were home, and the family was together: eating together the Shabbat festive meals, singing zemirot* and harmonizing, as we used to do. It was like a dream.  And my grandchildren? My grandchildren! Unbelievable! Smart, adorable, beautiful, rambunctious.  Why had I never visited since they were born? How could I not have?!

Enough for now, it’s one a.m.  Sunday (today, already) we will have to make some informed and hard decisions about my daughter’s forthcoming treatment.  We have our work ahead of us; the trip has only just begun.

Video Medley: Being Jewish, Connecting with the Divine, and the Mitzvah to be Happy

I found some meaningful videos that I think express some of my thoughts and feelings about Jewishness, spirituality, and the importance of happiness--the latter of which is extremely relevant to my family at this difficult time for us.  We should watch this, and catch the beat!  (and the achdut, too!)  


My daughter has created a  RSD/CRPS Awareness page on Facebook, here.  Please LIKE it, and send it to all your friends.  Maybe, with more awareness leading to research, we can stop this debilitating disease.

And now, on to the videos!

On Being Jewish:





Judaism: Connecting the Physical with the Divine:





It's a Mitzvah to be HAPPY!



*(hat tip to the Azooooolai family for the Ya'alili video--thanks, guys!)

Chronic Pain: A Video

I saw this video posted on my daughter's Facebook page, and went to the link.  It explains a little about what chronic pain is and does to a person. 

You should also read her latest post.  Her blog, My Personal Battle with RSD,  is linked in my sidebar, but this latest post of hers is so important, I am linking it again right here: What It's Like to Live With RSD.

The One-State Solution: Best Idea Yet

I need to take a break from worrying myself sick and stressing out over my daughter's illness, and I did just that a short while ago--for approximately 3.29 minutes.  I actually laughed.

So I am now digressing from my thinking about, consulting on and researching RSD/CRPS to help my beloved daughter combat this disease, to share with you a new, absolutely brilliant idea about solving the troubles of my beloved country, Israel.

Andrew Klavan,* I shoulda thought of this myself.  Darn.



*Here is his website.