That Day and the Emotional Aftermath.
On Wednesday the 14th (an inauspicious day in my family), my husband and I woke up too early (not really, I slept through the first alarm at 5:30am) and snuck out to drive to Assuta in Tel Aviv by 7am. No one was awake in our house, not my husband's brother, not the baby, not the boys. My sister-in-law had also slept over so she could get a ride into TLV, but she was very quiet as well. What was there really to say?
We drove in, throwing small talk occasionally at each other, but mainly, I was nervous and quiet. I didn't really know what to expect physically or mentally. I won't go into too much detail, but the nurses and doctors at Assuta were extremely professional and kind (thank goodness). I got a lovely ventilated gown to wear during my stay, two stylish bracelets, and autographed several documents stating that I was aware of the risks and complications that could occur - standard run of the mill stuff, like a punctured uterus or retained placenta. I was nervous as hell and took prayers from whomever and wherever.
My first two births (my crazy boys) were drug-free but induced since I was on blood thinners and the doctors and midwives were nervous. In both the States and Israel, I took a half a cytotec pill orally and my body, apparently knowing what it was doing, simply took over. My third baby (Lil' Lilush) was all drug-free, no cytotec or anything. This fourth baby required a little more.
While sitting with the doctor discussing risks, he gave me FOUR cytotec pills, two to take sublingually (under my tongue) and two... elsewhere. I remember thinking it was overkill - what a terrible choice of words. But there's nothing "choice" about this "procedure." The most random thoughts go through your head when you're laying there, waiting for the pills to kick in, freezing, teeth chattering due to incoming wacky hormones and air conditioning, counting down the sixty minutes before they take you in.
And then they do.
They wheel you in through a set of double doors that requires one scanned card and then another. The doors in front of you don't open until the set behind you closes. I think, how odd it is that they have safari doors - what, they're afraid of crazed, pregnant women breaking out of the department, gowns flapping in the wind as they wave their hands in the air... Like I said, random thoughts.
My husband walks with me as far as he can go, grips my hand, tells me he loves me, and then I'm alone and it's freezing in the interior hallway. The hormones have jacked everything up and it feels like I've been here forever, but it's only been an hour since I took the pills. The kind nurse asks me again what my ID number is, and I crack and almost cry as I repeat it to her. It's too late to change my mind and I can't anyway - there's no point.
I'm asked to walk into the OR on my own accord and I do, chattering the whole way. The nurse gets me not one, but two heated blankets, one for beneath, one for above (it helps a little) and they prep me, give me a quick IV with antibiotics and an anesthetic and say, lilah tov.
...
And that's it. I wake up in recovery, empty. I sleep and sleep some more until they finally let my husband in. I sleep more and they wheel me back into my original room. I have to lay in bed for a total of two hours and ding them when I need to use the bathroom (kinda like after you give birth). So I lay there.
I don't remember what I spoke to my husband about except that I was hungry. We headed to Ra'anana and my in-laws suggested eating at this great place called Sara's Place. I wasn't really in the mood, but we went and I'm glad we did. With all my remaining energy, we ordered the best hamburgers and we talked. He mentioned that the nurse came in to the waiting area after my procedure and asked who was "Ariel haGibor (Ariel the hero)." Apparently while I was coming out of sedation, that's what I called him. We sat next to each other, we enjoyed our food, we shared photos of the kids, and we enjoyed each other's company thoroughly while trying to move forward from the hellish morning.
I don't really recall much after that. I hadn't realized that lunch took the entire week's energy. I'm pretty sure we went home and I rested. Slept and rested. Slept and rested. Played a bit with the kids as a pick-me-up and then rested more. Rested all of Thursday. On Friday we started studying for my first law exam. On Saturday, my oldest asked me when the baby was going to join us. On Sunday, I took my exam. Monday and Tuesday were "work" days, and Wednesday I studied again. Today (Thursday) was another exam which ended around 3:15pm and in three days, we will try and celebrate "Mama Chana" day (what would have been my mom's 79th birthday). Quite the month.
I haven't had much time to think about everything that happened over the last two weeks; all I've been doing is coughing, studying, and taking tests. Today, the last test for five months, has been the day I've been dreading - wondering if it would be as bad as the week after shiva ended. Truth be told, I'm in a foul mood, I'm sad, and I'm tired. Over the past week there were some days where I couldn't stop crying and there were some days when I was just... tired and disconnected. One guy at work kept asking what was wrong and I just didn't feel like sharing and voicing everything. See, writing is safe. Speaking is not.
It's getting harder and harder to write these articles. It's getting harder and harder to share how I'm feeling. It's getting harder and harder to think of the little baby and feel these things and I so badly just want to tuck them away. And sleep. A lot.
I don't really have a choice though. As a friend said, the sun comes up every morning whether you've coped with the day or not. I guess I'll just do my best, wipe my tears, play with my three little miracles and my husband the hero, and maybe, one day, my sun will come up, shine through the tears on my face and I'll get a rainbow.
Just not today. Maybe tomorrow.
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