Perfect Soul, Imperfect Baby: The Confirmation

Part II: Thursday, August 8

The Confirmation.

Early this morning, without an appointment and under advisement from our ultrasound doctor, we slipped into Dr. Feldman's office (our ob/gyn) to get a consult with him about the results. He's a very reasonable fellow, knowledgeable, speaks English, has a good bedside manner, and very clearly cares about his patients. Out of all the gynecologists in this country, he's my favorite. My husband and I sat down, not expecting good news, and, sadly, he obliged. 

He looked at the ultrasounds, paperwork, and detailed information and was extremely apologetic. When a doctor looks at things, what you want is "unremarkable." That's not what we got. 

He gently gave us advice and choices, sad smiles, and told us that it was likely serious chromosomal defects in the fetus, who would likely not survive even until birth. Quietly, he suggested we should terminate. I already knew the answer, but I asked quietly if it were fixable - maybe I had made a mistake, maybe I had misunderstood the research I had done, but he shook his head and said, no. I started crying again. 

Dr. Feldman said what we could do is get additional information by calling his friend, Dr. Drugan (a genetic specialist) at Hillel Yaffe Hospital in Hadera. Honestly, he said, we could just drive up there and see if he'd see us in person since it's only about 25m away. 

My husband and I looked at each other and immediately drove to Hadera. Parking was a little difficult with all he construction, but then we walked into the beautiful hospital that had huge (fake) birds flying in the expansive foyer. We wandered around until we found Dr. Drugan, and, surprisingly, he accepted us for a quick consult - again without an appointment - when we told him it was urgent. 

He sat us down, looked at the information, and shook his head. He gave us the same information as the other two doctors, that not only was it likely that the fetus wouldn't survive to birth, but also that I could miscarry at any time (which may explain my constant cramping). The specialist told us we had two choices: we could either end the pregnancy immediately with a D&E or we could get a CVS/amnio to see the reason for the chromosomal defects (and then get a D&E). We did have to keep in mind that test results could take up to a week, even expedited, which could then affect what type of procedure I might have to undergo.

Dr. Drugan mentioned this specifically because his hospital, Hillel Yaffe, conducted D&Cs only until thirteen weeks. Rambam Hospital in Haifa performed them until fifteen weeks, but either way, I was past the 13 week mark so I had to decide quickly if I didn't want to be induced and take two days to give birth to my malformed baby.

I couldn't decide about the CVS sitting right there, but the doctor gave us time. My husband and I used it to eat lunch, our first meal of the day since we had been running around. We decided, after great deliberation and reviewing the fact that additional information would not help with future pregnancies, that it'd be best to handle everything sooner rather than later. It was likely just a fluke at my age. We returned to Dr. Drugan, again without an appointment, and told him that we'd like to go ahead with the D&C. 

He immediately took his cell phone out and called his contact at Rambam Hospital, scheduling the procedure for Sunday morning at 10am (they were basically squeezing us in). He also scheduled us to be heard, that very afternoon, by the Committee who grants terminations of pregnancy (he is on the Committee). We ran home, helped our babysitter with clothing and lunch (we had just moved the previous week and she couldn't find clothing) and returned to Hadera in time to be "judged." We filled out paperwork in a broken down little building (I think the Hospital was rebuilding every other building first), met with a highly sympathetic social worker and a very understanding Committee (who must have at least three people: a social worker, a secretary, a genetic specialist, and an internal doctor). Without hesitation, they approved our termination and literally wished us love and good luck in the future.

That's when the trouble began.

Immediately (remember this detail for later) upon leaving the hospital to head back home, we called Maccabi (our health kupa whom we usually love) and told them we need a Tofes 17 – a document that shows the kupa the procedure has been approved and it shows the hospital that the cost of the procedure will be covered, in this case, a procedure that costs over 4,000 shekel. We informed the kupa the urgency of it and that we would need it by Sunday. They claimed they marked it urgent and we would have it in time, an important fact since the hospital would not go ahead with the procedure without it. 

This day had been filled with running around, meeting with doctors, paperwork, and appointments. It was all mental and logical. But the weekend.... the weekend was all emotional.

All weekend I prepared myself mentally for Sunday morning. On Friday, I spent time with my three kids. On Friday night, I asked my husband to give one last blessing to the baby (and cried through the whole thing). On Saturday, I didn't want to talk to anyone and slept late, and on Saturday night, I rubbed my belly, felt my uterus while lying down, and told the baby it was loved and that I was sorry. 

And while I slept, I dreamt of my baby.

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Perfect Soul, Imperfect Baby: The News

Part I: Tuesday, August 6. 

The News.

It's amazing, nay, MIRACULOUS, how many biological things must line up just right in order to get pregnant. They say that even if you time everything perfectly with ovulation, there's only a 25% chance that the egg will get fertilized. After that, assuming the fertilized egg implants properly in the uterine wall, there is still another 25% chance that the pregnancy won't end successfully and there will be a miscarriage. Again, that does not include any pregnancies with developmental or health issues. So, in essence (assuming my math is correct), there is only an 18.75% chance that you'll have a complete pregnancy and birth a baby from each time that you try to get pregnant. Now, most babies are born healthy. In fact, 96-97 out of every hundred babies are born healthy, but that means three or four of each hundred have some type of birth defect. This further affects numbers, reducing the likelihood from 18.75% to 18% that you have a healthy baby for each time you try to get pregnant – and that's not considering other individual factors like family history, biology, or age.

I have three beautiful children, ages five and a half and younger. My two crazy boys and my crazy little girl. And we want a number four.

I got married relatively late, at thirty-four years old, and so my husband and I started trying for kids only four months married. I always tell couples that if they have the luxury of time, they should most definitely get to know their spouse before starting the baby-making since it's not an easy path to follow. And so far, we've been lucky. We were three for three in the span of five and a half years. Until now.

I haven't had a good feeling about this pregnancy the entire thirteen weeks. I've been more nauseated than usual, cramping more than usual, my skin was more messed up than usual… all relatively minor things, but at about seven weeks, the ultrasound showed the baby disconcertingly small though it did have a heartbeat. We then came back again at nine weeks.

My bad feeling continued. Each time I went to the bathroom, I would expect to see red. I dreamt of it. I was having so many cramps for what I hoped was a regular pregnancy, but I figured I was overthinking things and simply didn't remember all the details of my previous pregnancies. It happens. And at the nine-week ultrasound, everything appeared to be okay so we scheduled the nuchal translucency thirteen-week ultrasound for the morning of August 6 – three days before the anniversary of my mom's death six years ago and five days before Tisha B'Av (the national day of mourning for Jews).

The boys were home with a babysitter, the little one was at Gan, and we came in. The ultrasound doctor first completed an external scan to measure the nuchal translucency fold behind the neck, but things didn't look so great. It was very thick, almost 9mm (it's supposed to be 2mm or less), and there was fluid around the baby's stomach as well (should I say fetus instead?). The doctor seemed very serious and switched to an internal scan to get more measurements. The baby didn't seem fazed by all the activity, lightly dancing around the screen. The scan ended, my husband occasionally taking pictures of the ultrasound.

Years ago, I had assisted my best friend in studying for her ultrasound exams (she's now an experienced tech in the States) and helped her learn to identify all the body parts in a scan, what measurements were supposed to be, what a healthy scan looked like, etc. I looked at our scan that was on the monitor and something didn't look quite right.

We finished and the doctor turned to us and said bluntly, "that wasn't a good scan."

At first we misunderstood. Did we need to come back in a week? Was the baby not cooperating? Again he said to us, "that wasn't a good scan." He went on to explain that there was a lot of fluid at the back of the neck and around the baby's stomach. The blood flow inside the baby's stomach wasn't right either. Basically, he was certain there was a 90% chance that this wasn't a healthy baby and wasn't a healthy pregnancy. He gave us permission to end the pregnancy and said that anyone who saw the results of the scan wouldn't question it. He told us this information while the internal ultrasound wand was still inside me.

While I was laying there.

While my husband sat next to me.

While we were looking at this little thing bouncing on the black and white screen.

The physician told us that he'd explain further at his desk so I cleaned up, stunned, and my husband and I sat together opposite the doctor. He had to finish typing his notes first, so I sat there, listening to the hunt and peck of his fingers on the keys, each one sounding like a stick on a drum echoing in an empty orchestra chamber changing the rhythm of my life forever. He typed out his notes for what felt like forever and I knew I was disassociating as I listened and watched him hunt and peck for each key, tapping out a word, making a sentence. Another sentence. Tap tap tap boom tap tap tap… tap boom.

Tap tap.

BOOM.

Again he told us the results and explained that we had two choices. One was to end the pregnancy immediately; the other, to speak to our ob/gyn and get information on additional testing at the hospital with a CVS or amnio. Either way, we should act quickly, but we should know that it was definitely at least 90% likely that it wasn't a healthy baby. He was sorry, he said remotely as if suddenly remembering to be human… this must be a bolt of thunder on a clear sky (Israeli idiom). He folded up our paperwork and pictures, slid them into an envelope, handed them over, and that was it. I stood, stunned, with wet eyes, shook his hand professionally, and walked out.

From that point forward, all I have seen are strollers and babies. Pregnant women and little kids. I know I have three healthy kids at home and I'm feeling very lucky. I haven't told very many people since I'm still absorbing and processing all this, but here are some of my initial thoughts:

• I don't want your sympathy.
• I don't want you to tell me that "a not-healthy baby is still a baby." Maybe I didn't express myself well since I was still absorbing the news, but I'll be lucky if the pregnancy continues past 22 weeks or I don't miscarry tomorrow.
• It is not your news to tell anyone else.
• No, I don't want to talk to anyone.
• I know myself and I mean it when I say that the more I know, the better I feel about it (i.e. let me do my own medical research online).
• I do NOT want to hear that women my age have increased dangers – I am well aware of the statistics. And statistics are just that, until you are the statistic.
• It feels so surreal.
• I am a statistic.
• Leave me alone.

My husband and I are stunned. He is angry at the bedside manner of the doctor. He is upset because he hadn't quite gotten used to the idea that I was pregnant and now, it was suddenly stolen away. I am... I don't know... stunned. Up and down. Disconnected, upset, quiet. In disbelief. Laying down, I can feel my uterus and I know that there's a tiny little life in there. It seems surreal and incorrect that this little thing is unalterably broken.

What I discovered on my own (yes, Google can be helpful): Without using particular medical terms, whether it was because English was his second language or that he simply didn't want to use it, my baby has a really bad case of non-immunehydrops fetalis, a rare and serious fetal condition defined as abnormal accumulation of fluid in two or more fetal compartments (usually the neck/head and stomach). When it is diagnosed as early as it was in my baby, 12-13 weeks, the vast majority of the time (75%) it is due to chromosomal abnormalities. See, hydrops, as it is called, is not the cause of the problem, but rather the result of an underlying issue. In my baby, in addition to hydrops and the likely severe chromosomal issue, the umbilical cord is connected to the baby in the wrong place. Instead of going through the shunts that babies have/need since their systems aren't developed yet, the cord is connected directly to the IVC (inferior vena cava), which, medically, means that the faulty system is, and will, negatively affect filtration of the blood as well as oxygen to the liver.

Altogether, Superbaby or Nougat (as we fondly like to call it), ironically, did an excellent job of doing a crappy job of developing properly. My kids do nothing halfway. How lucky we are.

Spirituality = Mental Health (we're getting there...)

I started therapy last month as a result of my husband requesting and pushing me to do so. I got lucky; the nearby university had an opening and I grabbed it (they have Master's and PhD students conduct therapy sessions at a reduced cost as part of their requirements for graduation).

I won't get into all the details about why I'm going to therapy but I'll say this.. I've heard that the three biggest stressors in life are (not necessarily in this order): losing a job, moving, and someone close to you dying. In the past couple years, I've hit all three. I have never really had the time or opportunity to deal with all of this when it happened, so now I'm doing so - for my health and for my family's health.

My therapist is a great guy, an Israeli with fantastic English (I'm really impressed). He was assigned to me after I described the issues I'd like to resolve and I truly enjoy our conversations each week. Sometimes there's a concept or word that we have trouble expressing but we get through it. At the end of each session, he almost always has a unique perspective on what I've shared the past hour.

I guess that's the point... sometimes we get so deeply mired in our own lives and minds that we can't dig ourselves out, we can't get an outside perspective on what we've experienced or how someone's decision 35 years ago benefits us now. Let me share...

When I was little (or just before I was born, I don't know), my mom and dad were driving in a car, chatting about how they wanted to raise their children. At that point, they already had two (maybe three) kids, and wanted to make sure that we grew up enjoying Judaism, married Jewish, and remained (at least somewhat) religious. They realized that in order to do so, they needed to act the same way and so they made a conscious decision to become more observant of the laws of Judaism.

Fast forward several decades.

I've made quite a journey through Judaism. I pulled away when I was a teenager (due to my dating a secular Jew), then stopped being religious altogether for about eight months. I hated it. All my weeks starting running together. Nothing seemed special; I felt ordinary. So I went back to keeping the Sabbath and kosher and I've loved it (mostly) ever since. The Sabbath is my weekly vacation and mikveh (the ritual bath - but that's another whole story) allows me to give my kids' souls a fresh, clean start in life (and hopefully won't screw them up too much along the way). I don't always cover my hair, but when I do, I make sure to match my scarves to my outfit in an artistic way.

With my belief in G-d and feelings of spirituality, I have faith that things happen for a reason. I don't know what those reasons are, but I don't need to.

Years ago, when a close family friend passed away suddenly from cancer in his early 40s, I was shaken. The deceased man's brother was a rabbi and he shared a story at the funeral. He explained that our lives are represented by the back of a tapestry. It is made up of knots, this yarn leading to that yarn, colors leading into other colors - none of it makes sense. But... if you were able to look at the FRONT of the tapestry, it would be a gorgeous picture.

The problem is, we don't get to see the front of the picture while we're in this world.

I am not telling you what to feel or to religiously observant, but I had to have some sort of belief that there is a bigger picture. I am simple human being with a good, but limited, brain. I'm simply not capable of seeing why bad things happen, but I know, I believe, that things happen for a reason. Maybe I'm wrong and there are times when it's just sh*tty luck, but I don't think so.

After I relayed all this to my therapist, he asked me if I believed that my mom passed away for a reason. The truth is, when people pass away, when things just suck, people want to understand why it happened. When my mom passed away, I think I also wanted to understand why (I don't remember), but I know that right now, the 'why' doesn't matter as much because it happened. Period. It is what it is.

After talking this through with my therapist, he helped me realize (just by him listening, of course) that if I weren't religious and observant, more so if I weren't spiritual, I would be a lot worse off when dealing with the loss of my mom (and everyone else I've lost). Trust me, that ain't a pretty picture.

What else did he tell me? That 35-37 years ago, when my mom and dad made that decision to raise us as Jewish kids, to give us that support, they also, unknowingly, gave me the spiritual tools to deal with their passing away.

Mind blown.

That's quite a long yarn woven over the course of decades. I am forever grateful to my parents for that tapestry - in my mind's eye, it is gorgeous.

Feminism and the Sexodus

I've had the feminist conversation with many people over a course of years, and most people, if not all, assume that I am a feminist... perhaps it's because, from the outside, I seem to be the epitome of that ideal: strong, independent, career-driven, with my law degree and my own firm only two years after graduating from Wayne State Law School. I am now 36 years old, married the love of my life two years ago, and have a gorgeous little boy who celebrates his first birthday next month. I have the best of both worlds, just as feminists claim we can all have.

But that almost didn't happen and it doesn't happen for many of us.

Avi Woolf is correct in his article, The Jewish Sexodus, when he says that "the war on masculinity as such throughout popular culture and society ... has reached the point that many men have decided love and marriage just ain't worth it."

For years now, it is expected of women that, after college, we should put our energy into our careers. Men are of little importance and low priority since we assume that they will wait for us. But why should they when all we do is bash them (take a close look at the commercials on television or read any anti-male jokes) or worse yet, communicate in subtle or not-so-subtle ways that we do not need them. We have sperm banks, nannies, and can be single Super-moms. It's little wonder men resort to porn, video games, and/or concentrate on their own careers.

Men and women are leading parallel lives, sadly separate from each other. By the time women realize that we are in our thirties, instead of having a loving husband and rambunctious kids (those who want them), we are alone with our other amazing, lonely girlfriends in our great jobs.

Since the rise of feminism decades ago, the insistence that women deserve "equality," and that men are pathetic, emotionless, grunting creatures who we only need for their sperm, the age at which women are getting married has risen and we have even now reached the point where our gene pool and future are losing out on some of these great women (and the men who would have married them) altogether.

Each week I worry about my girlfriends who are my age (and sometimes older) who are as-of-yet unmarried. They are truly remarkable women. Smart, extremely talented, outgoing, hardworking, friendly, funny, and pretty. They are catches - all of them. But where are the men? Where are their matches? They are dating and marrying younger women, who want stability and a husband. And how can you argue with the men's choices of a younger wife? It gives the men more time with their wife, more time to have children, and they don't have to fight so hard with an already established, unforgiving, possibly sour or disappointed thirty-something who expects more than reality can provide.

"A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle." This quote by Irina Dunn is commonly used and garners laughs among women. Generally, women do feel as though we are superior to men (due to emotional strength, empathic abilities, the seemingly innate ability to multitask, and the fact that we can give birth), but we forget that most men are generally physically stronger, more logical, and better at problem solving.

Dunn's quote fixates on our feelings of confidence and inflates our ego such that, despite the quote being untrue, our feelings are manipulated so that the delicate balance between men and women is undermined. Feminism (and the related bashing of men) ends up the tool that creates an over-inflated sense of self-worth in women and pushes away men.

Don't misunderstand me. I am a feminist (by the old standard). I know what and where I am today is a result of other women's diligence in fighting for rights and equality (one of whom was a great-great aunt, the first female law student at an ivy league school).

Hear this. Women are equal to men in importance. We are entitled to our careers, to equal pay for equal work. We are deserving of respect for our ideas, hard work, and diligence. If we choose to stay at home and raise our children and keep house, we should receive huge respect for that as well. If we choose to marry, or not, have kids or not, that is OUR CHOICE. But one cannot argue or ignore the lost idea before feminism ruined all of this -

Men and women are not equal; we are DIFFERENT.

Were we to accept our differences, glory in them, appreciate and embrace our yin and yang, and, more importantly, internalize that women NEED men, then perhaps women wouldn't focus 110% of our time and energy into our careers. Women want so badly to be equal to men, but men are able to handle a job and dating/marriage. Why can't we? What is so wrong with wanting to find your partner in your twenties instead of being selfish and self-absorbed for that decade and more?

Nothing.... but that was the truth that feminism beat out of us.

The essence and original ideas of feminism, that of equal pay, respect, and honoring a woman's choice, were commendable. The problem is that those ideals didn't remain true. They expanded into the belief that women are better (by stepping on the backs of men) and even mocked the very definition of itself when women who chose to stay at home to raise their children were berated as being an anathema to the "cause."

Fortunately, my story has a happy ending (thus far). I got lucky in finding my husband, even if I had to import him from another country. But getting married at the ripe old age of 34 also gives me little time to have the number of children that I would like. As such, I will have to (briefly) set aside the career I worked on so diligently just to focus on family. I would have been better off getting married younger so that I could dedicate my time more efficiently. Had I done that, I also would have had a partner to help me meet my goals, and perhaps I would have achieved even more. We will never know. But we can accomplish this for the next generation of women and men....

The first step is getting rid of this bastardization of feminism, the holier-than-thou attitude for women, and the war against men.



For more interesting reads on feminism, alpha females, and the war on men (I'll add them as I find them):
Should Non-Feminist Men Just Drop Dead?
The Alpha Female
Marriage Gap

The Future Belongs to Those Who Show Up (A Guide to a First Date)

If you don't do, you won't get. 

If you want her/him, make her/him feel wanted.

If you're on a first date (finding a date is the subject of another blog), here are some rules you'll want to consider if you want it to continue to a second date. Keep in mind that you're interviewing someone with whom you might spend the rest of your life. Be honest, but be polite. It may work out (or it may not, but she/he knows someone for you).

MEN:

1. Dress nicely (as is appropriate for the event). You can never go wrong with a blazer; it can go well with jeans or slacks. Bonus: it covers up sweat stains (if you're nervous) and allows you to offer it to your date (see Rule #15).
2. Smell nicely! Smell is a very powerful sense. Showering before the date is not enough. Spray on a little cologne (NOT too much) - your scent shouldn't enter the room first and knock her back on her feet.
3. Be trimmed and combed (hair, beard, and nails). If she wanted to date a Neanderthal who could climb walls with his fingernails, she'd build a time machine.
4. Do not suggest a place where you might run into your ex, your crush, your parents, etc.
5. Do not talk about any previously dated women, even in an attempt to give her a compliment. All comments should be directed toward your date.
6. Do not talk about past relationships and do NOT look at other women. The date is about spending time with her.
7. Do not talk excessively about your work. Women want to know you're successful, hard-working, and have goals. We do not want to think you are a stressed out, unappreciated, underpaid, angry workaholic.
8. Do not talk excessively about yourself. Women like to know that you're actually interested in her.
9. The Art of the Compliment... one of the toughest of the rules. Try to find the adjective that the woman would think applies to her. Do not excessively compliment her (if you are really blown away by this person, try to make some of the compliments more subtle or hidden); you don't want to scare her away or make her think you'll morph into a stalker.
10. Do not ask the woman if she would split the bill or tip. It shows you're cheap (not frugal).
11. If she does offer to pay half the dinner bill and you enjoyed her company, don't let her pay. If you hated every moment, let her pay her half and thank her politely.
12. Don't be rude. If you aren't having a good time, either politely end the date early (though not in the middle of dinner or a movie) or suffer through it and be polite at the end. And just because you were miserable doesn't give you the right to ask for her half of the dinner bill. Don't ask for the cost of her movie ticket either (suck it up; it's not that expensive).
13. Open the door for the woman and pull her chair out for her. It has nothing to do with whether she's a lady or a whore; it shows more for you, the perpetual gentlemen.
14. Don't talk about anything negative (that means you don't bring up your bad business luck or the fight you just had with your mother). If you have to explain your bad mood, be vague but positive, and DO NOT allow the bad mood to accompany you throughout your date.
15. Ask the woman if she's cold (don't wait for her to volunteer that information). If she is, give her your jacket.
16. Put your cell phone away (unless you're an ER doctor or on-call, in which case you should let her know ahead of time [and then she'll feel great she's on a date with a doctor]). If you must, play the cell phone/bill game (and then refuse to let her pay).
17. Don't give her false hope. If it didn't work for you, simply tell the girl that it isn't going to work out and never, ever tell the girl why (even if she asks). Don't not call her and assume she'll take the hint.
18. If you do like her, either ask her for a second date at the end of the first date (if you feel extremely confident) or ask/tell her you'll call her the next day (and do so). Do what you say you're going to do.
19. NO TEXTING until the third date or so (unless it's a quick thank you for the date). There are nuances that are missed and it becomes impersonal too quickly.

WOMEN:

1. Dress nicely (as is appropriate for the event).
2. Smell nicely! Smell is a very powerful sense. Showering is insufficient... Spray on a little perfume. Make him want to get closer to smell it (in other words, don't spray it on like a whore).
3. Wear a little makeup (depending on your personality). Don't layer it on with a spatula (he'll wonder what you are hiding underneath); moderate or light makeup (evening out skin tone and hiding blemishes) shows you care about your looks, even if you don't.
4. Do not suggest a place where you might run into your ex, your crush, your parents, etc.
5. Do not talk about any previously dated men. All comments should be directed toward your date.
6. Do not talk about past relationships or look at other men. The date is all about him.
7. Do not give excessive details about work stuff. Men want to know you care about your job; they don't need to know about interpersonal office drama.
8. Don't be self-centered and talk excessively about yourself. People want to know you're interested in them too.
9. Don't talk about marriage, how many children you want to bear, or girly subjects unless you want to scare the guy away. Don't be that girl.
10. Split the bill or at least offer to split it (or pay tip). Guys go on many dates and it is unfair to expect a guy (who likely makes as much as you) to constantly pay for twice as many meals as any normal human being can eat. You're not a precious flower waiting to be plucked.
11. If you are hinting something to the guy and he doesn't seem to notice, open your mouth and be vocal. Some guys are better than others about reading body language - do not make him read your mind.
12. Don't be rude. If you aren't having a good time, either politely end the date early (not in the middle of dinner or a movie) or suffer through it and be polite at the end. And just because you were miserable doesn't mean you shouldn't offer to pay for half of dinner.
13. Don't order the most expensive thing on the menu but don't be a supermodel and order an appetizer for dinner. Men want to know their women are normal.
14. Have fun and SHOW that you're having fun. Men are visual creatures who have ears. They are NOT psychic. Use happy words and SMILE. Say you are having a good time.
15. Don't give him false hope. If it just didn't work for you, be clear in telling the guy that it isn't going to work BEFORE he thinks to ask you out again. And never, ever tell the guy why (even if he asks).
16. If you do like him, let him know with words and actions. Be open and provide him with your phone number.
17. NO TEXTING until the third date or so (unless it's a quick thank you for the date). There are nuances that are missed and it becomes impersonal too quickly.

Sometimes, for whatever reason, a first date doesn't go well. I'm a huge proponent of people going on second dates. The first impression shouldn't always be the last, and you never know what the circumstances were that caused the awful first date (who knows, they might have been sick or they might have been extremely nervous because they like you so much)....

Good luck!

Harriet Carole Gaba Drissman, a"h

My Mom's Roots
On August 25, 1940, 74 years ago today, Harriet Carole Gaba was born to two proud parents: Tillie and Dr. Howard Gaba. She was a breech baby and needed surgery to fix a condition when she was younger, but she was a feisty little thing even back then and thrived. Her parents were a hard-working couple and Tillie helped Howard run his physician practice, which took place in Hazel Park, Michigan (one of the only locations left that needed physicians - he had missed the pick of the locations because he fought in WWII in the Philippines, but worked his tail off regardless).

Harriet was their first and she was adorable. Dark curly hair and dark eyes. Because they didn't have a lot of money, the Gabas lived with Tillie's sister, Rose, and her husband Harry Saltzman. Those two couldn't have kids so they helped Tillie and Howard raise theirs. Harriet and Lawrence were born before Howard fought in the War, and Arthur and Joanne were born after he came back. Howard was never the same and had a temper at times, but he did the best he could, raising the four kids with his wife and playing chess. He eventually became a Master and ran his own chess tournament in the Detroit area.

Harriet was a good kid, and would sit quietly for hours as her aunt would curl her hair in the mornings before school. Each summer, they would meet their cousins from Chicago in South Haven and spend the entire summer in the water. She loved South Haven and had great memories from there.

Young Harriet
Harriet loved art, folk dancing, and traveling. She lived in California in the 1960s and even painted a mural on a cafe wall in Los Angeles. She made good friends wherever she went and people would always remember her. One of her close friends, Murray, even asked her if she'd design he and his wife's wedding bands. She did and they still wear them.

Mom dancing with Murray at his wedding

She was extremely politically motivated and was close friends with R' Meir Kahane. She arranged his speaking engagements and he would stay at our house when in town.

In the early 1970s, she moved to, and lived in, Israel, with the intention of making Aliyah. She started by drawing caricatures on the street, then worked in a PR and advertising firm. She was close to Avi Shochat and we all remained close with him and his family for years.

Mom dancing with "Big Avi"

She knew Michael Drissman for years from Detroit and they kept in touch. He would occasionally visit Israel and they'd hang out together. She even tried setting him up with one of her friends when he arrived, but (fortunately) it didn't work out.

Harriet and Michael
Eventually they got closer and, in 1973, he visited Israel again. While there, he spent a lot of time with her, and while she was sitting in her chair in the PR firm in Tel Aviv, he asked if she'd like to get married. She said yes, then asked if he was serious. He was. She got excited and called her mother. He didn't. She asked Michael if he was going to; he said, I'll send her a letter. And so he did... It was their first argument and they kept each other on their toes for the next 40 years.

For him, Harriet moved back to the United States, and on November 18, 1973, Harriet Gaba became Harriet Drissman.

They had five kids, and Harriet was a part-time teacher and a stay-at-home mom. She took us to camps in the summer, taught us to paint and would have us draw/paint canvases. Those would be hung on her walls in her house. She'd make us lunches for school every day and write our names and grades on the front of the paper bags. Her father, Howard, taught us chess, and we'd practice with our Abba (Michael).

She argued with my school when they wanted to hold me back a year simply because I was young. She won that argument. She arranged for my brother Avi to get advanced math studies in middle school because he surpassed all the 8th graders' capabilities and she made sure we attended all of his award ceremonies (even if we were late - it was tough getting all five kids to move on time). Mom tried making all of us readers by finding out what each of us was into. She took us to the Brandeis Book Fair and we could buy WHATEVER books we wanted. She would push the cart for us and we'd run out and back with more and more choices.

She taught us to swim at the Jewish Community Center pool because she was terrified that we'd drown. My dad had never learned to swim so she took us religiously and taught us different strokes. We had to complete ten full lengths each summer night during our visits to the pool in addition to our playtime.

My mom took care of my dad when he had a major heart attack in 1984; she held strong in taking care of her mother when she was sick with cancer in the mid-80s, and when both her parents died in 1987. She remained the family rock when her Aunt Rose and Uncle Harry died and when my dad's Aunt Selma and Uncle Ruby died - also in the late 80s. She kept going when my father had a major stroke in 1989 and was off work for 12 years. She made our finances work somehow; 5 kids in a private day school and a recovering husband. It was a rough decade for all of us, but especially for her.

She decided that life was too short to wait for recoveries and so we started our family vacations. We drove all over, seven of us in a minivan. New York, Toronto, San Antonio, Washington, D.C., Palo Alto, Orlando. We Drissmans saw the country. She gave us games to play while we were driving and had patience even while we *really* had to pee between highway exits.

In 1991 we went to Israel because my dad's Russian cousins escaped Russia. She helped arrange the trip and made sure everything ran pretty smoothly. In 1992, she helped bring my two cousins back to the US for a summer trip. She argued with Washington because they didn't want to allow two Russian brothers to come here at the same time; they figured they wouldn't want to leave. My mom won that argument and we spent a great summer together (we are still close).

She wanted us to love being Jewish so she made each holiday special. We dressed up every Purim (she'd go costume hunting after Halloween) and she made the story of Passover come alive with frogs and ping pong balls and wild animals on our table.

She would take us into the voting booth with her, had us join her when she would "plaster" cars with flyers and defend her role as a mother when others would question her actions. She was fierce.

The Curiosities of My Mom
My mom loved Michigan. She loved the land and the people here. She liked Kid Rock and Eminem. She thought they were talented and it made her happy that they were proud to be Michiganders. I even played her Kid Rock's song about Northern Michigan. She wouldn't necessarily listen to it, but she loved it.

My mom loved the Summertime bc she got to spend time with us. The back-to-school commercials upset her because she felt that parents should want to spend time with their kids. She didn't make us go back to school before her birthday because it was still summer. She preferred to buy Michigan-made items first, then American-made items, but Israeli-made items trumped them all.

My Mom, Complicated and Layered
My mom wasn't perfect. She had a temper just like her dad, which she hated. She told me that each generation should be better than the last so she was glad that, even with her temper, it was still less than his. She felt bad every time she lost her temper. She knew she wasn't perfect, but she tried every week to find the positive. She even made us, every Friday night, come up with the Grateful Policy. We had to list three things we were grateful for; they had to have happened in the last week and they couldn't be sports.

She didn't understand all of us. She insisted that we all get along. It broke her heart to see us fighting. But she and my dad created five very different people, and it was bound to happen that she didn't "get" all of us. She tried her very best, but even at the end, she worried that she didn't do enough for us.

To others, my mom was always smiling, always pleasant. She wasn't always like that.. she was under a lot of pressure and stress. She tried to keep a positive face but it just wasn't always possible. Not many people knew but that was because it wasn't anyone else's business...

She taught us to keep judgments to ourself. If we wondered about other people's finances, she'd say, oh, you know what's in their bank account? In that way, she constantly reminded us to not judge others and to give them the benefit of the doubt.

She taught us many lessons (I just didn't always learn them well), including priorities by making us to do our have-to-dos before our want-to-dos. When I questioned the size of our house, she drove me to the smaller neighborhoods and showed me what others have so that I knew how lucky I was. I never complained again.

My mother's spirit was strength, fight, and light. She did her best to always be there for us and for our family. She was chipper and tried to be understanding. She loved kids and spent as much time as possible with her grandkids. She never tried to set us up and stayed out of our love lives because she trusted us to know ourselves better than she did. She loved us.

She loved others. She bought gifts for people when they had kids. She helped others financially. She drew the Ganeinu logo for the synagogue camp (which is still being used today). Many things I only found out after she passed.

My mom loved my dad and he loved her. They didn't always get along, but they worked hard together. They started dating again when I was in high school and would walk around the mall together. She'd make him take her to dinner and would put up with him when he wanted to stay home and watch a cartoon (usually "The Incredibles" or "Shrek"). She made him lunch to take to work every day for decades and explained that she did that because she was his wife, and that's what she was supposed to do.

My Mom's Sickness
My mom lived with diabetes and chronic kidney disease for years. She didn't tell us all her problems because she didn't want to worry us. She fought and beat kidney cancer. I didn't find out she would need dialysis until I was on my honeymoon. She refused to take any of our kidneys and everyone at her kidney clinic loved her and her positive attitude. In her last year and "the summer that never was," she was diagnosed with colon cancer and meant to fight that too. She never got the chance, but I believe she would have beaten it as well.

Who Was My Mom?
My mom was a complicated person, but really was very simple. She loved art, dancing, traveling (even went by train when my dad stopped flying), teaching, children, and her children and family.

She was feisty and fought for what she believed in - for what was right. She was happy and private. She bragged about her kids (but only to those who had smart kids as well because she didn't want to make others feel bad). She always tried to have something nice to say to others.

I am a mini-me of my mother. People have recognized me as her daughter without knowing who I am - by my dancing, my face, and my attitude. I know I turned into my mother at the age of 8. I have her temper as well, but, like her, it is lessened and I do my best to work on it.

My mom will forever be 72. She was taken before her time, but she will forever be in my heart. My son is named after her; he looks like her. He has her spirit, both the feisty and the smiling sides. I will teach him what my mother taught me, by words and by actions. I miss so much about her and every time I think of something else she loved, I write it down so I don't forget.

She was so strong and amazing. Our rock and our light. Not perfect, but who is.

I would be quite proud if I became half the woman my mother was.

A Moment of Heaven

It’s 10:30pm. I sit in my blue rocking chair, holding him to my breast. I gaze at the blond hairs on his round little head, paying close attention to how each is laying against the other. I wonder that he's a blond. I look at his little lashes, laying like shadows against his cheeks as he sleeps. He takes his right hand and grabs my nose, holding it gently, casually as though it belongs to him. It does. I smile and try not to laugh.

As he quietly moves his hand to my chest, I close my eyes, focusing on the feel of his tiny hand against me, just to the left of my heart. I think of each finger, where it lies, and try to sear this feeling into my long-term memory.

We switch sides and he looks for me, with his little lips, even before I am ready. We rock and bond, bond and rock until he loses the battle to sleep. His round little head falls back. He lifts it for one more quick tickle and it falls again against my left arm.

I look at him, his closed eyes, small nostrils and full lips and keep my right hand on his little stomach, feeling his breath – in, out… in, out…

Gently, I rise with him in a deep sleep in my embrace. His trust is complete, his arms falling by his sides, and I lay him, oh so carefully, in his crib, on his belly. His head is turned toward the wall, his little tushy is up in the air, with the octopus saying hello to the ceiling for just a few moments before he settles in.

Again, I leave my right hand on his side to let him (or me) know that he is loved, protected, and cared for. I slowly lift each finger, pinky first, away from him… slowly, for fear of waking him from his soft slumber. I resist the temptation, this time, to lean down and kiss him.

I look at him, see how long he’s gotten, think of just how little he used to be, and wonder how many inches he is now. I know he’s 17 pounds and 4 ounces today. His Abba and I have weighed him before bed.

My feet pad quietly across the room and I wince as the door creaks open, but there is no sound from my dozing little angel. I leave and shut the door behind me, grateful for this fleeting moment. I know that they are numbered. He’s already six months old but I’ll take what I can get – that’s all we can ever do.