בבית

ושבו בנים לגבולם -- אחרי שנתיים של סיוט חזרו הביתה ואיתם גם ליבנו.  שהחיינו וקיימנו והגיענו לזמן הזה.  ב״ה שלא נצטרך לענוד אף פעם סרט צהוב שוב.  מתפללת לשיקום מהר ככל האפשר ולנחמת המשפחות השכולות.

עם ישראל חי!

יום הזיכרון לשואה ולגבורה: כעבור שמונים שנה

כעבור שמונים שנה וגם היום מתאבלים על אנשים חפי כל פשע שנשחטו ושנחטפו (חלקם עדיין בשבי) על ידי אנשים שרוצים להשמידנו.

כעבור שמונים שנה וגם היום העולם שותק.

כעבור שמונים שנה וגם היום המקום היחיד שאפשר לחיות בו ולהתגאות במי שאנו בביטחון מלא היא הארץ.

כעבור שמונים שנה ואני עדיין עושה לעצמי תוכניות אצל מי אוכל להפקיד את הילדים אים, חס וחלילה...

כעבור שמונים שנה וכמה מעט באמת השתנה.

נזכור את ששת המיליון

נזכור אותם לתמיד.

לעולם לא שוב -- זה עתה.

In Which a holiday approaches, but our heroine feels not at all festive.

 It hit me.

My children will be celebrating Pesach with their Abba.  God (and Delta Airlines) willing, they're flying to Israel to visit Saba and Savta, their aunt and uncle and cousins, and friends.  They'll likely be the youngest at the seder table and therefore it will fall to then to recite the Four Questions.

I will be thousands of miles away and won't hear them.  We won't go through the house with a candle, spoon, and feather searching for chametz the night before (yep, kicking it old school when trying to find those last leavened particles).  I bought them beautiful new yontif outfits, but I won't see A wear her new dress, or J his fancy button-down white shirt and golden-beige pants.  We won't go through the Haggadah together and my uncle won't reward them for finding the Afikomen.

I'll see them via FaceTime.  Maybe I'll even watch them sing the Four Questions live.  That's the beauty of technology, right?  Hopefully their Abba takes some pictures of them in their holiday finery.  And they're not going forever, just two weeks.

So why does it feel like it? 

I ought to be grateful that I see them often during what's technically "his" time.  I should thank the technological innovations that mean I can see their sweet (well, most of the time) faces every day while they're in Israel.  I should be comforted knowing how many other holidays we do celebrate together.

Why can't I?  My children, are, thank God...well, I won't even write it because I'm too superstitious.

This will be the first time I don't see them during a holiday.  At least with Rosh Hashanah I got half, and Yom Kippur I got to take them to shul.  We had Sukkot parties, and a joint Thanksgiving, and Chanukah parties, and New Year's Eve he invited me.  Even for Purim I got to watch my daughter read Megillah.  

Kashering my house for just little old me just feels so empty and so laborious. 

I guess this is life.  Maybe a fruit jelly slice (if you know you know) would sweeten it?

In Which our heroine is...still standing.

It has been exactly one year and one day since the secular divorce.  (The get ceremony occurred later last March, between Purim and Pesach.)

I'm not happier.  I'm not honestly even happy.  I hurt just as much.  Not being with my babies every day will NEVER be ok.  

But -- I am still standing.

I may curse and scream in the shower.

I may have two weeks of mail to organize.

I may still be embarrassed and ashamed.

But I am still standing.  Mediocre-ever-after. 

There is no silver lining.

I don't want a hobby.

I don't want a social life.

I don't want a break.

I want to be with my children every day.

There is no silver lining.

In Which Our Heroine does not feel very heroic at all, and does not get her happy ending

Dear Reader,

Assuming there is actually still someone still out there?  If so I hope you are well.  You made it through the worst of the COVID-19 pandemic and that is no small feat.  When I last wrote - 2017, goodness -- I had no idea the world would be turned upside down and I would watch patient after patient die while I had nothing to offer except empathy (including my own Zayde who died of post-COVID pneumococcal pneumonia complicated by bacteremia and empyema).  I had no idea I would have tears in my eyes when I got to schedule and take the first dose of the vaccine -- on the eighth day of Chanukkah, what a miracle!  Or that, almost a year later, I would say a Shehecheyanu blessing when my children got theirs.  I never thought masks would be a political statement.

I didn't expect my sweet A to be diagnosed with a brilliant intellect yet struggle with ADHD.  Thank goodness for dexmethylphenidate!  (Yes, we are Pharm-free on this blog!)

I didn't expect my sweet J to be just as smart.

I never dreamed I would get to witness and love such miracles.

I also never thought I'd write the following:  Husband wants to divorce.  He feels we simply are too different and will be happier, better people and better parents apart.  He wants to remain good friends.  Thinks we could still visit his family together.  So we are trying to work out an amicable, uncontested, divorce.

I feel crushed.  Heartbroken.  Humiliated.  Sad.  Angry  Devastated.  Everything everywhere all at once.  I feel like we won't be a family anymore.  I can't bear the thought of not seeing my babies (yes, I know they aren't babies anymore) every day.  And I would still rather work this out.  We can get along and we owe it to our kids to do so.  What happened to commitment?

But once again, major aspects of my life are not mine to control - even fight to change.  I couldn't do anything to make a successful transfer happen  and I couldn't stop a virus.  And I can't stop this.

But I did do something to control infertility, right?  I kept trying until we got our miracles.  And I kept putting on that N95 and holding patients' hands until things improved.  So maybe I can get though this?  I don't believe it at all right now.  It's too fresh.  But maybe once again, after another six years, I will be in a better place?

In Which Our heroine decides

So I just made a Big Decision.
 I agonized about it afterward and was literally shaking, but I did it.

I turned down an academic position.

I only ever wanted an academic position.  Teaching nourishes my soul.  When I was almost suicidal, teaching still made me happy.  As a devotee of lifelong learning, I also wanted the chance to participate in didactics, and grand rounds, and morning report, and scholarly activity.  This particular position would also have allowed me to learn more about infection control, and get some special training, as well as training in how to teach.  I would also see clinic patients one half day per week.

Sounds like a dream job, right?  And at my beloved home institution.

It almost was, and I only barely was able to turn it down.  Because my biggest dream came true, and I have (turn the Evil Eye) two precious miracles who are finally asleep, and that job takes precedence over everything.  As that means spending at least half the year working six days per week and the other half working five days per week (probably with another few Sundays thrown in) is not the right fit for me at this point.  Especially since I am no fool, I have seen the life of an attending, and I know that the stated hours are just the tip of yhe iceberg.

But it is so incredibly frustrating.  I am forced to choose between a satisfying professional life and dedicating time to my children.  It shouldn't have to be this way.  There should be a paradigm for part-time academicians.  We who want to be part-time are just as serious.  In fact, maybe we are more intense, because we are truly trying to have it all, knowing that one can never actually have it all.

Another problem I think I grapple with is the perception - and probably even my own - that by taking this low-key, private practice position, I am being lazy.  After all, I only want to work three days a week and every fourth weekend.  Getting into and through medical school, residency, and fellowship is all about hard work and pushing onceself to excel.  My personality is also such that I don't do things by halves.  And my parents, for whom I have everything to thank, taught me to push as hard as possible to reach my full potential.  But that is exactly the opposite of what I am doing right now.  I am knowingly rejecting career advancement.  Acknowledging that someone else will make the next breakthrough.  Agreeing to watch others take over the field.  And truthfully, it makes me feel like an underachieving loser.

I haven't figured out how to deal with this yet.  But one approach I think I dislike is that I am "sacrificing" my career for my children.  That approach paints children as a burden, a roadblock, and something to be resented.  I am spending two days at week with my children because I want to be with them.  It is draining and at least as exhausting as taking call.  But there are too many precious moments that I would miss if I were at work.

At any rate,  I have decided.  I hope I can find ways to enjoy private practice.

On the plus side, the enjoying-the-children part is easy.  But that's another post for when I am not typing on my phone and it isn't after midnight