Happy Anniversary



Beth Israel: almost a hospital.



Hatzaloh: the Jewish cavalry.

I just got home. As usual, I was at Chayie's house for Shabbos. This time, the Lench family was there, too. That's seven people. Also in attendance were Babby, Avi, Shanna and Chana, Mendy, Rivky, and Blimi and Dovid for Lunch. Oh yeah...Dave was there, too. Feige and Ester walked over after lunch. As you can imagine, the place was on wheels. It was noisy, messy and occasionally stinky. In other words, it was great. Everybody (with the possible exception of poor Chana, who didn't feel well) had a good time. When a Lakewoodian contingent such as the Lenches comes for the weekend, they take over the basement, my usual stomping ground. Since the Bienenstocks next door were away, I stayed in their basement instead. In the past, however, I have usually become upwardly mobile under these circimstances: I have either kicked Rivky out of her room on the second floor or gone all the way up to the attic. THE ATTIC! Omigosh! It all came storming back to me. The last time (I think ) the Lenches and I were at the Fisch House for Shabbos together was exactly one year ago. The last Saturday in January in 2010 fell on the 30th, and this year it's on the 29th...close enough. Well, a year ago today is when my journey began. That was the Shabbos when I was so short of breath, I landed in Beth Israel that Saturday night (see "The Calm Before the Storm", post of August 1st). I was walking up and down the stairs all weekend and becoming sicker as the day went on. I had brought my baby lovebird, Pumpkin, with me because I was still hand feeding him, and Blimi and Dovid's lovebird Blueberry (the one I called Sunshine) was there too, for reasons that escape me. Saturday night we let the birds out and they were merrily flying around. One of them landed on top of the drapes and wouldn't come down, so I climbed up to get him. When I sat back down on the couch with the bird perched happily on my finger, I kissed him. Right on the beak. Babby was appalled. So was Chayie. So were the Lench kids, who all said "uchhhhhh" in unison. I was just being my usual contrary, head-in-the-sand self. So what if I couldn't breathe? Is that any reason not to show some affection to a teensy little birdy who never did nothing to no one? Well, is it?? I know that Chayie thought that I should call Hatzolah, but she didn't say anything and I didn't want to. It wasn't till much later, after I had gone home to my dirty, mousey, roach-y apartment that I finally gave in and called. The guys took one look at me and then at my SATs and had me strapped to the gurney; I was too weak to argue, and to tell the truth, I knew it was the right thing to do. Maybe I was just scared. Maybe I somehow knew unconsciously that this would be the beginning of a truly hellish experience, and I wanted to put it off as long as possible. But the bottom line is, I apparently wasn't stubborn enough or self destructive enough to stay home that night. I guess when the chips (and the SATs) are down, the will to live really does kick in. En route in the ambulance, I told the guys that I since my pulmonologist was associated there, I wanted to go to Beth Israel on Kings Highway. After they finished looking at me like I had two heads, that's exactly where they took me. Verrrry reluctantly. It probably would have made sense for me to listen to two volunteers with absolutely no axe to grind, whose only reason for being in a speeding ambulance at 2:00 in the morning when they could just as well have been home with their respective families, was to save my life. Maybe I wasn't thinking clearly or maybe I was just being me. In retrospect, I wasn't doing myself a favor by being me. I should have tried being someone else for a change.  Anyway, as usual, I've gotten way off the main point I wanted to make, which was that it's hard to believe a whole year has gone by since that fateful night.  Obviously, much has changed.  The main thing I've learned is never to take anything for granted: at 59, I figured I was good for another 30 years.  At 60, I wonder if I'll get hit by a bus tomorrow.