Gal Harpaz

January 2nd 2012

2012-01-07T22:44:00.000-08:00

The day Baby Aaron was born and what was to be the end of our "adventure" as I've been calling it. As so many things in life, this end is not quite as finite as ends are defined to be. The post period, we're realizing, is just a continuation of the adventure. And maybe this adventure doesn't ever really come to an end. Maybe it's meant to continue indefinitely as does life, with ups, downs, turns and twists. Maybe it extends itself throughout our lives and Baby Aarons' and his new parents' lives. Like the passing of the baton. It's in their hands now as we recover from the first leg. But we shall stand hand in hand together in victory on the podium of life. We said from the beginning that we'd play it as it comes in regards to a future relationship with J&R and Baby Aaron. That playing as it comes has already cemented a bond and friendship long before this day. That future is now here and our future from here is assuredly intertwined.

So yes, Baby Aaron arrived in this world at a healthy 8lbs 9oz and 20"L at 2am four days after his original due day. He took his time growing and making sure he was to be a 2012 baby. We all expected him to be early, prolonging the anxiousness of awaiting his arrival. Orit was so beyond ready to get him out (and I mean that in a more sensitive give birth way) that we resorted to all the old wives tales about inducing. The first piece of advice EVERYONE seems to want to offer is "they say if you have sex..." That comes out of the mouths of a large cross-section of people, including all the ones you don't want to hear it from. Yes, yes, I know, I know. And we did. And did... But he didn't arrive (notice here how I didn't use the alternative verb). Finally after speaking to a doula who recommended a particular recipe that would guarantee baby results, we set out to give it a shot at 9:30pm on January 1st. After a quick trip to the drug store, 2 tablespoons of Castor Oil were blended into a milkshake and consumed. Not me. Followed with a hot shower and topped off with 15 minutes of stimulating/massaging one breast at a time and alternating for an hour. Again here, not me. There was nothing romantic about this recipe. We joked along the way about the awkwardness of it all. Hoping skeptically it would do something. Boy, did it. Shortly before midnight the labor contractions came on strong. No need for a stopwatch or timing anything. It was obviously time to get the plan in motion. Calls to J&R, hospital, midwife, doula and Aimee, Orit's Assistant. By 12:20am, Aimee was at the house ready to stay the night and/or how ever long it takes with Little Man. By 12:30 we were on the way, driving fast on the wide open freeway.

The first scene from a movie we encounter was pulling into the valet underground parking lot of the hospital. We get out, I give one of the two guys the keys as I explain that my wife is in labor. They look at me absolutely freaked out and tell me to get myself and my in-labor wife back in the car and drive around to Emergency. As if I'm asking them to delivery the baby. Along comes a helpful employee who grabs a wheel chair from the entrance and tells us it would be faster this way. Come. Thanks lady! I get my valet ticket as I say to the guys "it's not an emergency, it's a labor." And we roll on up to Labor and Delivery. We'd been to this exact department during an orientation at this hospital and still the place seemed like a maze.

We get into the delivery room and the show wastes no time in beginning. Right away a contraction and undressing and gown and bed. Orit does not let them get her laying down on her back as they'd like her but rather opts for the all fours position. I explained that this was her birthing position with Little Man. This is her birth, she chooses the position. We raise the front of the bed to give her something to lean on and prop it up with some pillows. They try to strap her to a fetal monitor and she swats the nurses hands away several times until it's understood that she's not having it. Who'd want a big synthetic Velcro strap all around your bare stomach as you're pushing a baby out? Sounds uncomfortable, but it's hospital norm. So instead, one of the many nurses walking in and out of the room ended up holding the monitor every so often to hear the heartbeat. A small victory - no strap. A nurse mispronounced Orit's name while trying to comfort her, and she turned around and corrected her - "it's O R I T. Like do you want to go to a movie or eat?" and went right back into a contraction. Movie moment #2. And on we went. She came in fully dilated and ready to start pushing. But the water hadn't broken yet. To speed it along and let her start pushing they gave it a poke. And she started pushing. Everything gets a little foggy here so forgive me if I'm not exact, but my guess is about 7 or 8 good pushes. The midwife, resident, doula and I all doing our part in encouraging as Orit seemed to know exactly what to do. And she did her thing. And did it right. And did it loud. And finally pushed the plump little guy out and it was amazing. And his mom and dad and all of us were there to share the moment. And he was beautiful. And J&R were in shock and awe. And J cut the cord. And we were relieved. And Happy. And Orit nursed him and he took to the nipple like a champ and then he was handed to his mom. And it was to be that. Then the placenta came out. After that, the shit hit the fan.

I'm not going to relive the rest of what happened in great detail. The serious bottom line was she was hemorrhaging and they didn't understand from where and why. At this point the midwife took a second seat to the medical team and what started as a natural birth turned into a most unnatural after birth. It came in three stages. Stage 1. Where it was just discovered and it was being dealt with manually, invasively and painfully to the point of unbearable. Feeling around deep within, trying to find something to feel. The drugs began. Prodding and poking. But they did not help. And she did not deserve this and they had to stop and move on to an OR where an anesthesiologist can make the pain go away.

Stage 2. The 45 minute wait where they wouldn't let me go in and be with her. A miserable wait and recognizable as another movie moment. Seen so many of these scenes, with varying actors and results. Inside, Orit was under general anesthesia. Her uterus had not clamped back up and shut the exposed blood vessels. A few placenta membranes remained behind not allowing nature to take its course. So they scraped out the remains and cleaned up and inserted a ballon to keep pressure on the wound. And though she had to have 2 units of blood transfused, at least it wasn't an operation. No cutting. No stitching. A small relief in an otherwise bad moment. At least she's asleep and there's no more pain. Yet.

Stage 3. Recovery. The slowest and most difficult stage beginning with coming to consciousness and to terms with what happened and it's consequences. For about a day and a half she was unrecognizable. Swollen. She had so much fluid pumped into her it had settled throughout. She was hooked up to so many tubes and was receiving another 2 units of blood. It was rough. She made the mistake of looking at herself by taking an iphone self portrait. Little Man came in to see his mama. And he was so caring and concerned and nurturing. I took him to meet Aaron and hang out with J&R in the room next door. He's been waiting to meet him for a long time. There will be more to write about those two I'm sure. By day 2 we were having moments of making fun of the swelling, calling her a Jewish Asian Margaret Cho. Her cheeks and forehead bounced the few moments she chuckled. And despite the uncomfortable and difficult situation every half day got better and better. The balloon was partially deflated and soon thereafter came out. The bleeding had stopped. All the vitals and blood numbers where normal. No more poking and prodding. The medications, blood transfusions and fluids ceased. She was no longer on bed rest and hooked up to anything. She could walk and go to the bathroom. That was big. Immediately she was better and back to looking like herself.

On day 3 they said go. Home with the boys is a more peaceful prospect. And in coming home she was looking forward to showering and brushing her hair and being in her own bed. And having a good long cry. Cause it was scary.

We're home now and it's past.

There is active work in any healing. And if you know Orit, you know she's gonna be an active participant in her healing and spearheading the path. Now nature is back on course and her body is producing milk. We had earlier decided Orit would pump breast milk for them for one month. During recovery we reassessed that her body had gone through quite enough unexpected trauma and it would be best if she doesn't. There is a back-up alternative source of milk so it only made sense. Let her heal and not have the burden to provide any more. And that was consensus among all parties. The milk is coming in nonetheless and the breasts get engorged. It's painful. So old wives tales come back and currently we are working with cabbage. Covering them in cabbage under a tight bra. Little Man particularly likes this idea. Thinks its funny. And funny enough its working. And what the hell, there's nothing to lose but pain. And so every new day is better than the one before. And that's a good direction to go in life.

What happens now? Orit gets better and back to normal within two weeks. And we shall discover our roles in the life of Baby Aaron as well as move on to whatever adventures lay ahead. So don't dwell on what was out of our hands and move forward. You'll be hearing from us...

Theo Progress Report 12/18/11

2011-12-20T22:55:00.000-08:00

38 Weeks

2011-12-18T15:22:00.000-08:00

The Home Stretch

2011-12-14T09:36:00.000-08:00

Speaking of stretch, I have witnessed Orit's belly get to its current and probable peak size. Baby Aaron (and as you know from following along the journey - last name not Harpaz) is contemplating his readiness to come out and greet the world. At any given moment it can happen. The due date is two and half weeks away. So I suppose we can safely call this the home stretch. Naturally, the anticipation of it all coming to a climax is a source of high alert. But it's being done with calm energy and focused ideas of what's to come. Stay tuned for what's to be with an update...

As far as the quiet period of the pregnancy, I can bring you up to speed. The second stage. When it's absolutely obvious that a woman is pregnant. Not the awkward stage where it's not clear and no one is “gonna go there”. Some women flourish through this period. With others, it's the unfortunate downward spiral of letting herself go. My beautiful wife is definitely of the first variety. Flourishing indeed. Everything about the ideal within the idea of a beautiful pregnant woman is present in her. From beginning through to this pending end, she has carried herself and carried this baby with a giving heart and body. Nourished him from inception. And done so with grace and beauty. Now she is absolutely ready to give him the right of passage to life. Meaning, she’s ready to give birth to baby Aaron. And the most asked question is "isn't it gonna be difficult, emotionally to give up the baby?" The answer is quite frankly, no. A little shocking for the person asking, as they don't expect it that way. And the reasons are simple and many. We/she have been indirectly in this world of surrogacy for years prior to living it. This particular personal experience has been in the coming for 2 years. There is no genetic connection to us. We/she went into a pregnancy with the sole purpose of giving birth for someone else. Their child. Not ours. We’re the ride into the world, beyond that it out of our hands. The one sole purpose. Not be parents again. Becoming parents, is a lifetime of purpose. We already have that with Little Man. And the closer the birth gets and we see strollers, diaper bags, Baby Bjorn’s and lack of sleep, the more grateful we are that we don’t have to live that this time around. If anything, this process is one step closer to solidifying the conviction of not having another child of our own at this moment. Maybe never. Who knows what will actually happen in the future. The world is full of surprises. Just not in this particular case. None here. Everything was and is spelled out ahead of time. And therefore, the most natural thing for us to do is to be eager to do this last and final act of handing Aaron off into the arms of our ever more anticipating friends, J & R, his parents. And us, we’ll look back knowing we made a small mark and a strong bond and move on to the next stages of our life. So no, it's not gonna be hard emotionally. On the contrary. It would be difficult emotionally if we had to take care of a baby beyond the birth. I think the explanation educates the inquirers. And I think, in most cases they get it. And those that do are touched.

Which brings me to some of the looks, confusion and responses we encounter. People are vocal about the obvious visual picture of a belly. They’re quick to want to converse about the belly. Mix it with their natural assumption of happiness for our having another baby. Mazal Tov! And they are quicker to be taken aback by the unexpected response they get. Especially when Little Man is around. He tends to like to take the lead - "no, it's not my brother" pause. "He's my surrogate brother and his name is Aaron ***** **********." pause. The reactions and facial expressions we face in that moment - PRICELESS. Sometimes it's a slow coming to understanding. Other’s quick. Always with shock as the realization sets in. Always with interest and further questioning, regardless of their politics or beliefs. The mental picture of their miffed looks is always a source of laughter in recounting the stories and becomes a part of the story as a whole.

Joking aside, the pregnancy has progressed as it should and as expected. On-schedule. With healthy numbers. Monthly meetings with the midwives are now weekly. The care is thorough and professional. One or both, J & R are present and as much a part of these and everything else in an attentive, sensitive and generous way. A Doula has been found and those wheels are in motion. Little Man wants to be a part of it (obviously not the raw full experience at the end) and definitely meet Aaron. So we’ve enlisted a few hands and backup plans. As goes with my work, which has to be covered in case I must run. And I’ve been crazy busy for a long stretch now. Three more days and I’m done. Until the next time (and you never know when that will be so you take it all). Discussions on logistics have taken place. Decisions have been made. Lists are being made. Standby...

Crystals

2011-12-13T23:00:00.000-08:00

A bit of a writer’s slump accompanied me throughout this blog drought. Not that there's not much to write about. It's just that it's been more of a physical slump that had an affect on the mental. I’ve been plagued with a series of "issues" that have abruptly forced me to take heed of my health and introduced me to my "midlife" period. Not the so-called “crisis” leading to an extravagant new sports car. I could only wish - right now I'm dreaming of the Dodge Challenger. But, sort of a wake up call introduction to my newly arrived 40's.

My knee surgery took place the end of May. I had anticipated and feared it for so long. And like all hindsight lessons, there was something to be learned. It was simpler and quicker than expected. I woke up the morning of and went in to the surgery center at 6:45am, less than 2 miles from home, with my chin up but clenched fists of nerves. The nurse took my blood pressure prior to inserting the IV and took a step back - the numbers spoke of my nerves from the pending needle (and procedure). We decided to take a moment to breathe deep and have me take a little somethin’ somethin’ to calm me down. A few minutes later it was done. The IV was in and I was still conscious. Little did I know then that was to be the first step in my overcoming syncope and my fear of needles, as would it would be one of many to come. Through the IV, the first step of the anesthesia had begun. I remember being wheeled into the surgery room, the eyes of my orthopedic surgeon recognizable behind the mask and next to him the anesthesiologist introduced himself. Then fade to black.

I woke up an hour later (surgery was 45mins) and that was that. All done. I was sent home bandaged, with crutches, though able to walk on my own. My recovery at home began. Lots of ice and two days of not removing the bandages. I didn't experience pain, only swelling and tightness. Manageable enough to be able to physically work so long as it didn't require bending the knee. Work was quiet as I consciously decided to not take on any projects for a window of time. And so I immersed myself into an intense and prolific period week of woodworking and building in my man cave garage. I built a TV cabinet and a little side table. I modified and refinished another old side table and an outdoor bench. I couldn't sit still. And didn't feel the need to do so as long as I did things slowly, with care and tending to the wound. The following week, I went in to have the stitches removed, only to find out there were no stitches under the two band-aids hiding two little scabbing puncture holes on each side below the kneecap. It looked like an alien face with the kneecap being the large forehead and the two holes red eyes. I mean shit, not even stitches! And I had all this anxiety going into it. Anyway, swelling aside I was happy to be where I was. Until, that is, I heard about the crystals.

During surgery, the issue I was having with my knee (as well as my feet during unexplained excruciating week long pain flare ups) became apparent that it was not only as a result of and/or overcompensation from the torn meniscus that was being corrected. There were very clear deposits of crystals built up around the joint. These crystals form as a result of the body either overproducing uric acid or not flushing enough of it out. Either way the level of uric acid is higher than it should be. My new unfortunate condition is called Gout. Most of you have heard of it, but don’t know what it is or associate it with older, fatter unhealthy people. Of course upon hearing this, my mind quickly went to a dark place. What is it? Why is it? Why me? What does it mean for my future? I'm not an overweight, medieval king gorging on a huge turkey leg dripping fat down through my beard. I'm an active, healthy young man of 39 (that recently changed to 40). My weight to height ratio is right on. So why? Who knows? It's not caused from diet or lifestyle. And regardless of the fact that I don't know of any blood relatives that have Gout, it tends to be a hereditary thing. And bottom line, it's no longer about why, but rather what now?

The Internet is both a blessing and a curse in times like these. The initial search for knowledge can take you down a never-ending path of information overload. Conflicting, overlapping, and confusing stories of personal experiences, medical and natural recommendations. A whole lot of quackery too.

The next stage is dealing with doctors, tests, medications and insurance. Dipping into this world, you come to realize that we're just lab rats constantly tested and adjusted for the benefit of large corporations making money. Healthcare in America. More like Healthsale. Don't get me started. I have a lot to say about the topic, but it's not something I wish to write about.

Anyway, our bodies are intricate and all the systems are interwoven. When one thing happens, it's safe to say other issues lay in wait or as a result. As I was trying to figure out my way of treating The Gout (as Little Man calls it), a few tests showed other issues that are most likely related but no one can say. One smaller kidney than the other, higher than usual blood pressure and too much protein in the urine. What they can say is here, take this medicine... All I can do is continue to educate myself and find the right balance of treatment for myself.

So it's been a long few months of both post surgery rehabilitation and getting back to a sense of normalcy as I chart out my lifestyle choices for the second half of my life. I have finally come to a place that I can both write about this not so healthy episode as well as have it under control. I'm active again. More so than before. I am living and eating healthier. I’m exercising regularly. I'm experiencing a much stronger and better me that looks forward to continuing the road to health, strength and longevity. Some medications are involved which make me unhappy with the thought of it being a permanent thing. For now it’s my course. And like an alcoholic at an AA meeting that has comes to term and is there to overcome the addiction, I can stand tall and say out loud - My name is Gal and I have Gout.

Theo Progress Report 08/23/11

2011-08-23T22:10:00.000-07:00

Moving Right Along

2011-06-30T12:43:00.000-07:00

I wish I had the inspiration to write on a daily basis. More so, that there was actually something to write about on a daily basis. But, the tolls of life are a collection of small change and it takes me a while to fill up the piggy bank. In the meantime, day-to-day life has its ups, downs and detours. Currently we're in the carpool lane driving in cruise control so it's difficult to remember who's following behind.

I suppose the two topics that need to be addressed are surgery and surrogacy. I'll go about it alphabetically.

I made it through surgery. Not that I was expecting not to. But the fear of "syncope" was greater than the intricacies of the procedure itself. Alas, one month later I am sans limp and slowly working my way through physical therapy to rebuild the muscles around the affected area. Most importantly, I'm back to work. Two small horizontal incision points are transforming themselves into scars. Shaven hair is growing back. I'm at that awkward stage reminiscent of puberty or a competitive swimming (minus the broad shoulder and big chest). In prepping the area, my leg was shaved below the knee, leaving sort of what I would imagine a Franciscan monk look of a haircut on my leg. In an effort to balance out the upper left leg (as well as the whole right one), I took to the razor and did away with it all.

There is more to deal with in my knee recovery and other issues discovered through the scope that poked around. I won't get into it here yet as I need more time to live it before I can put it on paper. This is less of a day-to-day journal and I'm better at writing in hindsight with 20/20 vision and a clear head. So on to the next story line.

Orit is at 14 weeks into the pregnancy and feeling good. The nausea as a blanket feeling is history. There are still moments here and there, but they pass quickly. The belly has popped out a tad and to those that know, it's obvious why. Otherwise I imagine all others in this overly political correct world are quietly thinking she's had one too many burritos.

There have been two ultrasounds since last I wrote. Both done at UCLA as we've graduated from fertility to the reality of the pregnancy. One scheduled scan at 12 weeks followed by another follow up on the 13th. The later one calmed the previous' slight scare. It's almost like the case of looking for a problem. If you look deep enough, long enough or enough times at anything, things that should not be, can and most likely become apparent. Explains the bliss of ignorance.

Whether you're certain in your faith that all will be good or are certain in your resolve that you'll take what comes along no matter what, you can choose to forgo some of the many tests medicine and technology offer along the path to bringing in a life. For both those reasons, with Little Man we chose this path, along with several other "alternative" ways (funny how natural is modern day alternative, but that's a whole separate discussion) culminating in his birth at home. It was our child. Our lives. Our choices and decisions. Our outcome. And ultimately, our happiness. And though we are able and in the midst of making this happiness possible for R & J, this time it isn't solely our choice to figure out the ways. That is a joint work in progress.

Back to the scare. As we all know, the human body is created on a very precise schedule. What we don't all know is every step along the way. We leave that to the textbooks and professionals. Often scans and other tests along the way, can help us pin point exactly every step of the way and how it relates to where things should be in the schedule. Which is all well and good, if everything is going by the book. The scares come in with the footnotes. The little deviances of human nature. At 8 weeks, the intestines, which are already developed pop out and protrude outside of the fetus to make room for the development of the rest of the organs that later intertwine beneath. By the 12th week, the intestines go back into place. Or so say the books. The scan at 12 weeks showed something still outside. There is nothing that can be done about this abnormality at this point. If it were to remain this way, it would be handled after the birth. But, regardless it is an abnormality and therefore a source of concern. Another scan soon after can either confirm the problem or a correction back to schedule. Needless to say, the stress level going into the follow up was high. And though I personally could not be present due to work, I was on edge until I heard the results via text - all looks good! Relief. No protrusions other than possibly a little normal one. And though it's not 100%, it looks likely that there's a boy in that oven. We are yet again, where we want to be. And I feel comforted enough to write and share the news.

Theo Progress Report 06/13/11

2011-06-13T11:45:00.000-07:00

Ultrasound

2011-05-18T16:21:00.000-07:00

Since I just finished speaking of nausea and utter helplessness, the natural transition of topics brings me to the present stage of the surrogacy journey. Last I wrote of the actual pregnancy "catching," as they say. Our elation of the milestone achieved against the odds was high, full of personal pride and hope for the future for the now certain life being nurtured by the giving womb of my beautiful life partner. Blood tests show numbers and numbers reflect scientific certainty. And although we're in the midst of a scientific adventure, we're visual people and naturally the next focus of anticipation is just that visual aspect. Seeing the heart beating. Hearing it. Not just through hormone levels, but on a screen. However vague looking it may seem on an ultrasound it's our first real indication of actual life. And further stepping into the anticipation, the next question to be answered is, how many?

Unfortunately, the morning of the pending appointment that was to answer this question, Orit awoke to the unfamiliar feeling of the negative side effects of pregnancy. Morning sickness. Morning used loosely. Weakness had crept in for a few days prior. My vibrant and strong wife was beginning to feel not as herself and needing the assistance of horizontal moments throughout the day. Little Man spared us any of the ill effects. He developed and grew throughout a picture perfect pregnancy and birth in the comfort of our own home (I may just have to write about that whole experience one of these days). Obviously enjoyable enough an experience she'd want to recreate, otherwise we certainly would not be on this particular course. If not for ourselves, definitely for a couple in need. In come J & R. Who are obviously now members of our extended family and co-pilots of this voyage.

So this first appointment had to be rescheduled at the last minute. With it crept in a sense of disappointment that maybe, although still hopeful, this would not be as smooth a ride as we'd hoped for. Regardless, we would overcome and come out strong. A few days passed. The nausea and fatigue persisted in a manageable enough dose to allow her (us) to make it to our now rescheduled appointment. Armed with pressure point nausea wrist-bands and vitamin b6, we arrive at the familiar waiting room of the fertility center. R, the intended mom, arrived alone this time. J unfortunately is sick. We have a chance to discuss future options of and for the pregnancy. And then the three of us anxiously walk into the ultrasound room and begin the experience.

We have video of the ultrasound. iPhone camera to the rescue. Little Man wanted to be present to see it, but understood that school took precedent for him at this stage. I promised there would be documentation. The computer is turned on and up comes the familiar screen we all know to be an ultrasound. Appears a clear bean shaped, black void. Immediately described by the nurse as the uterus. Go figure, the ultimate bearer of life looks like a bean shaped black void. And in the bean, there’s a seed growing. A little roundish speck of white amongst the darkness. It's the only thing visible in there. So the initial thought following "there it is," is "only one!" Relief. There's a flickering of the rhythmic pulse that's not accompanied by sound yet as the Doppler setting is not yet turned on. So we see one. We see a heartbeat. Emotions are setting in the room amongst the 2 female main players. At the switch of a button, the sound of the Doppler kicks in and we now hear the heartbeat. Rhythmically fast and true. And the flood gates open as tissues are passed and Orit and R celebrate their joint Mother's Day gift. Orit mentions it's R's first and that thought sets in as they hold hands to cement their bond.

So there you have it. The man made science succeeded as planned defying the odds. Numbers and percentages have told the story thus far. Nature is taking over and the old familiar story of humanity is to be retold through new eyes that are about to be formed.

The fetus is tiny at this point. Only 6.3mm, coincidentally corresponding to the 6 weeks and 4 days of the pregnancy count. A millimeter per week. As we finalize the visit and talk about the next appointment, a still photo print out of the ultrasound is offered as a souvenir. There's an awkward moment where the image is dangled in mid hand off, unsure of who's hands it should land - mom or surrogate? The silence is disrupted by Orit saying to R, "it's your baby, you take the picture." We laugh, and hug and say our goodbyes. Until the next time. The final time for the fertility specialist before he jumps ship and hands off the baton to the next captain of the ship. His job is done. There are other women trying their hand at fertility.

Following the ultrasound appointment we got back home armed with the good news and right away hit a rough patch. Over a long almost 2 weeks of nausea beyond the morning, throughout the day and night. No vomiting. Maybe that would have helped, but it wouldn't come. Weak, helpless, apetiteless and f****** miserable. The world continued to spin around her. And she picked up a sinus cold to top it off. It hurt seeing her so uncomfortable. Nothing helped. Just time and shut eye. Positively the most time I've ever seen her spend in bed in all our twelve years. Orit is usually the opposite of sedentary. She was worn out from feeling worn out. Down and out. Finally, we discovered a homeopathic formula that has taken care of the bulk of it the majority of the time. We believe she's reaching the tail end of this cycle and see it’s end. Back to being a functional super mom, though still with little bad moments.

We're currently looking for the next captain for our freelance crew. The doctor of our collective choice to take the reins for the prenatal care and birth. Which brings in another decision to be made given our alternative choices in life. Doctor or Midwife? Hospital or birthing facility? We knew going into this thing that a home birth would not be much of an option. Not our baby and not our choice to make. There is the matter of the other couple involved. All we can do is let our minds and hearts be known and hope that we can all be on the same page along the way. Home birth is beyond the comfort level for R as she mentioned. But she is still open to alternative ways. A midwife, natural birth is within our scope. The research for options is being done. So that's where we're at and where we're heading.

Syncope

2011-05-16T23:29:00.000-07:00

I am about to go under the knife. I first started writing in this blog (which was originally set up as a photoblog for the Theo Progress Reports) as a way of getting through the one and only other surgery that has touched my life. Last August, Little Man had his tonsils and adenoids removed in what after the fact proved to be a very wise decision, though it certainly didn't feel like that in the midst of recovery. The positive results of his breathing were immediate. The healing from the procedure, THAT was difficult. And yet, if under the same circumstances someone were to ask my recommendation on the procedure, I'd definitely say yes. Easy to say in hindsight and I'm thankful for being there. While in it, I channeled my feelings towards documentation and story telling. The only way I'd like to ever re-live those moments is by going back and reading my posts of the time. Otherwise, I hope to never have to see my son through any such experience.

Now it's my time. My turn. I've written of my knee problems before. More with the hope of avoiding any sort of invasive procedure. With the somewhat comical twist of my spiritual shaman sister's new age techniques of transatlantically healing me with the power of her focused mind. Yes, I'm a bit of a skeptic to this realm, but I love my sister and was and always am happy to open myself up to giving her a chance. I had nothing to loose. In her mental travels of visualizing the internal workings of my torn meniscus, she was led to see a monkey jumping out from within my knee. I know, I know. A monkey? Yes, a monkey that claimed to be my inspiration. He had been trapped in my knee and was now out and free. You'll just have to look far enough back in my writing and seek the corresponding post to satisfy your curiosity should the itch need be scratched. And still, do so with an open mind. The bottom line of this inspiration monkey turned out to be quite a prolific period of my artistic flow. Thus, inspiration came freely and led to more and more writing, woodworking, and the ever-continuing polaroiding and life of art in all it’s formats. Inspiration continues as the words find their way to this page and the stories I tell find their way to your eyes. So for that, I thank my sister (and the monkey).

Unfortunately, the pain in my bad, left knee has persisted and gradually worsened. My right knee, which has no tear, over compensates for the other's shortcomings and is heading in the degenerative path, occasionally acting up. So, I have finally taken the step (intended pun) to do something about it. All of you millions of people (wishful thinking of my readership) out there that have had arthroscopic knee surgery have been telling me of how simple and common this procedure is. It has been perfected over 30+ years as the technologies advanced. Should calm my nerves and make me feel at ease. But regardless of how small the incision may be, the idea of having anything protrude through my skin and beyond makes me nervous. Not for the obvious reason. Unlike a tattoo where the needles quickly go in and out of the top layers of the dermis, just beneath the epidermis, and more like a consistent scratching beyond one certain spot, injections and surgeries (both of which I am not a fan of) go further, deeper in. And more disturbingly, stay in longer.

My zero hour of May 24th is nearing faster than anticipated and the nerves are beginning to make their way into my consciousness. Less of the actual surgery itself. More from the two upcoming needle occurrences that are to happen prior to the deed. Routine pre-op blood work to determine my body as surgically fit a week before the procedure, followed by the anesthesia on the day of. It may seem odd that those are the two things I fear most. More than the actual procedure and its recovery.

You see, I recently found out the name to a condition that I've suffered from since childhood. Vaso Vagal Syncope. It's not rare. It’s actually quite common. Maybe one of you live with it too. It's not anything I've ever been ashamed of, even prior to now in discovering it's name. Basically, I'm a fainter. Not for nothing. My trigger is needles. Those that go in deep and stay in for a period. I've had no control over it in my life thus far and have learned to live with it, through it and despite it. Luckily, I don't have to face a needle too often. Or maybe not. Maybe regularly facing it is the answer to overcoming. At this point, I'd rather find another way.

It doesn't always happen at every instance, which has made it more difficult to identify over the years. The path of symptoms, though are always the same when it does. Through my numerous experiences I learned to recognize them and prepare for all they bring. To make sure I'm lying down and make it be known as a possibility. When it does happen, it's not the physical act of the faint that scares me. The sudden hot flash, sweats, paleness, loss of vision and the tingling sensation as the black out begins to set in. The loss of speech and hearing followed lastly by the dark void. Dreams. Then on the other side, a slow, disorienting return to consciousness that starts with hearing while the eyes still see black. Fuzzy vision slowly refocuses to normalcy. I'm used to it. I recognize the feeling as it's about to happen, during and after. If this were the only part of the whole process I'd be a relatively happy camper. It's the side affects thereafter that hit me hard.

Just as I make my way back into this realm and finish assuring whoever it is, lucky enough to be in my presence, that I'm ok, it happens, it's happened and I'll be fine... that's when my body takes me on the wild ride along it's painfully familiar way of dealing with the next phase of the now dreaded process. Like a 24hr bug, I'm stricken with immobilizing nausea and vomiting. And just like a 24hr bug, it's gone at the end of its cycle. But in the midst of that day and night, I'm as miserable as I could possible be. Utter helplessness. The current healthy mind doesn't let me formulate the words to describe my hatred for that moment. Bottom line is it just absolutely sucks. And it's this post-faint period more than anything else, I fear and wish to avoid. Which may perpetuate the anxiety deep within the mind that causes the trigger in the first place.

Over the years, this fear of the after life of my meetings with a needle, have much surpassed the actual fear of the needle itself. It's not the physical prick or conscious pain. It's not at all about pain. My threshold for that is high in all other realms. As I've been told over and over again, it's all in the head. When that needle is in for long enough for the mind to decide if today is the day, somewhere in my psyche, the emotional trigger kick starts what's called the Vaso Vagal response. The part of the nervous system that regulates heart rate and blood pressure malfunctions. A message is sent by the brain for the heart rate to slow and the blood vessels in the legs to widen, allowing blood to pool down there. Which in turn lowers blood pressure suddenly. Blood flow to the brain quickly diminishes and thus we have syncope, or in layman's terms, the faint. In most cases, such as mine, the most dangerous part of this condition can occur from physically falling and injuring the head or other body parts during the faint. Thus, the lying down. Otherwise, there are no other health implications. It just happens. Shit happens.

Finally now, at 39, armed with a definition and knowledge of the condition, I may just be able to find a way of not just recognizing and living with it, as it’s been, but actually avoiding it. There are techniques that can be applied to try to avoid the response. I used to think simply lying down, turning away and trying to distract myself was all I could do. I know now that's not enough in my case. Raising the legs allows gravity to discourage the misguided message the ventricular system receives from the mind. If the darkness begins to creep in still, a critical window of 2 to 3 seconds exists as the symptoms leading into the black out take hold. Rhythmically flexing or pumping the leg muscles can help the blood push back upwards (actually downwards, when the legs are up) and return the flow back to the brain. Simple techniques that theoretically make perfect sense. Seems almost too simple. They’ll soon be tested. But it obviously took my lifetime of experience in recognizing my body's way of coping to get to this understanding.

Simplicity, I hope will win over my little battle with the condition. I will take my new techniques with me and utilize them this week at the next needle face off. And I will overcome. No fainting means no followed misery, and thus a personal victory.

Oh yeah, and the knee surgery. It's almost a secondary thing. I'm certain that will go smoothly. And all I've heard and read will ring true as recovery speeds along and the pain will be a memory of past. I look forward to that day when I can say to Little Man - "YES let's do that, cause my knee DOESN'T hurt."

Theo Progress Report - Israel 04/2011

2011-04-24T13:23:00.000-07:00

Notes From A Cafe

2011-04-18T14:25:00.000-07:00

Pistachios are being cracked with salty fingers. Scooby and Shaggy are once again cowardly hiding from some ghostly-evil-not-so-genius-after-all-demagogue, looking to rid of the gang of teenagers in a last push towards world domination.

And that's all I managed to write on the flight before being distracted by the uncomfortable muscle aches of immobility that kick in the minute you hear that click of the seatbelt. We made it through the first domestic and later transatlantic flights. We crossed a continent , an ocean and a sea. We watched movies, did math, tossed and turned in sleep attempts (Little Man being much more successful) and comically climbed over the guy that slept through it all while blocking the isle seat. It took a couple of pseudo attempts to gather the courage for climbing over a sleeping stranger. Then, that too became normal. And we made it to the other side. Out through the automated doors that spill out to the main reception hall for arrivals, Little Man ran into the awaiting arms of Saba and Safta. And so, our Israel 2011 visit begins.

A few days later, I sit in an Israeli sidewalk cafe, sipping on my upside down coffee (the practical Hebrew translation for cafe au lait) and amongst the many ponderings that roam my inner thoughts are; what makes ice so American that nowhere else is it typical to serve it with a Coke? Little things that seem insignificant like this add up to the more substantial reasons of why I am no longer a resident of this country. There are many. There is a tension and aggressiveness that looms over the relaxed atmosphere of the full to capacity sidewalk cafes, frequented by the wide spectrum of the population. News on a radio, tv or spoken of in person is heard in the background of any given time and place. There is a love hate relationship to this way of life that is typical to all immersed in it. On the one hand it's emotionally and aggressively defended towards those who chose to attack it from the outside. On the other, it's battered from within by it's insiders like a no holds barred cage fight. It's like a racial joke that can only be told by the same culture that's being joked about. Only insiders can take the piss out of the inside. Anyway, I'm not gonna get into the passionate inner struggle of who I am or where I belong. Not in this post. Probably, mostly because it's not much of a struggle anymore with every year passing. I am in a good place. regardless of where I physically reside. I am settled and satisfied. With life, my life and myself. Not to say there's not a need to aspire for more - always. There is work to be done and roads ahead to travel. My hope for the future is to continue as I have thus far - with pride and without regret. In the meantime, I take pictures, make art, write, live, give and get.

So I sit here a continent, an ocean and sea apart from my wife, with pride and hope for the journey that I spoke of two entries ago. The surrogacy journey. The one that has been all on paper and talk thus far, has officially begun in it's actual manifestation. It's been a long theoretical journey of which we are now stepping over the threshold of reality.

As I begin to type these words into my iphone for the first draft of this piece, there is a chance that currently existing cells will continue to multiply to the point of a human creation. A day prior to this father/son family visit Little Man and I are on, was the "transfer" of two healthy embryos that belong to our hopeful couple, the Intended Parents. It's a very clinical way to speak of them. And as they're warm, loving people I will give them the respect they deserve by naming them without naming them. J & R are each their first initial and from so forth will be regarded as such.

Last Thursday was a day that started like all others in this normal, mortal world. A small window of that morning, was not. Orit was told to drink a lot of water prior to coming in. More correctly, she was told to come with a full bladder. Those of you who know her, know that she does as she feels. In altruism as well as basic physical needs. So when the girl has got to pee, she's got to pee. She's gotten quite creative in the past with this topic. Like the one time with a diaper... They picked the perfect internal organ to fill up completely for this procedure. She's told that it would not be the first time should the valium relaxed muscles give into the urge of peeing right there and then on the medical table. We all would understand, but no one wants to see it. Apparently, the bladder being full pushes down on the uterus and makes it easier for the fertility specialist to see what he's doing on the ultrasound. Which in turn makes it easier for the rest of the peanut gallery to follow along as well. Those of us in the grand stands are yours truly and J & R. R, who's gone through this procedure twice herself (now you know which one is the intended mother), is knowledgable in more than just this procedure but in the whole fertility medical world. She's an RN and besides her personal experience and journey, has also worked in the fertility field. I suppose every case is different and every couple and surrogate has a different relationship. Ours is such that when they asked if they could be present, Orit (and I) didn't hesitate. It's their baby and so long as they're comfortable being in the room and following along, we are. I'm not the one who's vulnerable, legs up in stirrups. And Orit is certainly not shy. Once she's positioned and prepared under a blanket, they come in and the fertility party commences. Music and all (a little background ambiance believe it or not. I think it was Buena Vista Social Club). Orit, a little loopy from the valium given her to relax her body, is laying down in position. Me at her side. J & R behind us. All anxiously glued to the ultrasound screen like patrons at a sports bar waiting for the kick-off. Don't ask me why I chose this metaphor as none of us are neither bar patrons nor sports fans. The doctor and his assistant are on the working side of the blanket. Activity begins on the screen. A catheter is inserted and is immediately and clearly visible on the ultrasound screen. A window reminiscent of a dumbwaiter opens from the adjoining room where the embryologist passes the two embryos in a syringe with a long tube. Kind of like what we see on tv when the doctor asks for a tool and it's handed over with two hands in a sterile and procedural manner. There is a formality to the hand off. The long thin tube is inserted into the catheter and the syringe is pushed in. And poof, two little specs are seen as white dots on the screen being pushed out of the tube and into the abyss of the uterus. And that's that. Two minutes and it's over. The most uncomfortable part is the full bladder. She is now free to pee. But "please don't get up just quite yet... I'll bring a bed pan," the nurse said, as we all exited the room. I then come back into the room for a quiet, intimate wait of 20 minutes as she dozes off into a sleep. I believe it's the first time Orit has ever taken any kind of medication such as Valium, so it's natural that it knocked her out. And then we are finished. As a souvenir, we're given a 4"x6" photo of the two embryos (as seen through a microscope and by this time multiplied into 8 cells) that have just been placed in her womb. And off we went for lunch at the Nickel Diner. Back to normalcy just like that. Just another day in everyone else's world.

The chances of a pregnancy "catching" as they say, are less than what you'd imagine. Around 30 percent. These were embryos that have been frozen for several years after all. But we're hopeful that the host body and her determination to make this happen will defy the odds. If anyone can make it happen, it's Orit. There was a chance that they'd not survive the thawing. But both did. There is a smaller chance that they will both "catch" and there will be twins. Right now we hope for one. For the deed to be done. That's the gift we signed up for. The reality of carrying twins is not what Orit would chose given absolutes. Though she will deal with the realities of the science and nature, and take the chances as they come. In the meantime rest is the prescription. It's why Little man and I are here in Israel alone. School dictates our schedule these days and spring break is here. There are only so many windows. As Orit remains a world apart, we are still very much connected. Technology facilitates it. The heart and soul make it real.

Ten days following the transfer, a blood test is taken to determine results in absolute terms. Since a week has past, in a few days we shall all know where we stand. Maybe before, the body will give it's own signs. None thus far. For now we wait and cross our fingers. Nature is taking it's course.

And so on then 10th day, I am expecting and awaken by a video chat, an email and a call -"Congratulations! You are going to be a surrogate daddy!!!" And so it is. Coincidentally falling on our 12th Anniversary (which will be celebrated together upon my return). Looks like I'll be making some trips to Whole Foods for that particular flourless chocolate cake she craved with Little Man. Or maybe this time it will be something else. Either way, I'll be happy to go. Welcome to my life.

Theo Progress Report 03/30/11

2011-03-30T23:28:00.000-07:00

Moments That Stay In (And On) You

2011-03-02T21:21:00.000-08:00

When Little Man was 3 and a half, he and I went to Israel on our yearly family visit. The first of it's particular kind as it was just the two of us, sans Orit. Sans Mommy. Two things came out of our little male bonding trip that will never leave me.

The first, started as an idea that culminated in a permanent imprint on my arm a few years later. The story of my tattoo started at the airport on this trip. Two bags in hands, a backpack and a 3 year old boy can make for a stressful airport and transcontinental voyage experience. One that we not only passed with flying colors, but actually managed to enjoy. I remember telling him on the way to checking in the bags that I cannot hold his hand. That I need him to stick by me in the crowd and hold me by the arm. The inside of my forearm at the time was a little higher than was comfortable for him to reach, but still doable and preferable to him pulling on my pants and pulling them down (I like to wear my pants low on the hip to begin with). I can't say it was exactly at a certain moment right there and then that the idea materialized in full clarity. But it was this experience both there and back that planted the seed.

I started experimenting with the idea when we came back to mommy's waiting arms. Over several days, I had Little Man place his hand on a large ink pad we had bought for art projects and stamped my arm with his hand print. Each day, on a different spot and angle in attempts to figure out exactly where and if this was really something I wanted to live with for the rest of my life. Ultimately going back to the visual of his hand at the airport knowing that was it. We made several hand prints on paper until we got the right one. And then sat on the idea, letting it brew for what turned out to be a few years. Not on purpose. Just happened that way. Until the day I decided it was time. At 38 years old, I knew it was now or never. Out of my own personal laziness and lack of knowledge on tattoo artists, I called my long time friend Keith and asked him who he thinks should do this tattoo. I've watched Keith transform his body over several years and knew he would take the task seriously and with a great sense of responsibility. He said he would make it his quest to walk me through the spiritual path of my first tattoo and I was certain that whoever it was he found, that would be my choice. A few days went by and the answer came in the form of a text. "Eddy Deutsch. That's our man." That was it. Eddy was my guy. The text continued to say Eddy won't know about me "until tomorrow but give him a call on Thursday or Friday." Not only did he find me the right artist, he made sure he'd know about me. Though Keith didn't know Eddy or have work done by him, he made sure to use a mutual contact to get my story to him. So, no more sitting on it. The time was now, the artist was decided. It was time to schedule and just do it. I did a little research online to see some samples of the work and his background. I was happy and not surprised to see he was more than well respected and a top leader in the field. Keith delivered on his promise and I made the call. We had a couple of exchanges and a date was set. I began to mentally prepare myself to overcome my fear of needles.

Like so much of what we do in our Unit, it became a family thing from idea to ultimately materializing. As the scheduled time neared, Little Man asked more and more questions about the impending tattoo. About how it will be done and who will do it. We watched videos on YouTube showing traditional Yakuza Japanese and other tribal tattoos. How they're done by hand. Why they're done. Modern techniques with tattoo guns, how they're made and what makes them work. How they leave an image. Basically, immersing ourselves in the subjects' world through the internet, like we did prior to Little Man's surgery (see first few written posts in August 2010, if interested). The internet is an amazing tool for immediate gratification of knowledge and we use it in it's full capacity in these instances. This was not only going to be a spiritual right of passage for myself, but The Unit was going to be a part of it. And so it was. The three of us spent a couple of hours at Eddy's private studio. Little man got the run down on Eddy's customized tattoo guns. The hand print I brought with me was xeroxed onto carbon paper and the outline was transferred onto my arm. The rest was free form artistry with the original at hand (no pun intended) for reference. Little Man, closely watching every pass and and every wipe. The final result, a constant reminder of my flesh and blood, devotion, love and experience. Permanent on the flesh. I look at it every day with pride and wonder what emotions will go through my mind as an old man looking at the hand of what was once my 3 year old baby boy. In the meantime, Little Man has a unique place for a high five.

The second, is a simple story. And though I have nothing on my body as a reminder of it, there's an imprint on my heart. It was a typical evening in the beginning of Little Man's night routine. I remember at the time, he was using "I love you" in an excessive way. I don't exactly remember the circumstance of how and why he was overusing it, just that he was. Now I'm not sure if there really is such a thing of overusing "I love you," but I made an attempt to explain to him the importance of words, their meaning and power. I wanted him to understand that love is the strongest of all emotions and by overusing it, you can diminish it's importance. That was it. The evening continued and the conversation was forgotten and maybe even not quite understood, or so I thought. Later on, while sitting in the kitchen eating a late evening jet-lag induced snack, where Little Man got what he asked for in spite of the hour and sugar content, I was reminded of the capacity of the 3 year old child. Or at least mine. He looked at me with the intention of saying something. He started with "Abadada," and then paused. Abadada is what he used to call me (Aba is dad in Hebrew, the rest and the combo I'm sure you understand and appreciate). I miss those days. Back to the moment of pause. His eyes told my mind it would be followed by "I love you." But, in that moment and the mischievous pause, our earlier conversation clicked. And as I was expecting the three words to follow, he surprised me with "I want you to be safe." I stayed composed enough to laugh off the moment together and I hugged him. But as he was finishing his snack, I excused myself for a moment and walked to the bathroom, where the power of that moment and his chosen words involuntarily forced the tears to flow.

I'm reminded of these two events because we're about to embark on yet another father son only trip to Israel in April. Three and a half years later, now he's 7. Truly a Little Man. I look forward to the new adventures and moments we'll have and I look forward to what will stay with me (or on me) as a result.

Theo Progress Report 02/26/11

2011-02-26T23:29:00.000-08:00

Theo Progress Report 02/06/11

2011-02-06T17:29:00.000-08:00

The Newest Adventure

2011-02-02T09:17:00.000-08:00

I got asked today if I was ready for this new adventure my family has embarked on. Another person said I get to experience all the emotions and hardships of the ride without the benefits. Some of you out there already know what I'm about to drop on the rest of you. The rest of you are starting to wonder if I'll ever get to the point, but also know that I'll drag you on a little ride prior to doing so.

So what is the point? I don't really know. Do I write for me or for you? To inform or to justify, or simply to share? For now, let's call it an insomniac's rant.

I have been blessed with many things in my 39 years and I am very aware of them. We all make choices in life, some more defining than others. Some are made for us and we must either adapt, or not. Some just appear in metaphors. I look back at a critical night 13 years ago, on a dark wintry night atop a Brooklyn rooftop and remember one of my such moments. A light bulb lit up above my head and a flame burned within. I knew in that moment, I would be going on many adventures with the woman that now sleeps next to me as I write this. I scared the living shit out of her by making the proclamation right there and then, causing a set back that made me have to fight back for what I thought I had already achieved. Ah, relationships! But hell, that only made me stronger and more persistent, and the payoff, well, you guys have followed our son's life through my Theo Progress Reports for 7 years now. And our devotion to our "Unit," as I refer to my family, through images and words are in this blog and many emails prior to it’s inception. Some of you have been there since day one. Others have hopped on somewhere along the way. Some of you I know well. Others I look forward to meeting one day. But here, in this archive, is the categorically slow unfolding of our story.

So things have worked out for us in that sense. We have worked for us. Made it work. Quite an achievement in this day and age, which gives both of us a great sense of pride in ourselves and for one another. Respect and admiration maintain the flame of love. So much the opposite of what we perceive when just falling into the spirals of love. That chemical high we want never to loose is such an illusion and such the downfall for so many as it starts to fade and we scramble to hold on. As my mother told me through one of my depressive heartbroken late teenage stages, "it's easy to fall in love, it takes work to stay there." Was not what I wanted to hear then, but it turned out to be a saying I never forgot, nor will. I think I understand it now. But still, there is much life ahead and much work to be done.

And so another adventure has begun for us. How much do any of you know about the world of surrogacy? That crazy science of induced fertility where nature is cruel that started with that one “test tube baby” we vaguely remember from the news all those years ago in 1978. Actually, not so many years in the scheme of things. Louise Brown is her name. Imagine for a second being her and being the absolute first of a kind. Not a mixed breed or of a new race. Not with a new disease or mutation never seen before, but still created by nature’s hand. Not unique because of an achievement or an ability. It’s quite a thought in itself. It’s quite an achievement for humanity, regardless of your politics. One that was worthy of The Nobel Prize for Medicine for it’s inventor. Now Louise Brown has a son of her own, conceived naturally. In a sense replenished back to nature’s ways. We’ve advanced tremendously in this science. So much so that we all know it in it’s less crude and more scientific name as In Vitro Fertilization. It’s in our common vocabulary and our daily quest to reproduce. Orit and I are lucky in that we never had to acquaint ourselves intimately in it when we decided to start a family. Sure we knew all the trials and tribulations others around us, close and not so, where going through to get there. And it seemed like more and more were forced to take difficult routes on their quest towards it. Some around us made choices of aiding in science in the more alternative ways. That's when surrogacy first entered our lexicon and education.

Our personal experience was such that we just stopped trying not to start a family and it happened. Wham bam... (you know the rest), pregnancy. Then came the choice of having our child at home as nature intended in our eyes. Inspired by being present and witnessing the birth of our niece, Noa (second daughter of my crazy, amazing sister Ayelet who can see a monkey in my knee - see previous post INSPIRATION if you’re that curious). And so here we made another defining choice that led to our next greatest adventure to that date and our greatest invention to date. Theo came into the world following a picture perfect pregnancy (and well documented at that) as peacefully and calmly as we were ready to accept him. On our terms. In our space. And it's all been yet another adventure with every new day and new stage. And we’re both in love with him and every minute of him, through all the difficulties and challenges of parenting. Another saying that will stick with me throughout my lifetime, this one said to Orit and I by a complete stranger - "you're making a person, make a good one." Think about that. We may make a person for selfish reasons. And that’s ok. It’s human. But, for humanity’s sake as well as our own legacy, really invest in making a good one.

And here we are, beginning the next big adventure. The one you can guess by now, if you've read this far, where my wife checks off one of her "bucket list" items of doing something so selfless, so absolute in it's giving. So random in it's choice of recipients. How many of you think this way? Becoming a surrogate. Bringing forth to the world a child for another couple not able to do it on their own. Their child in our (Orit's) oven. We've had several close friends over the past 8 years that have exposed us to this world, albeit from the receiving end. And so it becomes normal. And so, the seed was planted (still metaphorically) in Orit's mind probably going back that far. And with her, a seed planted is a seed nurtured is a flower that WILL grow. So she made the decision and that's that, it's gonna happen. Obviously, mutual respect and admiration dictates getting me on board. And obviously, mutual respect and admiration dictates that I've been on board since the seed was just being planted. It came as no surprise to me. That's one of the reasons my light bulb lit up all those years ago.

So here we go. Moving on to the practicalities. So much of what we spend our energy on for many of us is just about making a decision. Once that weight is taken off, we are free to do. Next comes how to go about it? Research, education, agencies, meetings, questionnaires, forms, more forms, medical histories, etc... You'd be surprised at how detailed it all can get. But then again, you shouldn't be as it is bringing in a life. That was about a year ago when all that began. Fast forward; a set back in timing, first couple match attempt wrong for us, discussions with Little Man preparing, educating and involving him. Then came getting on birth control pills after many years of not (ironic, but needed to establish a regulated pattern for timing), needing a chicken pox vaccine cause Orit has never had the disease, and yada yada yada... A new couple is then presented on paper. We meet them. We like them. They like us. We have mutual sensibilities and expectations. A contract is drawn. There are lawyers. Amendments are made. Enter the fertility doctor and nurse. A mock cycle is done with estrogen in order to prepare the uterus for the embryo transfer and impending pregnancy. All very scientific, clinical and in a nutshell. The embryos have absolutely no genetic connection to us. They belong to the couple. The womb that will carry and give birth to the child is purely a vessel to ensure a birth from scientific specimen to the Intended Parent’s (IP's) arms and a normal childhood and life. There are several more steps along the way. A couple more visits with the doctor. A few more lunches and hikes with our new friends and partners of the journey. Here the story gets more personal. More intimate. More private. And because there is a specific contract, I won't get into the details of who these IP's are, what they do or anything else personal on their end. I will respect their privacy as promised and as my ethics dictate. The adventure from our perspective, I will try to document to the best of my writing and visual abilities, which is what I'm attempting starting here.

We are well on the way and anticipate the last stages of the science to be over with soon. Stay tuned for more on the process. All systems are go. We are about to lift off towards the pregnancy stage. And that's where we are to date.

As for Little Man, you may ask how much is he involved and really understands at his age? Well, we've had many talks and have been very candid with him going back quite a while. Those who know him, know that he understands. He gets it. He gets us. He really likes, has had fun and feels comfortable with the couple after hanging out with them on two occasions now. And his assessment of their character is this - "he's gonna be a great dad and she's gonna be a great mom." What more can you ask for?

My mother posed a question. Of course she comes from that camp (seems to be a generational thing) that believes that we should have another child of our own. A sibling for Theo. Two are better than one. That's a whole other discussion and there are many reasons we could get into with all the pros and cons from both our points of view. And that may still happen one day regardless of our current belief that we are good with our "Unit." We are open to this journey being the catalyst that will ultimately help us make that future decision. We haven't done it thus far for many reasons that have led us to this moment. Until then, one step at a time. My mother is obviously concerned as is the nature of any mother. For Theo. For Orit. But she is also behind us in full support of our decisions as she always is after hearing our convictions. I love her for that. Her question was what if Theo grows up one day and begins to feel resentful of the fact the we brought another child into the world that wasn't his brother or sister? I was a little surprised at that, but didn't hesitate in my response. First of all we refuse to make decisions based on what if situations that Theo may one day face. We must empower him and give him the chance to establish his own feelings and trust us as we trust ourselves. Second of all, I can't see that happening cause if it does, it will mean that we failed our job as the parents we strive to be. If we do our job right, there will be no reason to resent, but rather take pride and appreciate us all the more for the choices made to give of ourselves.

So going back to my opening and the questions I've been recently asked. Am I ready? Yes. I am ready. And yes, I am prepared to endure the emotions and hardships that arise throughout. And no, I don't see it as doing so without any of the benefits. I have the enormously large benefit and privilege of being in this marriage. And I love my wife all the more for being who she is and doing what she does. This is as much my adventure as it is hers. This is what I signed up for.

Theo Progress Report 01/17/11 - Vasquez Rocks

2011-01-18T17:22:00.000-08:00

Theo Progress Report 01/01/11

2011-01-18T17:20:00.000-08:00

Theo Progress Report 12/19/10

2010-12-19T23:17:00.000-08:00

Theo Progress Report 12/05/10

2010-12-05T12:13:00.000-08:00

Theo Progress Report 11/13/10

2010-11-13T21:27:00.000-08:00

Tickets

2010-11-04T14:25:00.000-07:00

I've touched on this subject slightly before, but since it gets it's own post, the story deserves to be told from the beginning. Little man has a thing for numbers. He likes to count. And count. And count. He writes down numbers and fills up pages and pages. He recognizes patterns, which simplify mathematics and it's more advanced ways. He understands money and counts it, saves it and negotiates around it. I'm not saying "Rainman" obsessive. Not blow you away genius type doing quantum physics. Thankfully. A really smart kid. Little Man has many other talents of the mind and body worth a subject of their own, but numbers definitely integral. All the old folks of the family/friends circle meet or see him and immediately prophetically voice his future calling to become a great mathematician or engineer (then they see him run and do karate and...). But numbers, through creative outlets have led to an interesting interest of maintaining a collection - of tickets.

True to form, not the typical collection, but one nonetheless, that had outlasted the many attempts along the way (except with money which he's always enjoyed collecting, as we all do). Simple tickets. The kind you get at some schools or some teachers. The kind you get at fairs, festivals, raffles and special events.
Most tickets need to be traded in for a prize, a ride, an entrance to this or that. That's what they're for usually, the means to the ends. Well Little Man, would ultimately rather keep the ticket. Sometimes we're able to manipulate the situation allowing us to do the thing AND keep the ticket/s. At times, depending on the venue, it's not exactly the right kind of ticket so the calculation to turn them in and collect is made. A rare occasion. They're pretty universal and range in colors. The kind I've described in the past as Andy Warhol painted and silk-screened. It's a funny little collection. The ways a 6 and a half year old rationalizes the sacrifice of giving up something for keeping a ticket is fascinating. The dedication and devotion to the cause is impressive. The independence invoked by situations where he needs to buck up and ask the person in charge of the tickets if he could keep his for "the collection" is a priceless lesson in going after what you want. Sometimes it's possible. He certainly has learned that it never hurts to ask. And usually whichever one of us is with him at the time has to explain further to the third party his thing for tickets in some funny one-liner sort of delivery. Keeps things interesting and light amongst interactions.
He counts his tickets and handles them often. And pretty much gets a lot of enjoyment out of them, their growing numbers and the processes involved in acquiring them. So we go with it. Have for a while. And it seems to be sticking around and growing. So like a marriage, you have to get creative and find ways to spice it up. Take it to the next level. I'll let your imagination roll for a bit and then bring it back to Little Man's level.
On a recent trip to the local office-supply-super-mega-chain-conglomerate, I noticed or was reminded that we could purchase a roll of these suckers and have control in-house. Use it as a tool. I mentioned it to Orit and agreed that at the next visit to the same or similar place, one of us would buy it and we'll figure out how to apply them. So, while I was away a few days on a recent out of town job, Orit purchased a roll and began the process of laying down the rules and negotiating the terms of rewarding with tickets. A process which continues to evolve, be shaped and amended daily. Certainly more intricate in nuances than Pavlov's experiments. But we hold firm in our convictions and our ways. Sounds easy. He keeps us on our toes that's for sure. So you have to get creative. Or you don't. We do.
Reading is another big part of Little Man's life and daily routine. Currently he 's in the midst of refining fluent reading and the confidence and ability to get past the difficult climbs and plateaus of any learning curve. He reads. And is quickly becoming more fluid and less mechanical. We're over the hump of small books with large letters perceived as easy books for him. He gets that size of letters don't make a difference in difficulty. And longer words just need to be vocalized and broken down to sections until it clicks. And he's at a stage of prolific reading. He's always been a prolific listener of stories. No bed time stories and no dessert are the two worst punishments he could conceive. And mostly in that order. But now HE reads. And even though it started as a chore, he's quickly acquired the liking as the proper skills have fallen into place. Our current trend is poetry. Roald Dahl and Shel Silverstein to name two very prolific writers of novels, short stories, poetry and songs that we've been exploring for a while. He usually reads a couple of poems and turns over as sign of his readiness to listen for the remainder of his conscious experience.
Which brings us to last night and the reason for this post. Last night the urge for tickets was stronger than the urge to sleep. Little Man is usually not one to fight that sleepy feeling that creeps in at a certain hour. He tends to recognize the feeling and allow it to do it's thing. Not last night. Tickets have found their way in our home to encourage his reading. So, tickets, as the ends to the means of reading, were triumphant. He devoured poem after poem. Some a few lines short, others up to four pages long. And not big bulky letters that take up space. With his mind on the growing collection and his hands often rubbing his tired eyes, he changed positions constantly trying to stay awake. I even saw him falling asleep for a slight second a couple of times and quickly coming to, saying "where was I"? Reminded me of hearing my grandfather telling me stories when I was a kid. Not until he had secured 18 tickets for himself was he ready ready to hang up the towel. To give you some sense of scale, it's usually around 2,3 maybe 4 tickets per night thus far. I get the sense we'll need to take another trip to purchase more rolls of tickets sooner than later. I'm ok with that.

These tickets may mean something different to him and us. But ultimately they are a means to an end. For him a collection. For us, learning. Another tool that benefits all of us players involved in this particular game of life. A simple tool, applied simply to achieve something positive. Parenting is not new. Cliches overly describe it's universal messages. The techniques are not new and not all apply to all. We simply all have a duty to get creative and experiment in order to learn to apply them in our own lives. As I heard someone say once, "you're bringing a person into the world, it might as well be good one." That's the part some people don't seem to understand comes from their own efforts beyond letting nature takes it's course. We didn't invent anything new with this ticket collection reward system. We just discovered that it works for us and the feeling that comes with it - Well, it might as well be our invention.

Mariee

2010-10-13T22:43:00.000-07:00

We have a new kid. Well, not so new really. She's been with us for about 6 months or so. We made no formal announcements. It just sort of happened and life went by... So here, I make my formal introduction of Mariee D. to my world of readers. Wait a minute, D. is not H. (as in Harpaz), so how could we have had another child you ask? It all started at Starbucks like all of my mornings do. The one two blocks away, where the local bunch of loud mouthed Israeli contractors smoking outside and taking over the tables hang out. Planning the tear-down of quaint 1940's homes of the neighborhood for ugly McMansions that take up the whole lot and are made of the newest, cheapest materials that science and technology have given us. Plastics instead of wood. Composites instead of real stuff. It's one thing the materials, but why does character, detail and beauty need to be sacrificed alongside? Anyway, back to our newest family member cause you guys must be curious by now about this Mariee. She's not a baby and she certainly did not come out of my beloved's womb, as I may have misled above. At Starbucks, for a while I would see Mariee as a fixture of the place. An older lady, my guess at the time upper 70's or early 80's, that would sit and hang out with the many colorful characters that frequent the joint. Sometimes alone, others with her dog, but always dressed with what I can only describe as an ecclectically hippie-ish disheveled sort of look. We first met when I was sitting with our two dogs. Mariee started talking to them and me and we developed an acquaintanceship. She has a dog, Nova, I would see with her every so often. Nova's full name is, get this - Nova San Ita Shima De La Nocha De Lus Mojuba I love You Forever Which Is Further Than Beyond. I kid you not. She repeats it the exact same way every time. A little glimpse into Mariee's world for you. Typical of her owner's somewhat disheveled look, Nova (I'll keep the short version) was leashed with a short knotted rope tied to an old red knotted up leash. Just one of my Starbucks people. You get these sort of on the surface relationships when you frequent any place long enough. Often they stay on the surface. Like in my Starbucks case of being known by an alias for years in a premeditated attempt to distance myself from the Israeli contractor bunch. This way I can sit and hear all their talk without them having a clue I understand all their chauvinist remarks. In some cases, like Mariee's, over a little bit of time you begin to scratch under the surface and beyond. That's how I found out about the cancer. Breast cancer. And the spreading. On one occasion where we actually sat together and over our coffee's she got quite chatty and spilled out about her ordeal - all while smoking a cigarette. On my end, I felt sad hearing her story, but shit happens all the time to all sorts of people and what is she doing smoking anyways? I suppose everyone has their own level of compassion and though I was feeling a bit of it, I didn't set out to adopt her quite yet. For now she's another colorful person coming in and out of my daily routine. Time went by and I'd see her here and there at Starbucks or on the way to or from, until it became apparent that she actually lives in the building directly across the street from our house. And we (by then Orit had developed the same casual type of on the surface relationship with her) began to notice her getting weaker, older and balder. And I don't know at what point exactly or how the relationship was taken to the next level, but it did. Of course it was not me. Orit, who had been really good over the years of purging herself of picking up strays (metaphorically speaking, but needy souls tend to find her) did it and did it big. My humanitarian, compassionate, angel of a wife, always the one to take it to the next level. And though I may be nothing like that myself in parts, it's one of the reasons I am awed by her with every new day and every new adventure she brings into our lives. As some of you know and some not and most don't know the half of it, she's full of them. What I am not, I get to be vicariously through her. And vice-versa. Another tip for the future relationship manual. Sometimes the hardships of responsibility to the human spirit are beyond my everyday abilities. I need to retreat and go into my cave at times. I can allow that because I know she'll be there when I come out and I'm certain that I'm coming out to better worldknowing she's out there making those human connections.
So, Mariee, in her struggles to remain strong and independent through her sickness became more and more dependent on little gestures of Orit's kindness (I did contribute a bit too). Walking Nova, who's a 70lbs. dog who gets excited seeing other dogs on a leash. There was the one time Nova pulled her down to the ground, right onto a pile of shit. On her face. She told us that one with the humor she manages to muster even in the midst of the deepest of depressions. Walks here and there have turned into rides to doctor's, test's, pharmacy's, chemo, supermarket and even once to the hospital for a panic attack. The paramedics came and stood across the street as they so often do come to the building across the street. It's subsidized senior housing. Not a home, but independent apartments. Full of old Russian folks mostly. Not an unknown building to the local paramedics from the fire department. But this one time in particular, I had a funny feeling and ran out to ask what apartment number they were here for and of course it was her. So Orit drove to the hospital. I stayed home with Little Man. Who has been slowly developing a relationship with her as an unavoidable fact of her being around Orit, her "Guardian Angel" a lot. The Monsignor that she talks to asks her about Orit with every visit. Marrie said that even though her Angel is Jewish she WILL go to heaven. No way she could burn in hell. Marrie never married, has no kids and is completely alone here. She's not upper 70's or 80's as I'd guessed but 66. The cancer and chemo has taken a huge chunk of her visual youth. The mind, still wants to be a kid. She has a brother and a sister out of state, separate states, living their own lives but supporting hers. They discourage her from living in their respective states as the health care would not be covered nearly as such as in California. They probably couldn't afford it. But they cover her basic needs here. California covers the treatments. The rest falls on the new family from across the street. The every day nitty gritty of the ups and downs of a sickness and it's tolls. The calls back and forth and meals and tag alongs to youthful worlds outside her own, of old people and sickness. So like another child you love, you take on the burdens that come. And sometimes do things happily, sometimes not so, but with compassion. Orit just does it naturally. It's in her essence. And so I embrace it (sometimes grudgingly but always ultimately with no regret). It's hard not to, being in it. And the great thing is that Little Man sees and lives with it all. Yet another amazingly colorful experience and person for him to make a connection with. And he has. He started to call her "Grandma" last week. And you two real Grandma's out there need not feel jealousy, but rather be proud of the beauty he has in his heart. He did it because he recognized that she needed it from a certain point in their inevitable bonding. And for that and much more I am proud.

Today was a special day for two reasons. One being the amazing story of the rebirth from the earth of 33 trapped miners in Chile. A story that will live amongst legendary tales and should be covered in a completely separate session on it's own. An emotional day of absolute success on par with landing on the moon, which I did not get to experience. I'll add it to the list of topics to possible revisit here another time, as the personal stories begin to come out. The other, a simple story. Starbucks is yet again involved. I walk in and see J, one of a few Starbucks workers we've befriended. He said to me, " I saw Mariee yesterday. She told me about Theo calling her and telling her she is not alone. And that it was on a day that she was feeling particularly bad." I laughed. Now, I will confess that it was obviously done with the encouragement of mom and dad as we dialed her number. And coached him somewhat. But he said it as practiced cause he knew it would make her feel better. And he knew she was feeling pretty shitty. And that's more the point. No arguments like when asked to pose for a photo, or this or that or typical 6 and a half year old excuses. Did it happily. And it made it's impact. I knew it would. He knew it would. I could hear her reaction on the phone. I knew I would hear it from her later and I heard about it from J at Starbucks, who in turn, turned it around on us and said "it's an amazing thing you're doing with Mariee." I said, "it's all my wife." He said, "you're a part of that family." And that's why I like going to my Starbucks and the reason I decided to talk about our not so new kid, Mariee.

Theo Progress Report 10/04/10

2010-10-04T18:14:00.000-07:00

Theo Progress Report 09/05/10 - San Francisco

2010-09-06T22:38:00.000-07:00

Inspiration

2010-09-05T12:52:00.000-07:00

Coinciding with some good happenings and experiences, I've been getting a lot of super positive and encouraging responses from those of you I encounter in my daily, and not so daily life. So it's safe to say that good things are happening and it's an exciting time. Yet another crossroad of inspiration and direction. Some of the feedback conveyed is almost as descriptive as I can sometimes be in my ramblings. I'm honored by all of your comments. Touched by some. Many, astute with observations. One in particular came out of nowhere and was just so straight up honest, it struck a chord. He came up to me after already roughly 30 minutes of shooting the shit about this and that at work, along with a few other guys around and said to me "by the way, I hate you." What the hell are you talking about was all I could think and was obviously written all over my face as nothing came out of my mouth. He repeats, "I hate you - I hate you, cause you inspire me". Uncomfortable pause, furrowed brows... "I don't read. I don't ever read anything. And I've been reading everything on your blog." Well then. In that case I hate you too, with a big thank you. So inspiration inspires inspiration which in turn responds with inspiration. The "he" who said it, knows who he is. And if he's the true follower and reader that he claims to be, he thus gets his recognition here and will know that what he said stayed behind, with an impact - Good one.

Inspiration comes in many forms. Some of us veer off a path to follow other paths and dabble as such. Some focus on one shtick and stick to it a lifetime. Orit and I talked about inspiration the other night. In a different context, but still the same. She mentioned Theo was my main inspiration. Said it with a hint of sadness possibly realizing or thinking that once upon a time, she was my inspiration. For a long time, she alone was my subject for pictures and words. In a sense, she's right. Not absolutely though. I'm a dabbler of inspirations. I go through intense phases of prolific outputs within one body of work. And then walk away. Sometimes revisiting ideas of past, changing and adapting for the materials at hand and the era in my life and mostly the space I have to produce it. I don't walk away completely from previous themes, as they always seem to linger overhead, providing an umbrella signature of my being. So in my presence, my work and my choices, Orit continues to be the leading force of inspiration that drives me forward. Even with little man being in front of the camera or the subject of a story, it's all inter woven by the dynamic of our creative lives and our greatest creation. Every frame shot, every story written and every piece built is but a fraction of the larger collage of me.

The reason I chose inspiration or rather inspiration chose me as a topic this time is all because of a little monkey. A monkey that jumped out of my knee apparently (I'll explain...). That monkey was my inspiration coming out and the supposed beginning of relief from the pain my knee has been waiting for. Most of you are completely lost by now, so let me explain. Or at least try to. I'm not sure I quite understand, but my inspiration (Orit) tells me to at least be open to it. As some of you may know, I have bad knees. One bad one with a slight meniscus tear, another overcompensates and is heading in the same direction. Fast forward... My sister, Ayelet, healer of babies, mothers and now knees. Actually, all ailments, not just knees. That was just me being a smart-ass. Her life in the spiritual world is in a realm that I may claim to somewhat understand, in concept, but I don't. I'm not a quiet person internally and its difficult for me to step deep enough into the quiet to attain this "understanding." But, past the giggles of perceived kookiness, lay all sorts of possibilities I will never understand. But, I can at the very least respect them. So my sister learned a new technique of healing at one of the intensive seminars she participated in. A new ability to heal through the mind via remote control. She can "get into me and my knee" and do it from where she resides in Israel, all while I'm asleep in my Los Angeles home. What the hell? All I have to do is sleep. I've got nothing to loose. There's a 10 hour difference so our timing is perfect. She just needs an hour to do her magic. Visualize the knee and go to work. My biggest fear before going to sleep is, will she see me naked? It's my sister after all. I woke up the following morning half hoping for a miracle bounce in my step. Unfortunately, I started a three day location job that turned out to be very physical and only managed to aggravate both of my knees. I'm not skeptical about the whole thing yet, though. Still open, and even though I haven't had a chance to speak to her in depth yet, from Ayelet's end, she had quite an experience. No, not seeing me naked. She saw the monkey I spoke of earlier. You may laugh, as did Ayelet and Orit when they spoke on the phone while I was off working. I heard the story from Orit. Ayelet was working on my knee in her focused state of mind, when she saw a monkey come out of my knee. Surprised, she asked the monkey who he was? "I am Gal's inspiration," he said. He was imprisoned within the confines of my knee and was now released. So there you have it. Believe it or not. The funny thing is that little man has had many nicknames over his lifetime, one of the longest running ones, being "monkey." And as Orit has stated, he's my inspiration. My writing began as a result of his surgery and continues to revolve around him with every new topic. Ayelet's healing process is not a one time thing. It will take time. At least 6 more visits into my knee while I sleep. Again, here I ask what do I have to loose? If it helps in any way and surgery can be avoided, I'm game. In the meantime, I can continue to hope for the best and procrastinate the invasive western medical route as long as I can manage the situation. If my understanding is correct of the whole monkey thing, I need to continue to ride this wave of inspiration flowing through me in all it's avenues. That, with the higher power of the mind will lead to the rebuild of my knee over the course of the treatment. I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, enjoy my monkey.

Fractions

2010-08-27T23:22:00.000-07:00

Fractions - an interesting topic for me to write about here. And though it might sound a bit random, you'll soon see the relevance. Especially here.

After dinner tonight, as the last of the strawberries in whipped cream with dark chocolate shavings (that Orit quickly threw together - bless her!) disappeared, the topic of fractions came up. Mathematical fractions we're talking about. Little man uses fractions in his vocabulary and did so again tonight, prompting the discussion. He said something to the effect of having "half of a square or three quarters of a triangle..." in regards to something or another, which of course all I remember of now is that it made us laugh. But, I wanted to get him to understand what it really meant. What a fraction really is besides the 4 that he already knows (1/4, 1/2, 3/4 & 1) and uses properly, I might add. So while Orit and I stepped into and over each others attempts to come up with a proper visual aid in the lesson, the idea of what a fraction is in it's simplest form hit me after almost 39 years. One. Parts of one. Only need one sheet of paper. And unlike Orit's attempt with a messy aid... no cutting. Just folding. All in tact. So we have one sheet of paper. Torn out of a magazine, a random page, which later becomes part of the story in it's content (perfection!). Meticulously, as with Origami, fold paper in half. We get two sections that add up to make the one whole sheet. Simple, but the beginnings of a profound never ending concept. Starting with one-half sections or two halves. Fold again. Make the creases nice and noticeable and voilà, quarters. "Theo, what's next?" All you educated adults can see where it's going. Little man deduces the pattern to eighths, sixteenths, 1/32, 1/64, 1/128, & 1/256. The math was done all in the head, with a bit of back and forth trial and error, but man, that little head of his is sharp and has a real thing for numbers. Our visual aid, with every fold and re-fold (to make sure the crease is distinct) was opened to make sure the amount of sections match the math. Yes. And as we moved deeper and deeper into the process, Orit and I could see another moment of what I've described in the past as "the assimon fell!" Those not familiar with the Hebrew coin/word/expression, it means moment of clarity when something is just understood. Look further back into the blog if you want it's origin. Not everyone is able to turn an opportune moment into a lesson to a 6 and a half year old child, after dessert. This is where tonight, I succeeded in my small, but significant achievement. And besides the fact that today was mostly a day of chauffeuring with some other self satisfying/gratifying moments, this was the one that I found writable.

As for why it should be a topic of relevance other than a good story in-itself on the blog, with my writings, my work? My Theo-roids, that capture fragments throughout the whole of little man's life thus far? Or the make-up of the Progress Report in it's grid form of 12 single Theo-roids? Or in the single frames that make up a Polarama? Or a pinpointed image that is but one part of the story in a Wood piece? You see, fractions/fragments/sections/moments/images are much more than just the lesson of the evening. Fractions are thematic to my life and work. That little man gets it, and me, is priceless. So I say to myself, as Hilton Garden Inn seems to want me to know - WELL PLAYED.

Theo Progress Report 08/25/10

2010-08-25T18:02:00.000-07:00

Mud Run

2010-08-22T01:47:00.000-07:00

So it all began a few months ago. Through Christy, Orit found out about this mud run event and it sparked an inner flame that started burning. The burning for a challenge and getting dirty was compelling. She told me about it and in so, had made the decision to do it. Forget the fact that she can't run without getting what we later found out to be called "stitches" A common problem with people cramping cause of not breathing properly. People have been telling her that for years, it's just that apparently no one has actually shown her a technique to correct it. I'll step in and say a word about this here. About one year into our marriage of 11 years, we made an attempt to go jogging together. I specifically remember saying "in through the nose, out thought the mouth," and showing her. She does not recall, so ultimately that's what goes. Here, this is my blog. I tell MY objective truth. Anyway, we are stronger than any one small disagreement, so we move on. She will do this thing and she will get past the "stitches." And I say, go for it - get dirty! So the decision was made. The team of women was organized and the training began. Kickboxing has become more of the routine for her of late. The plan - to step it up in stamina through kickboxing and introduce running in between. Squeeze that between being a mother, wife, photographer, and caretaker of all and hope for the best. But most importantly, it's about having fun. And checking one off the bucket list (skydive - check, shave head - check, run a 5k mud run - now I'm getting a little ahead, but check, not at liberty to mention others...). Hell, i wanted to join. Registration is open till the day of, but my bum knees. Bummer! I've been in pain from my torn meniscus. I'm sure the inevitable day will come you will hear about my knee surgery. For now it's just a source of anxiety. Just went through the whole surgery thing with little man. Back away from me for now. Mud. Individually and as a group, they stuck to the plan as much as their daily routines allowed. Did I mention the "stitches" are no longer an issue. Not that she remembered what I claim to have said 11 years ago. Thanks to a trainer (husband of team mate) that showed her what I claim to have shown her 11 years ago. Again, I say here, we are stronger than any one disagreement (and by the way, if you are able to do that, the disagreements don't pile up or linger - chew on that for a bit. There's more advice if you want it...). Bottom line is, she's over the stitches and she can run now. Problem solved. There are walking breaks, but there is a definite building of gradual stamina. She went running on the beach the other day. Yet another benefit of Southern California life.
Today was race day. The much anticipated day finally arrived. Christy is staying with us for a few days. The ladies woke up early and went to the event to begin the process of signing in, getting their numbers, yata, yata, yata. Orit wakes me up to say goodbye and adds, "Theo is making batter, make him crepes. Goodbye." Now those of you who know Orit, know her crepes. And there is nothing else that needs to be said. Those who don't know her crepes, don't have any idea what you're missing and there's nothing I can say to get descriptive enough in what it does to people, especially little man. He can live on them every day, twice a day. And he has this control over his mom in getting her to make them for him at any given moment (almost) and with the shortest window of time. She has them down to an art form in speed, finesse, but mostly taste and texture. With that said, this morning... I get up after finally little man wakes me up a second time with a "crepes?" and a smile. I get up and walk to the kitchen and see the blender and batter in it, ready to go. Mom's expertise has not gone unnoticed by little man. He just needs me to do the pan-to-fire negotiation. So off I go, heat the pan, get it ready... "Theo, does mom use anything in the pan?" He answers, "butter, only on the first one." Ok. So I make them (I've learned from seeing Orit as well, though I'm better at this part. Glad little man can make the batter). He tells me they're ok and eats two with Nutella. And we quickly get our shit together to see mom race, and possibly, possibly, join the kids race at 11:45am. A half mile obstacle mud run. So armed with all I think is necessary gear, we went. Of course not as well prepared as mom would have been. But nothing, a quick stop at Starbucks wouldn't fix (water and a snack for a growing boy and an ice coffee for me). And I won't mention I remembered to bring a towel, and extra clothing, but forgot the flip flops to wear after the muddy shoes. Whatever. Builds character and callouses, walking barefoot. We made it to the race just as they had started and found our spot to wait to see mom and her team as all the hard core of the 5000+ people expected, began to pass by at the second of as it turned out only two mud baths in between some obstacles and marked off areas around the property of the Rose Bowl in Pasadena. We waited. We were quite in awe of the whole spectacle. A few polaroids. And there she is. Running in a sea of wet, muddy people, some in costumes, running through a strange situation.

We exchange our yells of acknowledgment and encouragement and moved on to the next position of viewing the runners. It's hot. And we've had a taste of a little mud as it splashed us by the runners and I could see little man had his head and his eyes on the fact that he was gonna do this too. One more vantage point as they snake around their path for little man to high five his athlete mom. Then we saw her crawl through rows of hoola hoops, run over what should be a slip and slide, kick her way through beach balls and go off into the distance around the stadium property, back around the other side, over hay stack stairs and there we got one more high five opportunity and off to the finish line over there yonder. Well, we didn't actually see the finish, cause we were running around looking for the place to register him for the kids race in time. But Orit finished proud and strong in 1hr 27secs and made her way to see little man numbered and ready at the starting line for his race. And off he went. Over a few little traffic barriers, around a turn, in through the mud bath, over some more walls, another turn, hoola hoops, slip and slide, turn and straight away. Half mile. Was that really half mile? I don't know how many ran in his category of 4-7 year olds. I was too hot and concentrated on him to notice. He ran the whole way. Good stamina. Fifth place, not that anyone (except him and I) are keeping score. And that was that. A few more polaroids. And the mud run was done.

He and I headed home via In-N'-Out Burger. little man gets the meat, cheese and bun only. I decided this time to go purist as well and forgo the sauce, lettuce, tomato, onions... There is something to be said about about a burger that tastes good in it's absolute purest form. No dressing, no fries, no nothing. I may have been converted to the less sophisticated, more simplistic palate of my kid. Made it home just a bit before the dirty girls came home. We all took a nap today. Woke up for dinner. Tonight, we have breakfast for dinner. And a walk of our collective dogs (Christy has her dog Toki with her and she's pals with China and Roody). The ladies are exhausted. Orit fell asleep watching a movie officially at 10:00pm or so, but unofficially we lost her already at around 8:15pm. She was floating in between. I asked her at this point how much she actually ran of the course. Her answer was about half. Run, walk, run, trot, walk... I know she's proud of herself and had fun. I know she's already planning on checking off the list the larger Camp Pendelton Mud Run next. I am proud of her and Theo. They know it as do you all now too. Proud of Christy and all the other crazies having fun out there too. Speaking of Christy, she manages to let work lure her to her portable office for a few more hours of a workaholic fix. But that light went out too now. And that is the story of the LA 5k Mud Run 2010. A vignette into the story of a mom (and a kid) taking on a challenge, by a writer who is taking on sort of a challenge of his own. The writer is always the one left awake in the middle of the night. I fear to see and hear the aches and pains the ladies will experience tomorrow. Not worried about little man. He didn't think his challenge was very hard. So why am I the one with ice on my knee? Goodnight. New Theo Progress Report coming next...

Crossroads

2010-08-21T22:41:00.000-07:00

I suppose I've reached a crossroads in my new public writing thing. There is no one tying theme to write around that is so encompassing at all times to keep me churning in on the keyboard as I've grown accustomed to over the past two weeks. The surgery is in the past. Well, there are still the looming bills that will soon start to trickle in from the hospital, the doctor and the who knows who else will try to ride the collection train. And the insurance EOB's or lack of B's (is more like it) will not match, and the correspondence will begin back and forth and we'll have it all wrapped up in 8 months or so. But that's just the bureaucracy side of it. Not an interesting topic, dealing with pencil pushers. All that's left of the actual procedure is a small remnant of the froggy voice. Still not the old sounding little man, but he may never be exactly that way. His airflow is different in his throat and nose and as a result his voice too, works differently. Soon enough the old voice will no longer be in our memory and the new one will be the old one. But that's it. Nothing else to mention about regarding tonsillectomy and our experience. Topic done. There lies the crossroads. What now - to write about? Need to find another umbrella to write under and have the ideas trickle down like a steady rain. And like lightning, a flash seeped in and a seed was planted. Just keep going about whatever, mix it with whatever and serve it as whatever... Now I need to nurture it into a discipline, until it starts to flower... This is a blog after all. Everything goes. It's my blog and I'm just doing my thing. You chose to to ride along or not. I try to keep my life interesting enough to keep you interested enough.

Ventura, CA 08/19/10

2010-08-19T21:47:00.000-07:00

I needed a break from writing. We all needed a break from my writing. You need it too.

Follow-up

2010-08-17T15:28:00.000-07:00

A couple of days have past. I've been here and gone, working and not working as are the waves of my world. The boy that once was before the Tonsillectomy and Adenoidectomy is now, once more. Doing and being as he did. At full throttle. With exception to the breathing, the oh so important reason for the whole damn thing. Quiet. Silence. Stillness. I can't emphasize it enough. Those of you who have had the pleasure of either having us as overnight guests or vice versa, have witnessed the grandfatherly sounds that have come out of little man going back to him being little raisin. Amongst friends, these "sounds" have been a source of laughter. In reality, I've had to get up at 2;30am, get dressed, go downstairs and out of a NYC hotel, walk down Broadway a block and a half to a corner market and get earplugs to bring back to the room for Orit and I to get some sleep. Man. Even then, over the plugs, I put on my Bose headphones with a little music. Just one sample. We're well traveled and have had our fair share of close sleeping situations, worthy of several stories Well, no more. At least not snoring stories. We'll continue the travels. The past, preserved as memories and on film (and digital), are where those sounds live now. And here, lives silence. I'm slowly getting used to it. Don't get me wrong, I've appreciated the silence from the moment he took his first post-op sleep. It's taken a bit longer to get accustomed to it. As he lays asleep next to me now, both of us laying parallel to each other and laying across his full size bed (the opposite of normal) - my head leaning on wall, back on mattress and feet on ground. Little man on his stomach takes up the whole width of the bed as his legs bend and touch the wall near my head. I don't hear him. The fish tank filter is louder. The crickets are louder. My thoughts are louder. I have to stop writing, excuse me... And put my palm on his back to feel the beautiful up and down rhythm of life. And so it goes, up and down, as a symbol and metaphor of life.
Little man has enjoyed me reading him these stories. He listens attentively and corrects me or emphasizes at things he likes. It's been cool. He gets to re-live a moment, just a day or two behind and this time through my language. Same with Orit who's been the final sounding board to each post (as she's been my sounding board for all other writings and everything else of the past 12 years). And the rest of you out there that have responded with interest and with kind words. I enjoy hearing feedback and that it's even interesting or entertaining is welcoming. It's got me going. So I'm going.
Another night of sleep for all of us behind us and today another busy day (for little man). I'll confess today I've been beaten by the heat and my body is fighting gravity with every step. Retroactive fatigue, I am taking a day of rest. Dead weight on some soft cushiony surface. Me and the dogs are one today. On the agenda for those active in the household; Theo is spending the day with friends, starting the morning with art at Edie's and moving on to swimming at Rowan's. For Orit, we have running on the beach on the menu as a starter course for this weekend's 5k mud run she's participating in and dinner with a girlfriend. I'm looking forward to the mud run (and no, it's not a precursor for mud wrestling, though I'm ok with that too). So as you see, the secret to a happy household, is a well balance of family members doing something fun, personal and completely separate (at times...).

Healed

2010-08-14T16:15:00.000-07:00

I've had another full day trip to the Bay Area. It's sort of been my commute the last few weeks as it's the 3rd time this month. That was yesterday. Another day of waking up and leaving before the family opens their eyes. Getting on a plane, rental car doing what I do and coming back. All in a days work. This time I made it back before little man was asleep and got to see him finish off a day of good health and good spirits. And after the silent breathing began and little man was drifting into the deep sleep his body deserves, I got the run down of the day from his mom (i'll explain "his mom" In a bit). A good day, she said. I called in the morning when I landed in Oakland and little man answered the phone. A few seconds of fumbling and then his "hi." He tells me he's at karate. I'm surprised he's picking up the phone in that case. He continues to say he's not doing it, but his mom is (he calls her "my mom" to me sometimes and it cracks me up - I'm like, dude, I know it's your mom - she's my wife!). Orit does kickboxing where he does karate, so he was hanging out with his buddy. I asked him later if mom looked sexy kicking and punching the bag in class. He said he didn't watch. Ah, the 6yr. old mind. Anyway, after class, the two of them saw a movie, ate and little man went to his first karate class since the operation. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the marker we've been waiting for. The sign. Or maybe much more definitive than a sign. Maybe the ribbon at the finishing line that was broken by the knife hand with the first KEEEAAAYY! Patient no more. The rebuild of the healthy boy routine may commence and our lives can continue to move forward. Today, Theo went to a bowling birthday party. He ate pizza, cupcake, bowled a strike, screamed out loud (apparently really loud) and was lost in the moment. Exactly where you want him to be. Now they're back. Orit and little man are taking down his old art from the walls, making room for new material. Starting fresh. And in the moment. Breathing easily...

A share

2010-08-12T17:29:00.000-07:00

In addition and sort of in conjunction to what I posted today, I wanted to share one of the many responses I've received form you people out there... (especially regarding Randy's Donut Therapy).

Hi Theo,

Hope your doing well today, and feeling much better,

Ever since I saw you eating that chocolate glazed donut I've been craving one. So this morning I went over to Dunkin Donuts here in Boston and boy was it good. I don't think It's as good as Randy's but it was still pretty yummy.

Love you buddy, Uncle Jerry

Open the flood gates

2010-08-12T16:53:00.000-07:00

Another full day and night behind us. Yesterday - we'll call it the day the flood gates of food opened up. I was off working again (keep it coming, no complaints), but apparently an ultimatum was placed upon little man. Mama had just about had it with seeing him continue to deny real food from entering his body. The double clap is gone, thank god. Food is the last front. The foot was put down and the war of wills began. He gets nothing till he eats the food on the plate. Don't even talk to her. She doesn't want to hear it. The healing will begin when he eats, and If he wants to get back to karate, he'll have to eat. And that did it. There used to be public phones in Israel that took a special call coin with a hole in it (like a donut) called assimon. It would slide down behind see through glass into the visible mechanism and when it locked into place, it clicked and you got a dial tone. These phones no longer exist, but a saying remains that "the assimon fell" as an expression of "it sunk in." Back to little man. Mention karate and "the assimon fell". And fell down to his belly hard as the plate was devoured and he asked for more, and more and more. And then, get this, he asked Orit if she would take him to Randy's Donuts? But that's between you and dad, she said, trying to get out of it. It can be with you too, he said. Then without shame, he asked if he could just stay and she could go and bring some back? That was pushing it, but he pulled back quickly. And they went. And he had another session of Randy's Donut Therapy via the chocolate glaze. And I came home to find this small betrayal (at least there was the extra they brought home) and have to learn to live with it. We all since had a discussion and came to the conclusion, that Randy's is a special (and mostly far) trip reserved for warranted occasions. All other whim donut moments will have to be directed towards the local shop which we now must discover by exploration. So who knows, maybe that will be the next topic to write about.

Amongst the other things in our busy day, Orit and I went to an orientation for Theo's new school. A new charter. Smaller, more independent and thought provoking than standardized public system. Looking forward to seeing it develop and take shape. Met principle and some teachers... Maybe this will be a topic.
Then, went to a gallery opening to meet the owner and then a bar and maybe this will be a topic.
And lastly we came home back to our sleeping child and release of Aimee (who works for Orit and helps out with little man on occasion). And I almost sat on him before I realized he was sleeping in our bed. Goes back to our lack of current structure or routine. And now I'm back to the topic. Little man, surgery, healing, dealing and parenting. Yesterday, thus far, the best day.
This morning started almost rough. Little man runs into our bedroom silently crying as he does when he has his bursts of pain in the throat or ear and lays head down besides us, crying. Can't touch him. Just silence. A few minutes. And it's done. I have to drive the big grip truck back - wanna come with me, and we'll go get some pancakes? Froggy said yes. And off we went in the truck (he loves doing this for the rare vantage point he gets from the cabs of these trucks), driving along the 101 into Hollywood.

And we went to Mel's Diner. He ate pancakes and maple syrup and bacon. Slow as can be (which is great, but invokes the need for patience) but ate like a champ. And we moved on to Samy's to pick some rental gear up and visit some folks. There he gave a demonstration of his strength being back and readiness for karate. Is it karate night tonight? No. Tomorrow? Ok. Keeeaaayy! And now he's hanging at Rowan's house for a few hours, while we deal with the rest of our lives and beings (Rooody has a rash and is at the vet)...

And now he's back and is a cone head...

Post-op check up

2010-08-10T21:42:00.000-07:00

"Say ahhhh, one big time and I won't have to do this again." The doctor said he did a great job. The doctor, that is. Humor for, he's healing nicely. Good doctor. Nice genuine guy. Made little man smile. Doc asked if he managed to make him sound like Mickey Mouse? Doc has done this twice a week for 35 years. I still say groggy froggy, a new. unique character. Not an old disney one. Didn't take much for him to get the mouth open either. First request. Nice and wide. All good. All the symptoms are natural. Progression is good. This time next week, he's 100%. He just needs to get back to eating. As alarming as it may look on an already little guy with a tight body, a loss of 5 pounds is the common average. Nice and short and easy visit. On the way out, we were told there is no charge for this visit - It's post-op. Surprising. As it should be, but certainly not expected given health care and our experience with it. We took it happily, though. And then in the car I think oh no, another week? He did say that? I thought I knew the schedule. Regardless. That's to 100%. In the meantime we continue the descent down the mountain of recovery.
Ups and downs fill each day. Downs usually cycle around the eating issue and occasional pain. Peaceful level to ups are in between. This evening's up was the local Chuck E Cheese type mini-golf/arcade place - Castle Park. Theo is a big collector of tickets. He likes those tickets you get from a skee ball machine or those kind of arcade games. The kind of ticket that Andy Warhol painted. The kind you usually trade in for some cheap plastic prize. Little man is usually more interested in keeping the tickets and counting his growing collection. It's usually not about the prize for him. Before I fell for his request of quite out of the blue at 5:30pm, he came to me and said "if you take me to Chuck E. Cheese," later we compromised on Castle Park place, "I'll put in $10 and you put in $10 and that way we don't have to spend all of just your money." He had $10 in hand from his money box (which has $100 and has been counted many times over the past days). He had me. He really closed the deal when after thinking about it for a moment he realized and said it was actually all my money anyway. Cause I originally gave him that money to begin with. So we went. And spent $25 on tokens. $5 dollars more and he owes me $2.50. He got 497 or so tickets. The most he's ever gotten here. This time he wanted the prizes. There is something not the same about these tickets. And there are just too many them. So he picked out prizes as the 16 year old girl at the counter subtracted on a calculator till it came down to a tootsie roll. From there, we went to the food part and I tried to get him to eat as I promised Orit. His problem definitely does not begin in the ordering stage. Earlier it was a hamburger at IN-n'-OUT. Now a slice of pizza here. On both occasions he ordered with free will and I was stuck eating them (with a gun pointed at my head). Two bites from him and the throat hurts. And that's that. But, can he have a slurpee? A red one? Dad? Fine. Orit did say anything. My mom said, if he wants sugar, give him sugar. I'm happy to just avoid drama right now. So red slurpee in hand, we walk through the glass doors and satisfied little man says "that was fun." And so it was. Still don't have a proper night routine. Not that we need one. He's out of school, has no obligations or commitments and we lead a far from routine life. He'll get his his routine back. I don't know if we'll ever really have it. But that's the beauty! Gotta go move little man from the couch to the his bed.

2010-08-10T13:59:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I left the house before the sun and little man awoke (and safe to say before most of you). I came back long after he was sleeping (and safe to say after most of you). A long day in the far, hot, high desert. I promised I'd come in and kiss him and again, I had to stick around a little to see his chest move, cause the old breathing is gone. At least back then I could tell he was obviously alive and breathing from our bedroom. It was like sure telltale. It's like moving from NY to LA and missing the noise. But you get used to the quiet quickly and enjoy the better quality of life. And that's what it was all about.
Anyway, the story about Theo's surgery, from my perspective is not always from first hand account. When I'm not around, Orit is quite reliable as a source and always quite detailed in her storytelling. I asked how the day was and she nodded. All she knew for certain was; 1) That she's just about had had it with the double clap (and I really wish there was a way to write down or describe better the sound effect of the action when she did it because it's much more profound than the words double clap, and, it came with a priceless expression). And 2) and in starting 2, she started to crack up, actually helping the demonstration of imitating the high pitched froggy voice and mannerisms of little man, nailing it spot on. And we laughed. And that was hot...
Morning came with a quick meltdown that was swiftly controlled with a quiet holding from mom. He gets moments of pain in the throat or ear. He can't swallow. And it makes him cry. Which makes it worse. He can't help it. And neither can we (which makes it worse). So we just roll through it. And then it goes away and he's fine for another while. We had another moment when he and I were at Starbucks. There was no chocolate croissant and the pain revisited, simultaneously. That was the perfect storm. That too passed. And we walked it off. And now our old friend Rowan came over for a few hours. And it's as if they just saw each other yesterday (I believe it's been a good six months). They're making a concoction outside and doing their thing. A head apart in height (Rowan being a giant and little man being called that for a reason), but as one head together. Another moment, in their moment. Thus, I sit down to be in mine.
We have our post-op appointment with Dr. ***** today at 2:45. Should be interesting to see how he manages to get Theo to open his mouth enough to see what we're there for to begin with. I've tried several times to get a look deep enough to see anything, but the mouth won't open wide enough for me. We had a talk, him and I, about that on our Starbucks walk. And about what I see as the great success in the breathing department. He gets it. He knows it's true and understands the health aspects. He gets that it will have to be different with the doctor. It's a different relationship. But sometimes I also momentarily forget he's actually only 6 and lives in the now. And now, he feels like shit and the last time he saw the doctor he put him under and caused everything in the first place. So it ALL sucks! And that's cool with me. I get it. It just takes a moment to get that understanding and some work to maintain it. So we'll see what the doctor says...

Day 6?

2010-08-08T22:04:00.000-07:00

Forgive me if I have somewhat lost track of the days. In looking back at what I wrote, today is day 6. Orit say's 5. Eleven years of marriage will do that to you (though I must tell all we're going through a really good period of parallel growth, so don't worry about us!) The operation was Tuesday morning - I started counting then. Today is Sunday. You do the math. With that established, today went as such;
Actually before I get into today, I want to add that we had a fun visit last evening post Randy’s Donut Therapy from our friends and neighbors, Sam and Lucy, who are always welcome to barge in unannounced. It’s what we love about their mom and welcome all of them over and over again. The three buddies had fun collaborating seamlessly to create a funky bird. They’re a funny and uniquely individual threesome that complements itself well and it was nice to see them together doing their thing, all being into the same thing.

Also I wanted to add, that I have received quite a few responses from some of you interested in the Randy's Donut Therapy technique and it's philosphy. I will put some brain power into that possible new age treatment and it's marketability soon enough.
This morning, little man woke up quite late for him. But I must believe that he's sleeping deeper, better and longer because he breathes better. We don't hear him. It's crazy quiet. I've been so used to my loud little man. The change was immediate. So he sleeps well and long. But, he woke up with an earache. And that too is one of the like clockwork moments expected from the benefit of having a long history of this procedure and much experience. Expect an earache on Day 6 was in the manual. Unlike our oral/medicine issues, the ear is fair game and little man is pretty disciplined at taking drops or olive oil or any other Orit concoction, so long as it's not in the mouth or nose. And no, don't say suppositories (Miriam). So we had him comfortable quickly laying on his side, watching tv, letting the drops soothe. By the way, there will be much damage control on the tv and sugar/nutrition front when this is all said and done. The manual says that's on day 10. I'm still holding out for an earlier success story. But, I'll take success story at it's own schedule nonetheless.
I'm in a revived interest of moving my body recently. Trying to find ways of constantly rotating types of physical activity so as to not get bored. And catch up and join Orit, whose been kickboxing for a while now and getting strong. I need to get it together before she can actually kick my ass. She's got the emotional hold, so it's only fair I hold on to the physical ability of not getting my ass kicked by my wife. Not that I would ever use it... But at least while we wrestle... Anyway. I had arranged it already last night to get up unusually early for me on a Sunday, to play tennis with David. He came over to see little man before hitting the courts. It's been a while since I've played. David and I used to play in NY and I used to be real good. Played very seriously when I was young until I abandoned it when I was 17. Still am good, just takes me a bit to get my rhythm back after a long hiatus and most noticeably the stamina is no longer what it used to be. I'll stay away from the age cliches as I feel myself as young (until the knees start to say otherwise). As I was leaving and trying to get Theo's attention pried away from the zombie state of tv and recovery, I leaned down to his level (as his head is sideways because of the ear drops) and said I'm going to play tennis. He rolled his eyes to me and said "are you good?" I said, Yes. And the eyes rolled back to Tom & Jerry. And I left. My mother in law and wife like to make fun of my attire and my fashion before leaving for my workout. Actually it's just my mother in law. Orit just joins in for fun, but secretly loves it. Theo is so used to my shit, it doesn't even phase him. And so I push my mother in law's buttons back. I'm proud of the black socks, black sneakers and cut off old sweats look I have. And I raise my socks higher in open defiance. I’m not going to the WASPy country club and I don’t own any white tennis attire. With my newly shaved look (my annual or bi-annual ritual of cleansing the head and the face, besides the added benefit of Orit feels like she’s having an affair...). I am who I am and mother in law, Miriam (up till now referred to as Safta - grandma in Hebrew) is as well. And we like to spar. And we're both good at it. So it works. And people around it get a kick out of it. And Theo, absolutely adores her. And she, there are no words to how much she lives through him and for him when with him.
Came back from tennis feeling good, but the muscles where secretly already conspiring to constrict and knot later. Edie and Charlie came over to hang out with Theo. The boys got some good peaceful play time. Little man was worn out after though and laid down to watch Ponyo, which was so graciously brought by our guests.The day has its ups and down moments with the emotional realms when you have a hard time communicating still. And your neck is stiff from holding it a certain way to avoid pain in the throat. So those moments still happen at times and as randomly as what may trigger them. But, we talk through them. Or sometime shut up through them. And move on. We went to Balboa Park to feed the ducks, ride the scooter on the path and get some fresh air. Funnily enough, we were feeding them right in front of the sign that mentioned why you should not feed the wildlife. Obviously, we did not see the sign before or this time, until we turned around to leave. But the ducks ate. And then scrambled away like running backs trying to hold on to the bread in the coming onslaught of bread thirsty ducks. And we enjoyed the moment. And he rode his scooter a bit and got sidetracked with a small meltdown and this little man is tired and weak. And normal. And extraordinary. So we went home. And we no longer have any kind of bed time routine. We never even know which bed. This week has dictated it’s own schedule. Baths or showers or bed time or pajamas are not much on the lexicon in regard to a certain hour anymore. In turn, things such as what is going on at the moment occur: I’m in the office, writing. Orit is walking into the room, disorientated, making a face and adjusting her eyes to the light since falling asleep with Theo on our bed 2 hours ago. Both in clothing, interwoven, creating some kind of chinese character shape. Is he out for the rest of the night? Probably. At least it’s quietly. And tomorrow will be good.

Theo Progress Report 08/08/10

2010-08-08T16:18:00.000-07:00

Randy's

2010-08-07T21:13:00.000-07:00

So we didn't go to the party. Theo and I stayed behind and let the ladies go. So I read Theo all that I've written thus far. He got into it, listening attentively, and actually remembering to come back after a pee break! The story triggered a few memories from the hospital which we discussed. And reminisced about the happy juice. I was reading the portion when I previously asked him if it was all worth it. He quickly interjected with the still current answer of NO. And that told me it was time to get out of the house. The sun was calling and the cool afternoon breeze asked us to join it (one of the benefits of Southern California living). So we grabbed our card game and took a walk to Starbucks for a coffee and a chocolate milk - one of our neighborhood doings. Here, Theo smiled. Here, he did his winning dance and did some air karate punches. When I won, he slyly pretended he did instead. He was finally in a place to get lost in the moment. He still can't raise his head up and looks up only with his eyes. He still can't open or stretch his mouth bigger than what it takes to do a medium sized smile. But, it was good to get outside. Good to walk and joke and get competitive over some friendly games of TAKI, if only for the sake of it's what we do when all is normal. And in moments such as this, normal is special.
On the way back home, after still not eating a real nutritious meal since the surgery, only bits here and there, he said to me he wished he could go to Randy's Donuts. Now, those of you familiar with LA know what and where Randy's is. And those of you familiar with the Progress Reports have recently seen an installment photographed there. Those of you who have seen the movie Ironman II (and numerous other movies) are familiar with the scene Ironman sits inside the big donut. Well, we saw this movie a few months back and afterwards I mentioned that the big donut from is near the airport and one day I would take him. That one day became that moment, and a memory was established to look forward to again in the future. One of those dad and son things. So something triggered that memory on our walk back from Starbucks and of course inside my head, I'm already planning the trip. But, I do the adult, responsible thing and say that when we get home, if he eats a decent enough dinner, we'll go. The promise was exchanged. He did and off we went. And now we're back and in Theo's words, "it was sooo worth it!" (still in a cute froggy voice). We both went with the classic chocolate glazed and it just melted in our mouths as soon as it entered. This is certainly not the best donut in the world. Some purists out there have their place of choice. But, for us two (and mom and safta who got a to go order), this was the best donut at the best time ever! We stuck around for Theo to indulge me with a few polaroids (keep your eyes open for next Progress Report). An iphone photo (see below) and back home. Quiet drive back listening to Bill Withers until I lower the volume to hear Theo say, "we're satisfied." When we got home and shared our to go bags with Orit and Safta, Theo wanted another bite. One big bite, where his mouth opened wider than it's been in 5 days. And then a smile came along with the realization that he's one step closer to full recovery. I call that Randy's therapy.

Day 5

2010-08-07T12:26:00.000-07:00

We're in day 5. Behind me, Theo sits at Orit's work table stringing beads into a bracelet for Luka, who just turned 3 (we're going to her party for a short time this afternoon). Orit is standing over him providing the fine material from her arsenal and showing him technique and strategy... A picture of normalcy on the surface. Still far from it as the poor little man is still far from normal. But with every day he regains a little strength and the smiles, though still reserved for those very special moments where they're worth the pain, are being seen more often. Day 3 passed smoothly with much less tears. Only the occasional ones and those mostly from frustration and food or lack thereof. At least not pain - that is one comfort. The communication is still by notes and nods and thumbs up/down. The occasional froggy voice comes out on occasion. The calling or beckoning by the quick double clap is still funny and cute and brings us all to attention (though this will get old soon!). I had to rush to a last minute trip up to San Francisco in the evening to work in Santa Rosa the following morning (Friday). Considering all of us and Safta have been bound at home and going stir crazy, I felt ok about going on a quick overnight adventure. The Borowsky women have super nurturing powers, he's in good hands. Obviously I was updated along the way with his status by every possible form of mobile communication, including talking. Not to him though, as he was not so ready for the phone. I came back the following evening to find the Borowsky women sitting in the living room reading. The dogs sprawled out on their pillows and Theo is next door at Connor's house. Now that's a good sign. He came back a bit later. He was still quiet. Still still. Slow. Weak. He hasn't really eaten in a few days. Here and there some pampering goodies. But no nourishment. Nothing that normally fuels an active 6 year old boy. They sat around at Connor's house watching tv. Not quite different than at home, but at least he wants to switch up the scene and be with other people. Another good sign. All things on schedule. I was hoping that my little man would bounce back quicker than schedule, ahead of the curve. Like so many other attributes in him. But not in healing. Average. As described. It's still a good thing. Its still healing and I'll take it with patience. And gratitude.
When we met the doctor for the consult, one of the things he said was that several days after the surgery, Theo's breath is going to smell quite badly. Don't be alarmed. Just the healing of the skin... Well, just on schedule and as described, though it's really hard to describe, the breath is indeed - putrid. Having two dogs, and particularly one gassy one, we used to step into a room and stop for a moment knowing China is in there. The tables have turned and smelly one is our son. But like a good fart, which everyone is disgusted with (but also attracted to) he's like a magnet that's hard to walk away from.

Which brings us to the stinky present of this Saturday morning of Day 5. Theo has eaten crepes with a renewed interest for breakfast. The bracelet is done. Were back in our bed in a comfortable silence. I'm facing and typing on my iPhone. Theo is facing SpongeBob and fondling his ***** under the covers. A boy is a boy, surgery or not.

Surgery - cont...

2010-08-06T18:18:00.000-07:00

Day 2, we were warned would be the most difficult day (besides that horrible moment earlier described of coming back into post-op consciousness). One that would involve pain management and helplessness. I suppose having 50 years of history behind these procedures gives us the luxury of having a schedule of expectations. And again here, even knowing does not provide comfort or preparedness when it comes to the particular moment. The thing is that we're not all the same. And some of us will just about do or go through anything to avoid something else. That is the case of Theo, liquid medication and pain. You'd think that after 6.5 years and numerous occasions of having to deal with any form of medication for him, let alone liquid, we'd know better than to actually go to a pharmacy, spend the time and money for the prescription, and attempt the futile act of getting it to go into his body. It's a combination of smell, taste and psychosomatic anxiety that won't let this act happen. Trying to understand it in the moment, is as useless as trying to explain it. And on this day, it was no different. There is not much worse than seeing your child suffer and not be able to do anything about it. We hear that in one story or another from every parent. Alas, I believe it to be true. When it's a suffering that can be prevented or managed it's all the more frustrating as the common sense wielding adult. Talking, swallowing, crying all hurt. The drama surrounding the medicine amplifies the emotions and activate the involuntary muscles that trigger more hurt. Nevertheless, time has to go by and as slow as it may seem, it did come to an end. No food. Not even the much talked about and anticipated ice cream. No yogurt, popcicle, slurpee, juice, ice chips, jello or anything else we had ready. Barely even water, but there, we had to put our foot down and force the minimum small sips to avoid dehydration. No talking - instead, Theo discovered the best way to communicate is by clapping twice to call for attention (I swore I would not buy him a bell as Safta suggested) and writing the rest down with a pad and pen. That in itself is quite amazing to go through with a six year old's writing skills. That's how we got through day 2, slowly into the night. Knowing that in the morning, day 3 would bring the beginning of the other side. On a back note, during the moments of actual sleep on day 1 and 2 (both during day and night) the quality of breathing was such that we've not heard in Theo before. His blocked airway and lack of clear breathing during sleep is the reason we had the procedure done in the first place. So even though he may not see the end of the tunnel, we are very much there already. I slept with Theo on the sofa bed this night. Orit and her mom, both in separate rooms needed some quiet and replenishing of their nurturing strength. But on this night there was no waking up in pain and tears. Most surprising was the deep sleep I managed to get into. No more old man snoring was coming out of the little guy. Before falling asleep I had to get real close to him and listen for breathing next to his mouth. A few days ago we could hear it from down the hall. Now I'm inches away struggling to figure out if he's breathing. Amazing. And day 3 arrived gloriously! Discomfort is a godsend compared to pain. Even a 6 year old can appreciate that. Food and drink have come back into our routine. His voice is still like a little groggy frog and so the pad and pen are still the tool of choice. It's a path that has strengthened his need to advance his reading/writing skills as it is not just a subject of school anymore. In some instances it's the only form of communication. Quite a lesson and just one of a few gained from this whole experience. Going into this thing, Theo was excited and brave. Immediately after leaving the hospital he said he said it was worth it as an experience cause he knew it would be for the better. Today I asked him again how he feels - if knowing what he knows now, was it worth it? No, he said. The memory of pain and discomfort is still all too fresh. And I can't blame him. But I suspect we shall be moving further forward into recovery tomorrow and normalcy will be around the following corner. And then the nights will once again be quiet in the Harpaz home. The breathing will be deep, clear and healthy. And all the benefits a proper sleep will give Theo the bouncing board for growing into the potential that's within him physically, mentally and emotionally. I look forward to walking along every step of the way, teaching, learning and being.

About the operation...

2010-08-04T00:07:00.000-07:00

We woke up this morning 6:30 and without food and water got Theo to the hospital at 7:30. After about an hour and a half of waiting around, filling out paperwork, and paying a portion of the bill, we were finally taken to a room where Theo was given the much talked about "happy juice" that we've known for about a week would make him loopy and droopy and funny... As Dr. ***** said at our pre-op consultation last week, there indeed is nothing funnier than a child on drugs... Theo has been looking forward for the "happy juice" and mask that follows, to experience the feeling of being put to sleep without being able to control it. It's been a topic of several serious (and funny) discussions over the past days. He's shown a very keen interest in the whole process and questions everything along the way. Last night we watched an animated medical video online, showing the experience from pre-op preparation, through the actual procedures of both tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy, and through the expectations of recovery. We have all gone into this with as much knowledge as we could absorb and were ready. But even knowing, you're still never really ready. And when he took that "happy juice," boy was that funny! I videotaped him in that state. Possibly a shorter, edited version will make an appearance soon. Wait to see. But I assure you, we were having so much fun with him in those few moments, I just can't really put it into words. We've never seen him anywhere near like this. It was so foreign and so real in the package you think you know inside out and every which way - it just floored us. We saw him get loopier and droopier while maintaining such a big smile on his face that it made the send off, to some stranger arms that took him into the operating room, somewhat bearable. I guess it kind of took the edge off our nerves as well and we didn't drink any juice. Anyway, a short trip to the cafeteria and a little wait and it was done. Not quite sure how long the actual operation was, but it could not have been more than 45mins. We went in and there he was asleep and connected to a monitor and fluids. He looked so calm and sweet and vulnerable connected like that. It was a few minutes that we stood over, watching him and talking to him, as he drifted between worlds of consciousness. Then he woke up. And reality hit and hit hard. Pain and consciousness met and the shit hit the fan. He was screaming and trying to violently pull out anything connected to him. And this kid is strong! The nurse had to tape his free hand, while we grabbed him, so he couldn't pull out the iv in the other. Then, still while both Orit and I held him down with all our force, he was given morphine to cope with the pain. And in a few minutes, it was done. And we could breath again. And we knew the worst was that moment, and that moment was now behind us. And as I write a few hours later, I can confirm that indeed that was the worst of it. He slept for a bit until they moved us to the recovery room and there he started to come in out and becoming himself again. We stayed there for about two hours or so. Theo started speaking like a little groggy froggy and we talked and laughed as we watched his loopy video and answered all his inquisitive questions. When he was ready to try walking we gave it a shot and came back to bed cause of a little nausea. He laid down a little more and gave it a second shot going to the car in daddy's arms. Made it into the elevator when, he got really nauseous and vomited all over the floor, and daddy's shoulder. So we headed back to the bed for another period of laying down. And a short period after that we made it down to the car and smooth sailing ever since. Theo is home, in our bed, feeling good, watching tv, eating jello and drinking water. Orit is asleep next to him. Safta is asleep in Theo's room and I'm going to make some cream of wheat for the little man who apparently has an appetite, so he must be feeling good. No doses of pain medication thus far either, so that's another sign. They say on day two the pain is more severe and then lessens over the next three days. Knowing this guy, it will be faster and he'll be bouncing off the walls in no time! (That was a few hours ago...)
And then the hunger was lost to the returning pain and the emotions rose and currently we're riding the calm side of the second wave...

Theo Progress Report 08/01/10 (Ooops...)

2010-08-03T23:37:00.000-07:00

(...should have been sent out before the last one. Rearrange the time-line in your minds. This one has a happier tone.)

Theo Progress Report 08/03/10 - Tonsillectomy & Adenoidectomy surgery

2010-08-03T21:51:00.000-07:00

Theo Progress Report 07/25/10

2010-07-25T22:44:00.000-07:00

Theo Progress Report 07/11/10

2010-07-11T17:15:00.000-07:00

Theo Progress Report 06/12/10 - Orange Belt Test

2010-06-12T19:07:00.000-07:00

Theo Progress Report 06/11/10

2010-06-11T23:06:00.000-07:00

Theo Progress Report 04/27/10 - "The Rings"

2010-04-27T21:13:00.000-07:00

Theo has become quite enamored with the famous traveling rings next to the Santa Monica Pier. "Action" - a local pro has noticed his natural abilities and enhanced them over a few meetings. Another quirky life coach for the little guy. Just means we'll be spending more time at the beach...

Theo Progress Report 04/17/10

2010-04-17T21:47:00.000-07:00

Theo Progress Report 2/15/10

2010-02-15T16:01:00.000-08:00

Theo Progress Report 1/29/10

2010-01-29T10:45:00.000-08:00

new font - THEO

2010-01-13T16:50:00.000-08:00

Theo Progress Report 12/09 - 1/10

2010-01-13T15:04:00.000-08:00

Theo Progress Report 12/22/09

2009-12-22T12:38:00.000-08:00

View Blog

2009-12-11T16:47:00.000-08:00

THEO-ROIDS 0 to 6 months - where it started...

2009-12-02T22:28:00.000-08:00

@ a restaurant in Santa Fe, NM

2009-11-30T23:16:00.000-08:00

Theo Progress Report 11/29/09

2009-11-30T19:23:00.000-08:00

Theo Progress Report 10/29/09 a little late, but...

2009-11-29T19:12:00.000-08:00

photoshop test in class... 1994

2009-11-29T14:48:00.000-08:00

Sandia Mountain overlooking Albuquerque, NM

2009-11-29T12:35:00.000-08:00

iphone/things i've built...

2009-10-13T23:52:00.000-07:00

more to come...

works on WOOD exhibit @ Code C - 10.23.09 - PLEASE COME ALL!!

2009-10-13T13:40:00.000-07:00

works are currently up and for sale at Code C.

exhibit will continue through event on oct. 23, 2009 and will come down sometime in early november (date to be announced)..

come in and take a look. there is parking in the back.

and come celebrate with us on oct. 23rd between 5pm-8pm - would love to see you all there!

"WOOD" pieces @ Code C october 23...

2009-10-10T17:33:00.000-07:00

more info to come on event...

iphone/a night in october... the garage.

2009-10-10T01:04:00.000-07:00

Welcome!

2009-10-03T00:55:00.001-07:00

Welcome to my BLOG. Don't quite know what that means yet, so stick around and watch evolution take place...

Favorite Theo quotes of recent:
Do you see the same as I see?
Do girls always get what they want when they cry?
why are they called THEO-roids?

More of everything else to come...

THEO Progress Report 10/09

2009-10-03T00:50:00.001-07:00

THEO Progress Report 9/09 - new school and old friend

2009-10-03T00:42:00.000-07:00

coming soon...

2009-09-24T13:51:00.000-07:00