Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Baby Blue

My mom, my sister, and baby Shoshi
 My mother never cried or screamed or dramatically threw herself on the floor yelling out, “Why G-d?” when I, her youngest child, was born blue and barely breathing. Heart, oxygen, hole. Ventricular septal defect, Tetralogy of Fallot. These terms thrust themselves into my parents’ vocabulary. However, my mother proudly showed off her highly advanced daughter when I sat up at four months. (truthfully, it helped me breath)   A tiny elf, barely sixteen pounds at one, I scooted on my butt instead of crawling.  

Despite not drinking, smoking or taking anti-depressants (unfortunately for everyone), the second opinion doctor or, as my mother refers to him, That Fucking Asswipe, insisted she was somehow at fault for the genetic fluke. She ignored him. At sixteen months, after the first surgery that connected the artery from my right arm to my heart, left a machete-like scar, she insisted I wear it like a badge of honor. After the surgery, when I scooted across the floor, my ability to breath made it harder to find me. Then, to my mother’s delight, out of my blue lips came, not just a first word, but a sentence: “I want that red balloon.” Slow walking followed suit, with the occasional, “Wait, mommy, I gotta sit down.”  
Baby Shoshi not looking Blue






Three years passed between surgeries.  For the second, my parents flew our family across the country, dropping my older sister at summer camp, while we spent June at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital in New York City. 

“It was like a roach motel,” My mother laughs at the memory. “We had three choices: sit in the room, walk around the sketchy neighborhood, or sleep at your grandparents in the Bronx. Clearly, I slept with you in your room.” When baseball great, Dave Winfield visited my room, I traded my new Dave Winfield baseball card for my roommate Junior’s sparkly Michael Jackson card.  When it came time for surgery, the nurses put an oxygen mask over my teddy bear’s mouth. A week after surgery, I ran down the hall to my heart surgeon. (My mother notes, “I haven’t seen you run since."). My only real complaint was the terrible taste of pure potassium they forced me to drink for weeks after.

As I grew, the cardiology visits were a yearly ritual; my parents and I sat in a dark room listening to the unsteady beating of my heart.   The shwoosh, shwoosh, shwoosh, long pause, shwoosh, shwoosh was magic to my mother’s ears.   And now, despite the blue, despite the labored breathing, the surgeries and the scars, I have babies of my own. And my babies...are pink.








The Great Rabbi, The Queen Mum...my pink babies




read to be read at yeahwrite.me

19 comments:

  1. I love the strength, bravery, and self-respect your mother modeled for you. Love the contrast of your blue self and your pink babies. Love, love, love.

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    1. Thanks! It didn't start out with it being about my mother, but I realized that it was...

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  2. I am balling. Seriously. Thank you for writing this. Its hard for me to get out of my own head sometimes - hard to see the forest through the trees as they say.

    Thanks hun. Thanks so much.

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    1. I wrote it for you! and my mother...

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    2. I know :) Thank you so much! I'm sure your mother will love it!

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  3. I love the strength and tenacity of your mom! And I also love that when we stop a take a moment to listen, every single soul we encounter has an amazing story to tell. Thank you for sharing yours.

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  4. Yay for pink babies! Your mom sounds like a heck of a woman!

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  5. This is fantastic. I love the photos of baby you. Your mom sounds like a tough lady.

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  6. From Jewish Mom to Jewish Mom to Jewish Mom...you have to love the barbs thrown in with the love...It made me smile and laugh with the tears.

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  7. I love this story of triumph and health and love! Ellen

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  8. Great story. I especially like the pink babies. Nicely done.

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  9. Love what a strong character you painted here in your no-nonsense mama. And so glad your little ones are healthy (they're beautiful, too).

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  10. Yeah! It's funny. You're writing it - so I KNOW you lived. And yet I spent the whole thing worried that maybe you somehow didn't!!

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    1. Awesome. That is the best compliment EVER.

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  11. Held my breath throughout your story. I can't imagine what you or your mom went through during your health crises. What a triumph to walk through these challenges and to have healthy pink babies! Well done (you, your mom, and this post)!

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  12. Wonderful. It sounds like your mother handled what must have been so frightening with such strength.

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  13. Wow -- furious with the doc that tried to convince your mom that she was to blame, seriously NOT COOL. And your mom sounds like a wonderful, strong person who clearly adores you. Congratulations on your gorgeous pink babies!

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  14. LOVE this story. thank you for sharing.

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  15. Your Mom sounds incredible, as do YOU!! What a strong family!
    I also loved the last line, it really made me realize how much I took for granted with my children. They do face life threatening allergies, but they were born pink. They have a better start than some.
    Thank you so much for sharing this story. It was great!

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