I spent the day today at a conference presented by the Jewish Domestic Abuse Collaborative called "Not 'just' a women's issue... Understanding Domestic Abuse in the Jewish Community." It was a long day, a very emotional day for many involved, including me.
I plan to post - hopefully tomorrow - on the conference and some of the issues it raised.
Meanwhile, remember this: family violence, domestic violence, domestic abuse, or whatever you want to call it (I personally prefer "family violence" for reasons I'll explain in the forthcoming post) crosses all lines: age, gender, RELIGION, culture, ethnicity, nationality, and socio-economic status. Family violence DOES exist in the Jewish community, as any other, and the only SHAME is in turning our backs on it and pretending it doesn't exist.
If you are in a violent situation at home, if you are not safe, if your children are not safe, GET HELP. Call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233).
Orthodox women may want to check out this link or this link for help.
More to come...
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Saturday, January 14, 2006
And G-d Ceased on the Seventh Day
Volumes have been written about Shabbat. Whole libraries. Web sites. There is some consensus. There is some disagreement.
By halacha - Jewish law - Jews are required to rest on Shabbat. Strictly speaking, this means ceasing from all creative work. The hardest thing for many Americans to understand is that halachic "rest" is quite different from how Americans define "rest." But I'm not going to go into a long treatise about the differences.
Instead, I'm just wondering whether "being unconscious" can be defined, halachically, as "rest."
You see, I sort of missed most of Shabbat this week.
Yesterday was a big day for my body. It was my first real physical therapy workout to stretch and strengthen my neck after my auto accident. At that appointment, I found out the doctor wants me to have an MRI scan of my shoulder because she suspects I have a torn rotator cuff muscle. An attempt to pull just ten pounds on an upper back strengthening machine confirmed a problem. She's now the third doctor to think that.
I later saw a massage therapist to whom I'd been referred, who specializes in myofascial release. She noticed the swelling in my shoulder and touched it lightly, causing me to gasp in pain. (She decided to leave it alone.) Then I saw my chiropractor, who observed that my back and neck are indeed improving (albeit slowly), but my shoulder remains problematic - inflamed, sore, and with a significantly reduced range of motion.
At 3:30pm, I took an short nap before we welcomed Shabbat. Lighting the Shabbat candles caused searing pain in my shoulder. All I wanted to do was lie down, but parental obligations and the pain in my shoulder kept me awake.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and took a Percocet for the pain. The next thing I knew, Shabbat was nearly over. I woke, bleary and confused, at approximately 3pm today. Completely missed shul. It's now 9:30pm, Shabbat has been over for about four hours, and I'm finally "waking up," though I feel like I could sleep another twelve hours.
I suppose I could say it was a restful Shabbat. Other than whatever healing my body did while I slept, I certainly didn't engage in any creative work. I'm sorry that I missed shul, but I'm not too worried about the halachic standing of my activities - or lack thereof. At this point, I'm just trying to get better.
It's a little frustrating that my entire life now revolves around my neck/back/shoulder and healing from an accident in which there was nothing I could do but brace myself and deal with the aftermath. Okay, it's a lot frustrating. One person's stupid decision - to blithely speed along an unplowed residential street after receiving several inches of wet, heavy snow - has resulted in thousands of dollars of damage and months of recouperation. And now a second MRI, with talk of possible shoulder surgery.
I am not happy. I do not want surgery. I also do not want to spend my days feeling "out of it" because of pain meds.
I have a book to finish, and typing does, to some extent, involve my shoulder, though I've been able to adapt for short periods of time.
Thank G-d, there were no further injuries. Thank G-d we all lived through the accident. Thank G-d it wasn't worse than it is.
And I'm still frustrated. And in pain. And all I want to do right now is lie down and rest.
May this next week be better for us all.
Shavua tov.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
What kind of monsters have we created?
Somehow, probably while reading other people's blogs, I ran across this blog at the Chicago Tribune. The story itself did a push-pull with my emotions, as I'm the mother of two young children and I like taking advantage of the rare opportunities when I can end the isolation at home and rub elbows with the rest of humanity.
But what really caught my attention and left me disturbed were the comments.
So, here's the story: last September, the owner of a popular Chicago cafe grew tired of kids running through the cafe, playing on the floor and blocking other patrons, yelling and throwing tantrums, while their parents did little or nothing and allowed it to continue. He posted a sign that said, "Children of all ages have to behave and use their indoor voices when coming to A Taste of Heaven."
In response, some parents interpreted that sign to mean that they, especially if they have children with them, were no longer welcome at the cafe. They decided to boycott the cafe, and the outrage against the alleged chutzpah of this cafe owner has led to stories and blogs from coast to coast.
The owner's position is that he welcomes kids, so long as they remain under their parent's management and that they don't disrupt other partrons. The boycotting parents' position is that this is the beginning of the end of tolerance. Or perhaps the beginning of ageism in reverse.
I have young kids, and I do go to coffee shops now and then. But I expect certain "public" behavior from my children, and I'm aware of the limits of their developmental stage. I don't expect a two-year-old to sit still for half an hour or more because I know that's unrealistic, and as a result, my coffee shop visits are relatively short. I do expect that they will walk (not run), play only in designated areas or with materials I bring with us for use at the table, and yes, use their indoor voices. And when they're having a rough day, as we all sometimes do, I find appropriate alternatives.
So, while I might use different wording on the sign that the cafe owner posted, it seems rather much like common sense to me. The one thing I would have changed was to remove the word "children" and replace it with "patrons" or "visitors" or something more age-inclusive. Because my experience is that often it's the adults who are more disruptive than the kids present, talking on their cell phones in loud voices, holding loud conversations, verbally abusing the poor clerk behind the counter who was simply asking for clarification if it was a half-soy or full-soy latte. But I've never been to Chicago, never been to A Taste of Heaven, and have no idea how well or poorly behaved the adults are in that establishment, in contrast to the kids.
That really isn't my main concern, though. My main concern was the sentiment expressed in comments to the Chicago Tribune blog. It makes me wonder what we've become, where this (dare I say it?) hatred of children came from. It makes me afraid to ask, because I suspect we have created this monster through our inability or unwillingness to work through our own issues resulting from the excessive permissiveness and/or authoritarianism dished out by our parents.
In the 373 comments to the blog, responders continually referred to children as: brats, little darling [obviously sarcastic in context], unruly, prized treasures [also sarcastic], selfish, little terror, curtain-climbers, and hooligans, among others. Over and over again, people wrote that they felt parents were "imposing their children on others."
One anonymous (of course) poster said, "I'm a server, and I give crappy, express service to parents with small kids so they get out as soon as possible."
Now, there were quite a number of posters who are parents themselves, and have the same basic attitude I do, and like me, found the sign to generally be in line with common sense. But the overwhelming tone of the comments was anti-parent and anti-child.
Many comments basically said, "You're the one who chose to have kids; you deal with the consequences, eg: not going to coffee shops anymore."
And then there were the ones who began, "I don't have kids, but..." and then proceeded to blast parents for their parenting abilities.
Believe me, I've seen more than my fair share of over-permissive parents, who seem to think that saying "no" to their children is tantamount to abuse. They don't seem to realize that NOT saying "no" only sets their kids up for HUGE problems later in life. It does their children a great disservice, not to mention coffee shop patrons.
But my issue is with the people who would seem to be happy if children ceased to exist on the planet. Or at least if they were never seen, never heard, and never acknowledged until adulthood. Why do they hate children so much? Do they not realize that they themselves were once children? Do they not realize that forty years from now, these "brats" will be the ones making our laws and governing our institutions and services? Do they really think that their intolerance goes unnoticed by those (especially older) children who may be well-behaved but still get lumped in with the "brats"?
One posting took it a step further than coffee shops, and commented on inappropriate behavior in church [we Jews, of course, NEVER have inappropriately behaved children in shul ;-) <-- that's a JOKE, in case anyone is taking this way too seriously]. She said, "And anyone who speaks out about it is slammed as a "child-hater" and an attacker of the very institution of motherhood itself, or boycotted or sued such as the proprietors mentioned in the story."
Here's my take: if you bring my child's misbehavior (using generally accepted standards of appropriate behavior for children) to my attention when I've missed it, I will apologize, thank you, and deal with my child's behavior (up to and including leaving the premises). If my child is running amok through a coffee shop, I definitely want to know about it. If my child is continually bothering the nice lady who is trying to finish her crossword puzzle in peace, I want to know about it. And if I'm not paying enough attention to what my child is doing (which seems like a no-brainer if my child is doing any of the above things), I want to know about it.
But I do not want to be lectured on my parenting skills. [I'm in a weekly parenting education class and I trust the parent educator; I do not necessarily trust or respect the opinion of a stranger, especially when their criticism begins with either "I don't have kids but..." or "My kids are all grown up now, but..."]
And most of all, I do not want our society to become one in which mothers are simply "breeders," in which children are not valued (I'm NOT talking child-centric here, merely child-respectful), in which we are jepoardizing our future by expressing hostility and resentment and sadly, even aggression, toward today's children.
On the bright side, if you're a licensed family counselor, psychologist, psychiatrist, clergy person or other licensed counseling professional, check out the comments. There's a lot of people here who need therapy, parents and non-parents alike.
But please, while in therapy, use your indoor voice.
But what really caught my attention and left me disturbed were the comments.
So, here's the story: last September, the owner of a popular Chicago cafe grew tired of kids running through the cafe, playing on the floor and blocking other patrons, yelling and throwing tantrums, while their parents did little or nothing and allowed it to continue. He posted a sign that said, "Children of all ages have to behave and use their indoor voices when coming to A Taste of Heaven."
In response, some parents interpreted that sign to mean that they, especially if they have children with them, were no longer welcome at the cafe. They decided to boycott the cafe, and the outrage against the alleged chutzpah of this cafe owner has led to stories and blogs from coast to coast.
The owner's position is that he welcomes kids, so long as they remain under their parent's management and that they don't disrupt other partrons. The boycotting parents' position is that this is the beginning of the end of tolerance. Or perhaps the beginning of ageism in reverse.
I have young kids, and I do go to coffee shops now and then. But I expect certain "public" behavior from my children, and I'm aware of the limits of their developmental stage. I don't expect a two-year-old to sit still for half an hour or more because I know that's unrealistic, and as a result, my coffee shop visits are relatively short. I do expect that they will walk (not run), play only in designated areas or with materials I bring with us for use at the table, and yes, use their indoor voices. And when they're having a rough day, as we all sometimes do, I find appropriate alternatives.
So, while I might use different wording on the sign that the cafe owner posted, it seems rather much like common sense to me. The one thing I would have changed was to remove the word "children" and replace it with "patrons" or "visitors" or something more age-inclusive. Because my experience is that often it's the adults who are more disruptive than the kids present, talking on their cell phones in loud voices, holding loud conversations, verbally abusing the poor clerk behind the counter who was simply asking for clarification if it was a half-soy or full-soy latte. But I've never been to Chicago, never been to A Taste of Heaven, and have no idea how well or poorly behaved the adults are in that establishment, in contrast to the kids.
That really isn't my main concern, though. My main concern was the sentiment expressed in comments to the Chicago Tribune blog. It makes me wonder what we've become, where this (dare I say it?) hatred of children came from. It makes me afraid to ask, because I suspect we have created this monster through our inability or unwillingness to work through our own issues resulting from the excessive permissiveness and/or authoritarianism dished out by our parents.
In the 373 comments to the blog, responders continually referred to children as: brats, little darling [obviously sarcastic in context], unruly, prized treasures [also sarcastic], selfish, little terror, curtain-climbers, and hooligans, among others. Over and over again, people wrote that they felt parents were "imposing their children on others."
One anonymous (of course) poster said, "I'm a server, and I give crappy, express service to parents with small kids so they get out as soon as possible."
Now, there were quite a number of posters who are parents themselves, and have the same basic attitude I do, and like me, found the sign to generally be in line with common sense. But the overwhelming tone of the comments was anti-parent and anti-child.
Many comments basically said, "You're the one who chose to have kids; you deal with the consequences, eg: not going to coffee shops anymore."
And then there were the ones who began, "I don't have kids, but..." and then proceeded to blast parents for their parenting abilities.
Believe me, I've seen more than my fair share of over-permissive parents, who seem to think that saying "no" to their children is tantamount to abuse. They don't seem to realize that NOT saying "no" only sets their kids up for HUGE problems later in life. It does their children a great disservice, not to mention coffee shop patrons.
But my issue is with the people who would seem to be happy if children ceased to exist on the planet. Or at least if they were never seen, never heard, and never acknowledged until adulthood. Why do they hate children so much? Do they not realize that they themselves were once children? Do they not realize that forty years from now, these "brats" will be the ones making our laws and governing our institutions and services? Do they really think that their intolerance goes unnoticed by those (especially older) children who may be well-behaved but still get lumped in with the "brats"?
One posting took it a step further than coffee shops, and commented on inappropriate behavior in church [we Jews, of course, NEVER have inappropriately behaved children in shul ;-) <-- that's a JOKE, in case anyone is taking this way too seriously]. She said, "And anyone who speaks out about it is slammed as a "child-hater" and an attacker of the very institution of motherhood itself, or boycotted or sued such as the proprietors mentioned in the story."
Here's my take: if you bring my child's misbehavior (using generally accepted standards of appropriate behavior for children) to my attention when I've missed it, I will apologize, thank you, and deal with my child's behavior (up to and including leaving the premises). If my child is running amok through a coffee shop, I definitely want to know about it. If my child is continually bothering the nice lady who is trying to finish her crossword puzzle in peace, I want to know about it. And if I'm not paying enough attention to what my child is doing (which seems like a no-brainer if my child is doing any of the above things), I want to know about it.
But I do not want to be lectured on my parenting skills. [I'm in a weekly parenting education class and I trust the parent educator; I do not necessarily trust or respect the opinion of a stranger, especially when their criticism begins with either "I don't have kids but..." or "My kids are all grown up now, but..."]
And most of all, I do not want our society to become one in which mothers are simply "breeders," in which children are not valued (I'm NOT talking child-centric here, merely child-respectful), in which we are jepoardizing our future by expressing hostility and resentment and sadly, even aggression, toward today's children.
On the bright side, if you're a licensed family counselor, psychologist, psychiatrist, clergy person or other licensed counseling professional, check out the comments. There's a lot of people here who need therapy, parents and non-parents alike.
But please, while in therapy, use your indoor voice.
Free book! - Another Update
One copy of the book will shortly be winging its way to Israel. I decided that since it might not make it back overseas (which is fine!), I would release one additional copy in North America. It will be heading off to the southeastern US. Thanks, everyone, for your interest!
On the car accident front, as of today, we retained the services of a highly reputable attorney to make sure we can recoup the out-of-pocket expenses (now in excess of $1000) we've had as a result.
On Dateline tonight, there's a story about whiplash. Let's say I now have a vested interest.
On the car accident front, as of today, we retained the services of a highly reputable attorney to make sure we can recoup the out-of-pocket expenses (now in excess of $1000) we've had as a result.
On Dateline tonight, there's a story about whiplash. Let's say I now have a vested interest.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Free book! - Update
I was sneaky and put the URL link in the title of that last post, but then forgot to let you all know that's what I did. So... to view the BookCrossing listing for my book, go here.
Also, it appears I already have a taker for the free copy, which will be read and then passed along to another interested person. If you want to get on a list to have the book sent to you, and/or if you want to subscribe to an announcements-only news update from yours truly (including an update on the production and release of AS IN DAYS OF OLD, the sequel to DESTINED TO CHOOSE), you can subscribe to this free group:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/sheyna_galyan_news/
Thanks!
Also, it appears I already have a taker for the free copy, which will be read and then passed along to another interested person. If you want to get on a list to have the book sent to you, and/or if you want to subscribe to an announcements-only news update from yours truly (including an update on the production and release of AS IN DAYS OF OLD, the sequel to DESTINED TO CHOOSE), you can subscribe to this free group:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/sheyna_galyan_news/
Thanks!
Free book!
I just registered my book with BookCrossing.com, and will send out one free copy to the first interested person. The idea with BookCrossing is that you read the book, log in to BookCrossing, post a journal entry (sort of like a review - what you liked or didn't like, etc.), and then pass it along to someone else, who will do the same. We can all track the book's progress across the country or around the world through these journal entries.
I found BookCrossing.com through Ezer Knegdo's blog - thanks!
If you're interested in taking part, please send me an e-mail with BOOK CROSSING in the subject line.
For those who are willing, I can also keep track of who's interested so that once a reader is finished with the book, he or she can send it along to the next interested person.
And if you simply can't wait that long, you can buy your own copy (autographed copies available from the publisher), or ask your local library to add it to their collection.
Let's have fun with this!
I found BookCrossing.com through Ezer Knegdo's blog - thanks!
If you're interested in taking part, please send me an e-mail with BOOK CROSSING in the subject line.
For those who are willing, I can also keep track of who's interested so that once a reader is finished with the book, he or she can send it along to the next interested person.
And if you simply can't wait that long, you can buy your own copy (autographed copies available from the publisher), or ask your local library to add it to their collection.
Let's have fun with this!
Percocet Pages
I claim no responsibility for what I may say in the rest of this post.
I confess: I am writing under the influence of pain medication. Which, really, is quite a nice way to write. Fewer inhibitions. The dreaded internal editor is silenced. And creativity can flow directly from my drug-affected brain to my fingers, if only I can stay awake long enough to write whatever it was I was going to say.
Some of you may know why I haven't blogged in a few weeks; most probably don't. The reason is this: on December 14, 2005, my youngest son (2-1/2 years old) and I were stopped at a stoplight in our minivan when we were rear-ended by a Ford F-150 pickup truck going an estimated 30 miles per hour. The truck slammed into us, crushing the back end of the van, knocking the driver's seat (MY seat) off it's runners, and pushing us into the van in front of us. I still have flashbacks of looking in my rear-view mirror and seeing that truck coming at us, and knowing that it was not going to stop. Not in time. Not at all.
Thank G-d, my son was securely strapped in his car seat and I was wearing my seat belt (I am always a stickler for seat belts, no matter what!). Somehow, once I overcome my initial maternal panic and determined that my son was scared but not apparently hurt, a strange sort of calm came over me, allowing me to call 911, check on the other drivers, call my husband and have him pick up Oldest Son from preschool (I was on my way to pick him up when we were hit) exchange the requisite insurance information, and so forth.
It wasn't until I arrived home that I began to pay any attention at all to myself. I had a massive headache, a back and neck ache, sore shoulders, a funny tingling in my arms and fingers, and I was trembling all over. I chalked much of it up to adrenaline and stress and called the insurance company.
In a way, the accident sent different aspects of my psyche into different directions. My mom part was grateful that Youngest Son was unharmed (a doctor later gave him a clean bill of health). My mom part was thankful that Oldest Son wasn't in the van with us. My mom part was thankful that we all walked away.
My spiritual part wondered if this was somehow destined, if a congruence of my timing and the other driver's timing and the weather (it had snowed heavily that morning) and every other decision and event came together and at some point ceased to be a mere possibility and became fate. My spiritual part wondered if we were protected by Someone or Something unseen. It wondered if the crash would have been worse without that protection.
My logical/pragmatic part began to assess the damage, both to the van and to me, and determined that most likely, had we been in our tiny Saturn, the car would have been totaled and we might not have walked away. There is something humbling when realizing that the van I hadn't planned on buying last fall, the van I second-guessed buying for quite some time, the van I bought in part because of a dream in which my father (alav hashalom), who passed away 17 months earlier, told me to buy it, may very well have been the van that saved us severe physical injury, if not saved our lives.
And my writer part found an interesting story in all of this. The van I was pushed into after the truck slammed into my van had a baby in it. The driver determined that his van sustained no damage (he had a tow hitch on the back, too) but stuck around until police arrived to give his version of events, which matched mine, and thankfully, the at-fault driver's, too (who claimed full responsibility). It turned out, after the cop asked each of us for our licences and insurance cards, that the van driver didn't have anything. No ID, no license, no nothing.
But wait - it gets better.
It wasn't his van. It wasn't even his baby.
The story came out that his girlfriend asked him to babysit the baby (the father is AWOL) while she went to work. The baby had had a fever the night before, so the daycare provider wouldn't take her, and the mom had no choice about going to work. The boyfriend walked over to her house, expecting to take care of the baby and hang out around the house all day. By late morning, the baby's fever had returned, so he called the pediatrician, who said, "Bring her in right now." He didn't want to risk harm to the baby by taking her out in the cold while he walked home to get his wallet, he was smart enough to know not to leave her home alone while he went home, and he doesn't own a vehicle, so he took the keys to his girlfriend's father's van and headed for the doctor's office. He was on his way there when the accident happened.
The cop (Saint Paul Police are awesome, by the way) was understanding, checked on the baby, and sent the driver on to the doctor with a warning to drive very safely and to always carry his driver's license with him, even when he walks to his girlfriend's house. Just in case.
Fast forward a week.
My back is worse, and I have numbness and tingling down my right arm constantly. I can't lift anything, can't drive, and have debilitating headaches. X-rays showed nothing broken. I'm sent for an MRI scan. (As an aside, those machines make some very interesting noises!) I half want them to find something so I have an explanation for what I'm feeling, and half want them to find nothing because I don't want anything wrong with me. I still manage to find humor in the incident, groaning, "I feel like I've been hit by a truck. Oh wait... I was."
Two radiologists confirm the findings: two herniated discs in my neck and a perforated disc in my mid-back. The good news is that none of them are bad enough to warrant immediate back/neck surgery. The bad news is that it will take 6 weeks to 6 months for me to feel anything close to "normal" again.
Anti-inflammatory medicine helps some of the pain and swelling. Chiropractic adjustments help realign my spine. Massage therapy helps loosen muscle spasms and sprained ligaments in my neck and shoulder. My days are filled with attempts at pain management, frequent doctor's visits, and trying to deal with the auto body shop and insurance company. And what seems like hundreds of forms all asking for the exact same information.
Another week passes, and the symptoms have graduated from tingling and numbness to hot knife-points of pain running down my shoulder and arm. I swear I can feel warm blood trickling over my skin as the tip of the knife slices through my skin. The doctors all say it's nerve pain.
Now I have Flexeril to speed the healing of my muscles, Percocet for acute pain that the NSAIDs don't help, physical therapy to start stretching and strengthening my upper back to stabilize my spine, and, depending on the outcome of tomorrow's meeting, a highly-recommended (by friends, not a TV ad) personal injury attorney to help sort out the insurance mess created by one driver's decision to drive too fast for road conditions.
Update: we got our van back just minutes before Shabbat began. The auto shop had it for over two weeks. And while the body looks all better, they didn't fix the driver's seat, so I can't adjust it to fit my less-than-tall stature and the knife-point pains down my arm. So I still can't drive. Grf.
On the good side, if I take it slowly and give myself lots of breaks about every five minutes, I can manage to type. Which means I can write. Yay!
Please drive carefully (and not too fast for the conditions) this winter.
I confess: I am writing under the influence of pain medication. Which, really, is quite a nice way to write. Fewer inhibitions. The dreaded internal editor is silenced. And creativity can flow directly from my drug-affected brain to my fingers, if only I can stay awake long enough to write whatever it was I was going to say.
Some of you may know why I haven't blogged in a few weeks; most probably don't. The reason is this: on December 14, 2005, my youngest son (2-1/2 years old) and I were stopped at a stoplight in our minivan when we were rear-ended by a Ford F-150 pickup truck going an estimated 30 miles per hour. The truck slammed into us, crushing the back end of the van, knocking the driver's seat (MY seat) off it's runners, and pushing us into the van in front of us. I still have flashbacks of looking in my rear-view mirror and seeing that truck coming at us, and knowing that it was not going to stop. Not in time. Not at all.
Thank G-d, my son was securely strapped in his car seat and I was wearing my seat belt (I am always a stickler for seat belts, no matter what!). Somehow, once I overcome my initial maternal panic and determined that my son was scared but not apparently hurt, a strange sort of calm came over me, allowing me to call 911, check on the other drivers, call my husband and have him pick up Oldest Son from preschool (I was on my way to pick him up when we were hit) exchange the requisite insurance information, and so forth.
It wasn't until I arrived home that I began to pay any attention at all to myself. I had a massive headache, a back and neck ache, sore shoulders, a funny tingling in my arms and fingers, and I was trembling all over. I chalked much of it up to adrenaline and stress and called the insurance company.
In a way, the accident sent different aspects of my psyche into different directions. My mom part was grateful that Youngest Son was unharmed (a doctor later gave him a clean bill of health). My mom part was thankful that Oldest Son wasn't in the van with us. My mom part was thankful that we all walked away.
My spiritual part wondered if this was somehow destined, if a congruence of my timing and the other driver's timing and the weather (it had snowed heavily that morning) and every other decision and event came together and at some point ceased to be a mere possibility and became fate. My spiritual part wondered if we were protected by Someone or Something unseen. It wondered if the crash would have been worse without that protection.
My logical/pragmatic part began to assess the damage, both to the van and to me, and determined that most likely, had we been in our tiny Saturn, the car would have been totaled and we might not have walked away. There is something humbling when realizing that the van I hadn't planned on buying last fall, the van I second-guessed buying for quite some time, the van I bought in part because of a dream in which my father (alav hashalom), who passed away 17 months earlier, told me to buy it, may very well have been the van that saved us severe physical injury, if not saved our lives.
And my writer part found an interesting story in all of this. The van I was pushed into after the truck slammed into my van had a baby in it. The driver determined that his van sustained no damage (he had a tow hitch on the back, too) but stuck around until police arrived to give his version of events, which matched mine, and thankfully, the at-fault driver's, too (who claimed full responsibility). It turned out, after the cop asked each of us for our licences and insurance cards, that the van driver didn't have anything. No ID, no license, no nothing.
But wait - it gets better.
It wasn't his van. It wasn't even his baby.
The story came out that his girlfriend asked him to babysit the baby (the father is AWOL) while she went to work. The baby had had a fever the night before, so the daycare provider wouldn't take her, and the mom had no choice about going to work. The boyfriend walked over to her house, expecting to take care of the baby and hang out around the house all day. By late morning, the baby's fever had returned, so he called the pediatrician, who said, "Bring her in right now." He didn't want to risk harm to the baby by taking her out in the cold while he walked home to get his wallet, he was smart enough to know not to leave her home alone while he went home, and he doesn't own a vehicle, so he took the keys to his girlfriend's father's van and headed for the doctor's office. He was on his way there when the accident happened.
The cop (Saint Paul Police are awesome, by the way) was understanding, checked on the baby, and sent the driver on to the doctor with a warning to drive very safely and to always carry his driver's license with him, even when he walks to his girlfriend's house. Just in case.
Fast forward a week.
My back is worse, and I have numbness and tingling down my right arm constantly. I can't lift anything, can't drive, and have debilitating headaches. X-rays showed nothing broken. I'm sent for an MRI scan. (As an aside, those machines make some very interesting noises!) I half want them to find something so I have an explanation for what I'm feeling, and half want them to find nothing because I don't want anything wrong with me. I still manage to find humor in the incident, groaning, "I feel like I've been hit by a truck. Oh wait... I was."
Two radiologists confirm the findings: two herniated discs in my neck and a perforated disc in my mid-back. The good news is that none of them are bad enough to warrant immediate back/neck surgery. The bad news is that it will take 6 weeks to 6 months for me to feel anything close to "normal" again.
Anti-inflammatory medicine helps some of the pain and swelling. Chiropractic adjustments help realign my spine. Massage therapy helps loosen muscle spasms and sprained ligaments in my neck and shoulder. My days are filled with attempts at pain management, frequent doctor's visits, and trying to deal with the auto body shop and insurance company. And what seems like hundreds of forms all asking for the exact same information.
Another week passes, and the symptoms have graduated from tingling and numbness to hot knife-points of pain running down my shoulder and arm. I swear I can feel warm blood trickling over my skin as the tip of the knife slices through my skin. The doctors all say it's nerve pain.
Now I have Flexeril to speed the healing of my muscles, Percocet for acute pain that the NSAIDs don't help, physical therapy to start stretching and strengthening my upper back to stabilize my spine, and, depending on the outcome of tomorrow's meeting, a highly-recommended (by friends, not a TV ad) personal injury attorney to help sort out the insurance mess created by one driver's decision to drive too fast for road conditions.
Update: we got our van back just minutes before Shabbat began. The auto shop had it for over two weeks. And while the body looks all better, they didn't fix the driver's seat, so I can't adjust it to fit my less-than-tall stature and the knife-point pains down my arm. So I still can't drive. Grf.
On the good side, if I take it slowly and give myself lots of breaks about every five minutes, I can manage to type. Which means I can write. Yay!
Please drive carefully (and not too fast for the conditions) this winter.
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