Man plans, part IV
How many times have I written about man planning and God saying, “Sorry, kid, that isn’t how it works.” So here we go again.
I am in Israel to help Matzo Ball’s parents with his new baby sister. That’s my primary objective for being here. Getting to see Danish and her family is an added bonus, and one that I do not ever take for granted. I am either walking up the hill or walking down the hill. Or eating something that I shouldn’t be. But that is another story.
On Tuesday evening, I met Son #2 at the bus stop because I hadn’t seen him the whole day, and the only time he had for me was his walk home at 7:36 p.m. Not joking. Son #2 is a tad OCD, not that there is anything wrong with that. As we are walking, he tells me that his stomach is feeling funny.
The next day, DIL #2 had him go to the doctor because he never complains about anything. The doctor said it could be appendicitis, and if the pain gets worse, he should go to the emergency room.
“How are you feeling?” I ask him a million times. “I feel fine, I am taking Advil,” he tells me.
On Thursday evening, I was on Cloud 9, walking with two of my sons, at around midnight, as they were going to some cholent and kugel situation (as one does on a Thursday evening in the Shtetl).
“How are you feeling?” I ask again.
“Great,” he replies with his mischievous grin.
Friday morning, 9 a.m., my phone rings. You see where this story is going.
Ruptured appendix, surgery, yada yada yada, God willing, it will be a long recovery, but he will be fine. (Allow me to say God willing again, because only He knows what the future holds.)
Since this is a humor column, I will try to keep it light, but please don’t think for one minute that I am not a total wreck…
Son #3 and I, and Matzo Ball, since he wouldn’t take a nap, decide to walk to Hadassah Har Hatzofim hospital to visit Son #2. We were told, by DIL #2’s uncle (who went to visit him Friday night) that his surgery was supposed to be at 8 a.m.
We get to said hospital and ask what room Son #2 is in.
“We do not have this name in our system.”
“Well, he was supposed to have an appendectomy at 8 this morning.”
“Ehh, we do not have this name in our system.”
Yes, I love Israel.
Fortunately, the other woman told us just to go up to the surgical floor. After wandering the halls aimlessly, with an 18-month-old in a stroller (who brings a baby to a hospital? Bad Babka) we noticed a staff member who was covering her hair.
We asked about Son #2 and she was so nice and brought us to the recovery room. Apparently, his 8 a.m. surgery didn’t happen until 2 p.m., and when we got there he had still not woken up from the procedure.
But, in true Son #2 form, when the nurse took the tube out from his throat and he opened his eyes, his first words to her were, “Thank you.”
I love that kid.
Meanwhile, without going into how amazing DIL #2’s family who live in Israel are, because there aren’t enough words, I was in charge of putting Danish and her sisters to sleep. It is hard to explain to children under the age of 3 why their parents aren’t home. So Danish keeps saying that Tatty drank too much coffee (because that is what he told her) and her 2-year-old sister keeps yelling, “Tatty has a big bellyache.”
I am wondering if this means they will never drink coffee, but who knows.
So the point of this column is, well, is there a point? Man plans, your kid’s appendix ruptures, and you get to spend more time with your Israeli grandchildren than you thought you would. You learn the power of a lollipop (if you let Babka change you, she will get you a lollipop. If you go to sleep, Babka will give you a lollipop) and you just keep praying to God for good health and peace.
That’s all I got.
Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck is many things; right now she’s deeply frazzled and she’s always an incredibly loving wife, mother, and grandmother who’s actually letting her editor write her bio for her.