2013: Posts are continuously translated and added to the blog with their original dates

Thursday, June 5, 2008

4. A Day In A Life

I got up, got dressed, brushed my teeth.
Just kidding. I wished...!
Since my little surgery, I sleep 3-4 hours a night, and that too, interrupted. At 6:30 in the morning, R. got up and gave me my meds. Half an hour later, she connected me to the 'Kangaroo" which started dripping breakfast directly into my stomach.

I was utterly exhausted.

Today's plan: get a haircut.

At 10AM, as I am getting my daily massage, a call comes from the hair salon, "Roy can arrive in half an hour," the hair washing assistant says. "No!" I protest, "in an hour!"  "Quick, quick," I tell R. in Hebrew. She understands, but gets stressed, and when she's stressed, she loses her head, which operates on 'shanti' energy.

Roy arrives. He places me in the living room in front of the computer, and without wetting my hair, and equipped with scissors and a comb, attackes the enemy. Gail calls. "I'm arriving to take Mom for a check-up at the hospital. Be downstairs in 10 minutes." "No!" I plead, my mouth full of hair, "20 minutes!" "I have to be back by 2," she says. That leaves less than 2 hours.

Roy wins the hair battle in 5 minutes, and before I realize it, he's gone.

R. gallops with me to the bathroom, leaving behind a trail of hair, that will help us find our way back. She rips my sweats off, using it to dust off the hair that has gotten all over me and the floor. I shoot off orders, and she scurries around the house. Drenched in perspiration, we're down, in the Jeep, on time.

Barak is waiting for us at the hospital, and leads us back to the floor where I had the surgery.

I am to see Prof. Weisman and Simcha. We have no appointment. Every time the door opens, a gang of escorts tries to force themselves on the Prof. Barak storms the door too, and on the third try - success! We're inside.

The Prof. looks through my file, and without as much as glancing at me, he asks "Is it you who sent me the letter? What a great letter. Let's see what's the problem." Like a magician, he pushes - turns - pulls the hose from my stomach, and says "There's a small wound here that was bleeding. Barak, you wanna see?" Barak doesn't, but R., awakening from a brief fainting spell, takes a look. "Does it hurt?" he's asking. I nod yes. "Not enough", he says, "others have it way worse." We're out in 3 minutes.

Gail is waiting in the car with Gugi, who's sick. "No more fever," she says "only diarrhea." "I hope Mom won't catch it," says Hadas on the pnone. Hmmmm. R. holds my head during the ride home, because I can't breath with my head dangling. I get out of the car, and almost get run over as it starts moving again.

The house is a mess, just a we left it, with hair in the living room and corridor. I go straight to bed and get connected to my feeding tube.

R. takes my sweats and opens the balcony door. Countless clumps of hair find refuge in every nook and cranny from the breeze blowing in. I can't stop laughing. This was so predictable...

The doorbell rings. I'm not expecting anyone.
The man at the door looks familiar, but he doesn't recognize me.

"I'm the Social Security investigator," he says. "Where's Hadas?"

He approaches my room, his eyes searching all around. Hadas works for El Al (the Israeli airline), I write. "When will she be here?" Tomorrow.

Out of my room, he questions R. in a whisper.

I look in the mirror and I hate the way I look with my new haircut. A few stray hairs need trimming.

In the evening, I get a coughing fit. After using up a roll of toilet paper, I'm ready for bed.

It is 1:00AM.

Good night!

June 5, 2008
Translated by: Rina Shapira
Original Hebrew post at: 4. סתם יום בחיי

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