When a Hanukkah Lesson Doubles as a Diversity Lesson

Early in the season, I received an email from my daughter’s preschool inviting parents to join her class and share what holiday we celebrate and why it is meaningful to us. By the end of that same day, I had already talked to her teacher and planned my visit.

I did not grow up in a very Jewish area, and I have clear memories of my mom bringing in dreidels and other Jewish trinkets to my schools throughout the years. The chance to repeat history in such a positive way was too good for me to pass up.

The night before, I prepped and planned and packed a huge bag to bring in with me. Even though my daughter is only four and a half, I wanted to make her proud.

I think I did.

There were nine children in her Pre K class that day. I brought in a toy menorah, dreidels for each kid and gelt for all. I read a few books, did a brief question and answer session and had as much fun (if not more) than the kids! My husband said when he went to school to pick our daughter up later that day, half of the kids ran up to him to show off their dreidels and exclaim how much fun they had that morning. One girl even commented that she wished I could come in every day!

I always knew I was different because I was Jewish, but it was a good different. I hope I am instilling that same sense of pride in my daughter.

My daughter is the only Jewish kid in her class. However, because of her, eight other children now know the story of Hanukkah and that not everyone celebrates what they might celebrate. Without even trying, I taught a lesson about diversity that day, too. 

My husband is not Jewish. When things started to get serious for us, I informed him that Judaism was more than a religion to me. It was a part of the fabric of who I am. He was accepting of that fact and agreed that we could have a Jewish home, and if we were ever lucky enough to have a family, we could raise our family in my faith.

So while we are Jewish in every sense of the word, on Christmas Day, we will make the short trip up the turnpike and celebrate with my husband’s side of the family. There will be a beautiful tree and decorative lights and more food and frolic than you can imagine. We will honor their holiday and enjoy the day. It’s the best of both worlds, in my opinion. My daughter is raised in a Jewish house but gets to experience life and religion outside of these walls.

Religion to me is tradition and spirituality as much as prayer. I want my daughter to be proud of who she is and those that came before her. I also want her to know there is more than just what she sees day to day.

By going to her school that day, I was trying to share that lesson with her classmates. I think I did. Next year, she will be in elementary school. I am already working on my lesson plan for that class!

Happy Hanukkah!

Learning to Love Yourself No Matter What

One of the problems with being a writer is that I use words as therapy. By writing my thoughts and feelings, I can often make sense of the world around me. I can deal with my stress or grief or anxiety by blogging. But what happens when something is too personal to share?

Earlier this week, I was scheduled to have a minor outpatient procedure. It was something I decided was private and was happy to keep it that way. (No, it was not a nose job. I happen to have the best nose of all the Fields children.)

Gary took the day off to drive me to the surgical center. Miranda spent the night with her cousins and her aunt took her to school that morning. My mom was scheduled to pick her up that afternoon. Logistically, everything was worked out to the smallest detail. I was ready to go.

The only problem was that I had been battling a cold since Thanksgiving. Mostly just a cough, but there was some wheezing, too. Enough to keep me up at night and cause a lot of discomfort.  I told the surgical staff and they were not too worried. In my mind, the antibiotics that I was going to get post-op would also work on my cold and by today or tomorrow, I would be healing and the cold would be just a memory.

So I talked to the nurse. I talked to the doctor. I had on my hospital gown. I removed all my jewelry. My hair was in a less-than-fashionable hair net. I was good to go.

They wheeled me back to the procedure room. The anesthesiologist explained that he was going to use a slight muscle relaxant on me and then he would put me under. I would not wake during the procedure and there was no reason to be scared. The next time I saw his face, it would be all over.

Except that was not the case. I am not sure how long I was out before they realized that my cough was too extreme. Even sedated, I was coughing and bucking. (I swear they said, "bucking"...I could not have come up with that word if I tried.)

The team went to get Gary from the waiting room. They consulted with him. He agreed that if there was ANY chance that my life was in danger or that I could be harmed in any way, it was time to wake me up and we would do the procedure another time. So that is what they did.

When I awoke, I was being wheeled back into recovery. The nurse looked at me with such compassion and said they were unable to do the procedure. There was too much risk that my cough might have been bronchitis that would turn into pneumonia if I was under for too long. Everyone agreed it was safest to stop.

I started to cry. Big, fat, wet tears. I felt like my body failed me. The last time I had anesthesia, it was to deliver my daughter still. This little surgery that I elected to have, brought it all back. Yet another outcome that was not how it was supposed to be.

I  was angry and sad and still sedated so I am sure I was not making any sense. And I did not care. 

Gary held my hand and patiently explained it all to me. The doctor and nurse and everyone else on staff also went over everything again and again. We called my primary and got me in later that day. Turned out I did have bronchitis and even with a nebulizer treatment, antibiotics and an inhaler, I am still sick today. Although I am planning to leave the house for a little pre-Hanukkah party at the local mall, so things are looking up.

My surgery is rescheduled for the end of the month. The doctor is coming in on a day off to be there for me. My family and friends will surely rally around me once more - this time when I am healthy and mentally and physically ready to undergo a procedure.

My body did not fail me - I did not fail me - things just happen. I should know that by now.

We really can't control what happens to us in this life. But we can control how we deal with the highs and the lows.

This was not my best week. But I am here. Alive. Relatively healthy and insanely loved. I am not sure I can ask for more than that. And I know that next week will be better. Thank goodness for that.

Always look for the silver lining