Dayenu!! A story of Passover Seder in Germany.

Michael & I attended Passover Seder.
Celebrating the Seder, here, in Germany was so very profound.
We walked up to the Synagogue, and couldn't help but notice the security cameras, and the fact that we had to be buzzed in.
Once inside the warmth of the people greeted us with smiles. Our new friend Mr. Mitzner took us under his wing. He lead us upstairs to the Synagogue. There stood the original doors from Bamberg's original Syangogue as a silent testimony. (It was burned the morning after Kristallnacht. To learn more click here.)
Michael chose a kippa from the basket and placed it on his head.
We sat holding our books waiting for the service to start. The simple beauty surrounded us as we watched others take their seats.

We weren't aware of the large Russian population, until Mr. Mitzner explained that the majority of the congregation was indeed Russian.
Michael & I were astounded by the Cantor's voice. It was beautiful as it bellowed out welcoming in the Sabbath.
The service was in Hebrew, German & Russian. So, following along was sometimes tedious. However, we did find our places, and we're joyfully singing along from time to time.
The sound of the whole congregation welcoming in the Shabbos was so beautiful, it brought tears to my eyes and joy to my heart.
My little husband standing in front of me, singing his heart out made me smile.
After the service everyone greeted everyone with a handshake and heartfelt and warm "Shabbot Shalom!"
We all headed downstairs for the yummy dinner that awaited.
Mr. Mitzner sat us at his table. He gave us the Haggadah. It was in German, but we followed along best as we could.
Our wine was blessed.
We dipped our bitter herbs into salt water to represent the tears and bitterness of slavery. Thus began the story of Exodus.
I have to admit, I felt that parsley growing and growing in my mouth. So, I did what anyone else would do, swallow it nearly whole then wash it down with some wine.
The matzah was broken.

The sweetest little girl stood in front of everyone and asked the four questions. My favorite part was when she held up the pillow. It was grasped in her hand and held high above her head as she read her part about relaxing.
There was more wine!
More Matzah! This time spread with beets and horseradish.

The Rabbi sang songs, and just for us Americans, she sang one in English (The Ballad of the Four Sons) If you'd like to hear the song click HERE.

Mr. Mitzner told us, and he was right, some people think the Seder is long, but if your heart is in it, it goes fast. The night seemed to zip by.
The first food we ate was an appetizer of Gefilte Fish. Now, I have to admit, I've looked at the jars in the store and grimmaced. Not ever brave enough to take a bite.
However, It is DELICIOUS. :) In fact, I had two pieces.
Then came the most amazing matzo ball soup. My husband all but licked his bowl.
Then we had boiled potatoes, tangy green beans, veggies and fork tender brisket.

We laughed, we talked, we ate & we drank wine (OK, so four cups of kosher wine can be A LOT!!)
It was such a memorable wonderful night.

Michael & I were talking about the wonderful people. He said "You know, I feel like I've known Mr. Mitzner my whole life. He's just that kinda guy."
I nodded in agreement.

I definitely feel blessed to have been invited to such an important holiday, in a land that only 74(ish) years ago would've been forbidden and life threatening. It was humbling and astounding. And here we were, breaking Matzo and singing praises of of how great our G-d is. Michael and I were both blessed and honored to be surrounded by men and women who welcomed us in like long lost family.

Dayenu indeed!

Happiness

Happiness today for me, was taking a bus ride on this sunny day, through this beautiful city. Nothing makes me happier than seeing the morning sun shine on this old beautiful city.

We took the morning bus to the Klinikum. (we both had appointments) The city bus becomes the school bus during mornings *and again in the afternoon*. (My sister had her introduction to this cultural difference by getting almost whapped by a big kid with his renegade backpack. She was saved by the German guy sitting beside her. When all the kids started piling on the bus that morning, Lynsey's rescuer shot me a look and started laughing. Both of us in on the intense crowding of school children that was about to occur.) But back to my story...

There were two little girls (A little blondish brown haired girl, and a girl with white-blonde hair) standing up on their ride to school. They were no more than 7, if that. At the next stop a little red haired girl (Her hair was in perfect piggy tails) hopped on. She saw the white-blonde girl standing there. She threw her arms around the little girl with excitement. Almost as if she hadn't seen her friend in years.
I told Michael "You know, she probably just saw her yesterday." We both smiled at the cuteness.
At the sheer exhuberance of love.
The little redhaired girl took her schule tasche off her shoulders at warp speed. She started digging in the little side pocket.
With a flourish she pulled out a mini toy pony. A princess pony at that. She extended her arm to show her whiteblonde best friend. Then promptly returned princess pony back to her schule tasche.
It was such a  moment of sheer innocence, that I was immediately endeared and charmed by the cute little trio. They stood talking little girl talk. The little redhaired girl with her hand on her hip.
Michael and I couldn't help but watch them and smile.

Even after our appointments, and eating our "American" style subs (Waaay better than any Sub I've ever eaten in America) in the warm glorious spring sunshine, and holding hands through the market (where we admired the pussywillows, and the HUGE mushrooms, and the fresh rosemary, and the furry dog parade) we still were amused by the trio of little friends.

It's the little things, indeed.

Thank Yous....

I took a walk the other day. It's the best way to arrange thoughts sometimes. Just me, my boots, fresh air.
I couldn't help but think of a phone call I had made.
It was a bill-paying call back to the States. The CSM was named Tammy. I mentioned to her that my husband was in the Army and we were living overseas. (The reason I mentioned this is she needed our address. I asked if she wanted our overseas address or a stateside address)
Tammy was so very sweet. She immediately asked me to pass along her gratitude to my husband (Which I will when I talk to him). I thanked her for saying such.
She then she told me that she wanted to thank me, she said "I call ya'll the homebound warriors."
I said "Oh. Oh well, thank you!"
(But trust me when I say, the only warrior I am is in the battle of these hardwood floors. Even if it is a chore, I don't feel like I need anyone to thank me for keeping my floors clean.)
It surprised me because that was the first time anyone actually thanked me for...being married to Michael.
She was so sweet and so heartfelt, it was nice. I thanked her & I told her she was a very nice person.

I've never sought gratitude for being married to Michael.

The thought lingered with me. I constantly see and am reminded of women who DO seek that kind of gratitude.
"Oh my husband is in the ARMY."
"My man is in the MILITARY"
"We are MORE special and we work harder than you at our relationships because our husbands are in the MILITARY"

As if they want a gold star for their marriage.

I try to seperate myself from that. Not because I'm not proud of Michael. I am. I am SO very proud of him. Every single day. Even when I catch him picking his nose, ok well maybe I'm more grossed out by that than proud.
When I see him in uniform, I feel such pride.
When he is away and I see guys walking around post in uniform, my heart desperately misses him.
In his uniform, or in his pjs, he is the most handsome man in the world. The bravest man I've ever met. The genuine & most courageous heart beats in his chest.

However, I do not feel I deserve gratitude.
"Thank you for what you do."What I do?
Well, let's see, what I do is love my husband.
That is not a great sacrifice.
I love him.
His job, is NOT my job. I married the person. His job just so happens to be in the Army. Of course that means we spend great amounts of time apart.
In a crisis, it may take him a couple of days to get home.
But, I do not feel I need to be thanked. As though loving my husband was a job. It is such a task that I need people to bow down to me with a 'I don't know how you do it' expression.
I don't want pats on the back, or any type of accolades.
I hate the implication that it MUST be SO DIFFICULT to be married to my husband. Oh poor you, you sacrifice soooo much.
I love my husband. It's not a sacrifice. It's where I want to be.

Some women define theirselves by that, and for them, that is great. I won't try to take that away from them. Being a spouse to someone who is in the military isn't easy.
But, being married to Michael isn't hard.
I married him because I love him. Not because I wanted to wear a yellow ribbon necklace or be a martyr.

When he is gone on training, or on missions, yes I sleep alone. I miss him every moment he is gone. Life is boring without him.
What do I do when he is gone?
I read books.
I do the laundry.
I go to the commissary.
I pay bills.
I make dinner for one.
I watch dvds because let's face it, AFN gets old after a while.
I go out to dinner with friends.
I take the train to neighboring towns to musuems.
I feed the ducks downtown.
I lunch with a friend on Marxplatz.
I call my sister and my mom.
I go to German Class.
I do wii zumba.
I take walks.
I plan out menus of what I will cook when he is home.
I drink coffee by the gallons.
I learn about places/sights/restaurants in our town (or neighboring towns) and then I can teach/show/bring Mike to those places when he comes home.

None of that takes the place of having Michael home with me. However, when he is gone, I know he's not doing things that fun. He is working.
To truly make any marriage work, you have to have your heart in it. The same goes for being married to someone in the Military.
(I still haven't grown to use the term "army wife" or "army spouse" because I am Michael's Wife. Michael's Spouse.)

I see all these poems about how spouses are the 'silent ranks." I'm not in any rank. I'm not in the military.
I've read how women sleep with their phones by them for that call, and that is true. But if he's too tired to call, guess what? I don't cry or get angry. He's just tired. Of course I want to hear his voice, but I love him so much that if he's tired, I'd rather he sleep. He'll call me when he can.
I've read about girls crying and getting so sad that their boyfriend/husband is going to basic training and it will be X amount of weeks before they will hear from their guys.
I can't help but think, What did you expect? Daily phone calls? Not going to happen, sister. The sooner you accept it, the better.

There will always be little girls who want to gossip and spread rumors on military posts. I have to say, I have successfully avoided them. I don't really care who is supposedly doing what with who. I don't.  Most of these girls/women I will probably never see again once they move or we do.
I chose my friends carefully and thus far, the friends I've made are awesome.
Any advice I could/would give to someone who wants to marry someone who is serving in the military is this:

1) You will be alone...a lot. You need to be ok with being alone. Alone and away from family/friends. You NEED to like your own company.
2) You need to accept that you will not choose where you live. Not the town, Not the country. And to some degree not even the housing.
3) Go see the town you live in. Make it yours.


And for cripes sake, PLEASE, if you move overseas, remember YOU are representing our Country. Please don't be White Trash, Ghetto, Redneck, Idiotic. Please. It's embarrassing. Honor the host nation by being polite. It's not hard to try to blend in or to  respect their culture. Please don't think you are owed something by the nationals. Please. It makes us all look bad. It makes the ones who DO actually respect others have to work EVEN harder to disprove that all Americans are ignorant.

If you can embrace that, when someone does thank you for being married to your husband, it will sound/seem strange to you.

And Tammy, thank you for your kind words. I can't imagine loving anyone else. Michael is the funniest, most amazing person I've had the pleasure to know. I love him more than there are words to express. You should see how cats gravitate to him, and how dogs want to get in his face, and curl up in his lap. He does nerdy dances with me in the kitchen. His mac and cheese is so legendary that it's been renamed Mike-n-Chee. He steals the blankets, and surprises me with little things like my favorite candy bar, a bouquet of flowers, or a sweet little stuffed animal. He folds the laundry because I HATE to. He never left my side for ONE minute when I was in the hospital. In winter he never fails to throw snowballs at me. Sometimes we play chase around the living room, because he doesn't want me to 'credit card' him. He watches the stars from our bedroom window with me. He always always always leaves one of his t-shirts for me covered in his sweet smell when he goes on training or missions. He is my everything, and I appreciate you recognizing that he works so hard! I will let him know you appreciate him.

The Hardest Day? Probably just the emptiest day.

I had been warned.
"The hardest day will be when you get your first period after the miscarriage."
By several people who had been through a loss like that.
One woman told me that it only stood to remind her of her miscarriage and she couldn't help but sob.

Mine came on a sunny day. Sitting on a bench on Maxplatz while eating lunch from Nordsee with my friend.
I went to the WC, and instead of crying, I smiled.
It meant moving forward, it meant no more waiting to try again.
I actually did a little shimmy dance in the stall before leaving & paying my 50 euro cents to the attendant.
Who would've thought having to buy a box of o.b. would be cause for celebration?
When I came home, I called Michael at work.
He said "Really?! That is GREAT!"
Crack open the wine bottle and let's Kool & the Gang it...CEEELEBRATE good times C'mon! (While I wasn't doing the high kicks or wearing super cool white pants this was pretty much me:

I found it puzzling. I felt fine. Excited  and hopeful, even. I rationalized that it didn't remind me of the miscarriage, since I had a D&C. So, it wouldn't stand as any reminder for me. Only a promise of hope at trying again.

Fast forward through the Berlin weekend. To yesterday, Michael left for his weeks long training.
The first time he has been away from me since November 19th. Initially, I didn't think too much about it. Just that I miss him so when he's away.
I woke up at 4:30am to see him off. To stand at the window and wave as he walked away into the dark morning. I got my favorite blanket and pillow bringing it to the sofa. I turned on the television. Piers Morgan was on.
There I was, lounging in the dark just me and Piers and his interviewee (Rosie O'donnel btw)
I snuggled in and the thought hit me.
Wow. The last time you did this, you were pregnant, and awake trying NOT to throw up. And now, you are not pregnant, or sick.
I turned off the tv, collected my blanket and pillow and took it to our bed.

Later on I took the bus to the post office to pick up the package that was waiting. Normally on such a gorgeous sunny day, I'd had chosen to walk, but it was SO bitterly cold out. I opted for the bus.

In our mailbox was a card, a national geographic renewal notice, and a letter from Tricare.

I opened all three letters, standing at the bus stop. I opened the card (a sweet thank you note from Mike's sister) I opened the National Geographic renewal (eh)  I saved Tricare for last, only because that was the order I pulled the letters out of the mail box. It was a routine explaination of benefits. Explaining the costs of my blood work from my first prenatal visit.
I held it in my hands staring hard at it. Looking at the words, the cost.  Empty words, and a lot of money paid out for emptiness.

That. That was the harder than any period on a park bench.
I climbed on the bus, and chose an empty window seat and watched the sun rays dance through the trees empty of any leaves.
No tears to cry.
Just empty.

Berlin!

MLK Weekend gave Michael a 4 day mini vacation, which gave us time to FINALLY get to Berlin. We rented a car, and were off to the capital city of Germany.
The trip took us through snow, but when we arrived in Berlin, there was no snow, (Thankfully) only cold weather.

We didn't mind the cold, or that we chose to see this city in winter...there were less tourists. Sure, we had to bundle up, but who cares?

We stayed in the Art'otel in Kundamm. (Go ahead, take a virtual tour here: http://artotel.photowebeu.com/kudamm/index.html)

It was a nice hotel, that we got for a steal on booking.com (Check it out fellow travellers) **Another bonus of winter travel! Reduced rates!
We were in the neighborhood of these fine attractions The Beate Uhse Museum, and Dunkin Donuts. (Of course we breakfasted there, sehr klasse.)

We cram packed Berlin Attractions into our weekend. To achieve maxium sites in as little time as possible, we made a must see list and I highly recommend it for ANY travel destination you are planning...
We saw almost EVERYTHING we wanted to see.
With the exception of the Ritter Sport Bunte Schoko World Museum, and the Currywurst Museum. (BUT, there is always next time, right?)
We started our morning off (of course after a donut) walking toward the Tiergarten. While we didn't visit either of the zoos, we did walk along enjoying how scenic the natural huge park looked.

We met a fluffy dog, and enjoyed the sun rising slowly as we crossed Cornelius Brücke.

We saw the Victory Column (which is still seen by some as a Nazi Symbol) and walked down Strasse des 17 Juni toward the Brandenburg Gate.

We came up on the back side of the Gate, passing the huge Reichstag. Which looked proud covered in German Flags.

It was somewhat strange walking over bricks that represented where the Berlin Wall once stood. The huge soviet memorial stands within sight of the Brandenburg Gate. It looks overpowering and very propaganda-ish. There was a bird on top of the huge soviet statue's head.
It made me instantly sing the wonderful Sesame Street song "There's a bird on me" (Remember it? if not take a trip down memory lane by clicking right here )

The sad quiet memorial of Victims of the Berlin Wall was touching and so very heartbreaking. It stands in the shadow of the beautiful huge Reichstag. (We waved to Angela Merkel...ok not really. She was no where to be seen)

We snapped pictures of the memorial to politicians who opposed Hitler, but did not go in to see the Reichstag.

We did check out Rick Steves suggestions about Berlin..but I have to say, while the book did list the sights near/on Pariser Platz, the book did NOT properly convey that you do not have to go in search of these sites. In fact, the travel guide lead me & Michael to believe we had to search for them.
Nay, They are right there in the open. RIGHT by the gate. For example, Hotel Adlon. The hotel famous for Michael Jackson's baby dangling antics is literally RIGHT there beside the Gate. You can't miss it even if you TRY.
Same with the Kennedy Museum. How can you MISS seeing a GIANT display of Jackie's face? You can't. It's right there by starbucks.

While on Pariser Platz, enjoying the view and posing for pictures, we were approached by SEVERAL women. They would cry out "ENGLISH? DEUTSCH? ENGLISH?"
Then they would hold up a little card that said "please give me money for bread."
She would put their best beggar face on and then say "Please. Please? Please? PLEASE? PLEASE? PLEASE?" despite telling her "no." and shaking your head she would continue to beg please as fast as she could.
Clearly these women do not take no for an answer, and they will follow you down Unter den Linden hoping their incessant begging will wear you down and you will give them "only 1 euro, please please please" just to shut them up.
We ducked into a souvenir shop to get away from the one who zoned in on us. (There were A LOT of these women milling about the platz)
Michael said "I would bet they are part of human trafficking."

It made me wonder....are they simple beggars or is it something more sinister? and why do the Polizei allow them to be so annoyingly harassing?

Regardless we continued our walk down Unter den Linden, which is a street under a lot of construction, we stopped to see the Neue Wache, which is a very sad almost creepy memorial. We visited Bebelplatz and saw where students and professors burnt newly forbidden books in 1933, at the 'request' of Joseph Goebbels.
It's hard to imagine how such a lovely platz could be the place of such willingly stupid destruction.

Despite our lunchtime hunger, we found a minute to stop and admire the beauty of the Berliner Dom. It was fantastic in spite of my growling belly.

We found a cute/trendy place for lunch called Wrap Me. You can build your own wrap. I chose white beans, lemon rice, honey chicken and a spice sauce to top it all off.
Trust me when I say, I killed that wrap. We had walked up an appetite in the cold. (Since we were right there by the Spree River, cold isn't a word to aptly describe the temperature!). Warming up in the restaurant was fantastic.

After munching we headed out to the Neues Museum. Since the tickets were timed, and we didn't want to wait around for an entrance time, we skipped seeing Nefertiti :(.
However, we chose the Pergamon Museum instead. We were NOT disappointed. The sights in that museum are AMAZING. The Pergamon Alter stands there proud and waiting for you to dream of what it looked like in it's glory days.

We saw Athena, the gorgeous gorgeous gate of Ishtar, the market gate of Miletus.

It was truly well worth our time.
We were totally in awe of the Pergamon-Panorama of the Ancient metropolis. The painting by Yadegar Asisi brings to life the ancient city. We could've spent forever just admiring this gorgeous panorama.

After exploring the museum, we walked back along the frigid Spree River. There were artists selling their goods. I wanted nearly everything I saw.

We then crossed back over the city to take in the Murdered Jews of Europe Memorial. Even though the sun was glowing, the Memorial looked dank and highly depressing. As it should. It is a massive memorial.

We left there, and walked down Friedrich Strasse towards Checkpoint Charlie. (not without first stopping at Starbucks for a treat)

At the checkpoint,There were friendly Germans posing as American Soldiers. Michael made friends with one joking and laughing with him as we paid the 2 euro to get get our passports stamped from checkpoint charlie.  

Friedrich Strasse is the street of honking horns. As we walked down the street, several cars were good naturedly honking their car horns in various different tunes. We found it highly amusing. I started laughing at the expression of one  honker (He reminded of Night at the Roxbury)

It prompted me to say "Wow. Berlin in the town of Honking"
Michael responded "And the capital city of all honkies."
I had to laugh, because it is so true.

We finally made it back to our warm hotel room, completely walked out. We fell onto our beds and talked about how fantastic Berlin is, and when we come back we are NOT missing that Currywurst museum no way.

I admit, I loved Berlin. I had an exciting time exploring the city that has had a colorful and haunting past, but in our hearts, we are partial to southern germany and the easy charm that you can only find in Franconia. :)

Will we go back to Berlin? You can bet your jelly donut on it, JFK! 

Ranty Me.

I am a different person now.
Well, I feel different, yet the same.
The fears I had before, are not the fears I have now.
Some friends I had before, I no longer have.

I mostly feel like not talking about it, the miscarriage, because it's too personal. Too intense. It makes people uncomfortable. Geez, it's been nearly 7 weeks, aren't you over it by now?
I only really talk about about it with my husband. While we lay in bed at night. He and I watching the stars as they move across the sky slowly.

Only a select few have a window into what it was really like there, in the hospital that day. I can count them all on one hand. And I love each one, and pray each one is blessed for their kindness. And because of them, I have a love for Germany that runs deep into my soul.

From two of the people that were there with us, when I have looked in their eyes. I see no pity. Compassion but not pity.

Pity is the ONE thing I despise. I do not want anyone's pity. It makes my stomach churn. It makes me want to snarl. Or at the very least roll my eyes. I want to say to them If you never laughed with me, then you have no place to come and cry with me.
Expressing sorrow for our loss is one thing. It actually is nice and appropriate for someone to express condolences. And for the few people who have openly expressed their compassion and condolences for us, it warmed my heart. It meant more than you can know.

But going the extra mile to say you know, without saying you know, annoys me. Please don't send me packages of stuff in hopes 'stuff' will make me feel better. Or telling me to be glad I wasn't 7 months pregnant, really?

I hate that sometimes it made for fodder for conversation. Making me glad for the Atlantic, and all those sky miles seperating me from it all.

I expect no one to understand what I am feeling.
 It's anger. It's saddness. It's frustration. It's fear. It's resentment. All unapologetically. They are MY emotions, why should I apologize?

I am angry. I feel jipped. No one can give me any answers? WHY?
I am sad.  Why did my baby have to die?
I am frustrated. WHEN can we try again? SHOULD we try again?
I am afraid. What if it happens again?
I have resentment. I do NOT want to hear about anyone else's morning sickness, or how bad it is. She should be GLAD she is sick. She should relish it. She should take comfort in the fact that she knows her baby is still in there growing. I do not feel sorry for her, or wish her non-sick days before the 1st trimester is over. I don't. Deal with it, because I would've GIVEN anything to have kept feeling that nonstop nausea.

And it is NOT every single day that I feel this way. Some days, I feel just fine. I laugh hard with my husband. We good naturedly trash talk each other when we do our nerdy little jig saw puzzles. We plan trips to Berlin, and Prague. We plan our weekly menus. We go on walks. We do silly dances in the kitchen to crack each other up. We gossip. We quote our favorite movies, and days will go by without any tears falling. I can even look at the Natursutten pacifiers without feeling devastated.

But sometimes, something will catch me by surprise, someone will tell me about someone who is pregnant,  and I'll think...I just wish things could've been different.
And I feel in limbo...waiting to start again.

We found love in a hopeless place...

Thursday night. The night I lost the baby, I waited exactly 2 hours before the phone rang. On the other end was my husband. He told me he was coming home.

I slept very little that night. Maybe 2 hours. In total.

I ate nothing.

The next day, friday, I don't think I left the sofa. I don't remember.

Saturday afternoon there was a knock on the door.

I opened it.

There stood Michael. Skinny, but finally home. 

I barely moved from Thursday to Sunday. Terrified of bleeding/cramping before Sunday. I was instructed by Dr. Rosin to go immediately to the Klinikum if I had either symptom. I became so angry at the idea of any other doctor doing the procedure. Angry and nervous. 

It hit me as to why I needed it to be Dr. Rosin. He was the only person in the world who had been with me. He was the only one who saw the baby alive, and then he was the one to tell me the baby was no longer alive.

Saturday at 9pm, was the last sip of water I had before the surgery. I had to fast for at least 8 hours before. 

Sunday arrived, and Heike took us to the Hospital. Not before hugging me, and securing my seatbelt for me. 

At the hospital she did all the German stuff for us, while we just followed her lead. We went to a waiting room, and shortly after, there was Dr. Rosin standing in his white coat, calling my name. He did another scan to make sure.

I saw the scan with clear eyes. The perfect shape of a perfect baby, motionless inside me. My body pretending it was still pregnant. I said "I just don't want to look anymore." He said "That's ok. You don't have to look." I turned my head and cried. The 2nd opinion girl told the doctor in German that it was correct, there was no heartbeat.

My husband looked defeated. This was the first time he saw his child.

I got dressed, and Dr. Rosin explained how everything would go. He told me I could try again for a baby when "you are ok here." and pointed to his head. I nodded. 

He lead me, Mike and Heike up to the 13th floor. We waited and waited for what seemed like endless hours.

The doctor came in to apologize for our long wait. There was an emergency surgery which pushed us back. I shrugged. He told me my body was NOT ready for the miscarriage and he gave me medicine to start the process, in addition to an IV to "Take away the thirsty."

The time finally arrived, and the nurses helped me get dressed in the gowns and leggings. The nurse and Michael wheeled me in my bed to the operating room. My husband kissed me and told me he loved me. Then through the doors I went.

The operating room was cold. So cold I was shivering. The nurse told the operating room nurse "Sie spricht kein Deutsch"

And even though I do, I didn't really care. They helped me up onto a warm conveyor belt. I was shivering from the cold. The operating room nurse piled hot blankets on me. The other nurse told me she would see me soon.

I felt like I was going to fall right off the conveyor belt, but really I was just being transferred to another bed.

The operating room nurse put a green hair cover on me, and strapped my legs to the table. I thought to myself "This is some crazy nazi shit."

She then wheeled me over to the operating area. Another nurse came up. I started crying. Not from fear of being put to sleep. I trust my doctor. I knew I was in good hands.

I was crying because this was truly goodbye.

Goodbye to my baby that I'd never meet. I'd never know what color his/her eyes would be. Or if it was a him/her.

Another nurse came up. I heard someone say to her "Sie spricht nur Englisch. Sie hat keine anderen Kinder."

The new nurse rubbed my face and said "What can I say? Nothing. Let the tears flow."

The anesthesiologist said "I just give her tranquilizah now."

I heard Dr. Rosin say "No! You Wait."

Then Dr. Rosin said "Mrs. Suman. Mrs. Suman. Look at me." He was standing by my feet. I saw only his eyes, as his mouth and head were covered in green. He said "It is me. I am here for you. I said I would be here for you. It is me."
Then he told the anesthesiologist to give me the medicine. 

Dr. Rosin said "Mrs. Suman keep looking at me. I am here for you."

I said "Oh. Thank you. Should I feel dizzy?"
He said "Yes, you should."

Then I closed my eyes.

I remember hearing a lady say again that I only speak english. So I muttered, "I can speak German."

Dr. Rosin said "Mrs. Suman, say something in German for us."

I slowly from far away said "Blah blah blah."

He said "VERY good, Mrs. Suman."

The next thing I remember He was rubbing my upper arm saying "Mrs. Suman. Mrs. Suman."

I said "Is it over?" But I felt so far away.
He said "Yes. It is over."
I said "Oh. I don't have a baby anymore."
He said "Soon. Mrs. Suman You will have your baby soon."

I then said "My doctor is a Saint."

I'm pretty sure I told EVERYONE that. Although I can't say for sure. It all felt very dream like.

The first face I saw was my husband's. He assured me that I even told him that Dr. Rosin was a 'saint.'
While I was having the D&C my husband bought my favorite German candy bar for me. When I could eat, he went to the hospital 'buffet' and made a sandwich for me, which tasted like heaven. Then he broke off pieces of my chocolate bar and fed them to me.

Dr. Rosin came into my room later. He asked Michael if I was better or still talking a lot. Which made me sort of laugh, because I know I was saying all kind of things before I was fully awake.

He gave me the updates on everything and told me I was free to go home.

Even though, we decided to stay over because I was SO exhausted. I couldn't keep my eyes open enough to get home.

My darling husband slept in 3 chairs mushed together, RIGHT by my side. Waking with a start everytime I had to go to the bathroom. He helped me there each time. He would get up and straighten out the tights they made me wear.  I look at him with a whole new deeper love now. I realize how amazingly lucky I am. And how beautiful our love truly is.

The next morning the nurse told us to get breakfast, and would we like it at the buffet, or in our room? I said "We can go to the buffet."

I stepped in and saw the breakfast items and there, in his bassinet a brand new baby. I felt frozen. I felt paralyzed. I felt short of breath.

I broke down crying.

The nurse hurried me back to my room and Michael got my breakfast, and so did she. She came in with a huge tray, and I thought "wow. My husband picked out some strange things for me." 

Then in walks Mike with my typical breakfast. 

Later that morning I went home. The sun was shining. 

I sat on the sofa, and cried.

When I went the following week to see the doctor for the post-op control visit, he told us that he sees no reason why we cannot try after one cycle, and that my chances of miscarriage are now lower. He told us that he wants us to not try to get pregnant but to not try to not get pregnant.

Miscarriage is something no one wants to talk about, really. I've struggled with blaming myself. Even though my dear doctor assured me that it was no fault of my own. It is hard. I need someone to blame. Yet, logically, I know there is no one to blame.

I have to say, out of that horrible experience, I found SO much love. Love from strangers. Kindness and tenderness from people who were under no obligation to bestow it upon me.

I see the good interwoven in the saddness that happened. 

Even in my broken hearted state, G-d showed me a love so deep that I am humbled and astounded. 

From the elderly man on the bus, to the girl who offered me a tissue to wipe my tears, the nurse who helped me dress, to Josie my dear friend who made phone calls to get my husband home, to the army who rushed to get him back for the procedure, to my dearest German friend who took time out of her Sunday to drive us to the Hospital, to the nurse who rubbed my face, to the doctor who cried with me when my baby died, and made sure I knew it was him who was in the operating room to my darling husband who truly was there in every way for me.

What did I do to deserve such benevolence?