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Observations
It was the flu that finally broke me. The past two years have not been easy, to say the least: chronic stomach pains leading to a diagnosis of cancer, followed by a year and a half of treatments, a relapse, and then the need for cataract surgery, the latter a probable complication of chemo. I coped with each as best I could, trying to spin adversity into life lessons. I got sad sometimes, to be sure, but remained stoic for the most part.
That was until the flu felled me.
This winter’s strain has been particularly virulent (and that’s not even considering the new coronavirus raging in China). I’ve never gotten the flu shot – not because I’m opposed to vaccines but because my immune system has always been strong. Even last year, when I was in the midst of cancer treatment, I didn’t catch a bug. So, despite our HMO sending out repeated reminders, I dithered. Until it was too late.
“Everyone feels like they’re dying when they have the flu,” my son, Amir, reassured me as I was massaging my sinuses in a vain attempt to reduce some of the pressure.
I nodded weakly. But inside, I was panicking.
Was this it – the virus that finally sends me to the hospital like so many of my fellow follicular lymphoma voyagers? Maybe my compromised immune system won’t be able to fight this one off on its own. Should I have been wearing a mask when I went out in public?
The flu was my cherry on top of an already unpalatable series of unfortunate events. The most recent: cataracts gone wrong.
When I found out I’d need eye surgery, I was actually looking forward. If it worked properly, I’d be able to see without glasses for the first time in 52 years!
But the process of swapping out the clouded lens in one eye for a clear new artificial one loosened some flecks of collagen that began bobbing across my field of vision in the gel-like fluid of the eye called the vitreous.
For one of the only times in this somber saga, I broke down and sobbed
You may have experienced this, too. Most people will develop so-called “floaters” as they age, although cataract surgery ups your chances.
Floaters don’t indicate anything is medically wrong, but they can be maddening – like a swarm of flies buzzing in front of you except you can’t swat them away because they’re literally in your eyes.
And there’s not much you can do, my ophthalmologist explained, other than wait to see if they “settle” out of sight or if the brain “neuro-adapts” so they don’t bother you so much.
In the meantime, I could barely work. I said no to meet-ups with friends because I was so distracted. About the only time the floaters didn’t bother me was while watching TV when, for some reason, they would move off to the side.
I’ve been watching a lot of TV.
I NEVER FELT disabled the entire time I was going through chemo. I had various aches and pains and fatigue, but I was still able to haul myself in front of my computer and write. I never imagined, as a result of cancer, I would become visually impaired.
Combine that with the fact that, with my cancer no longer in remission, I’ll have no choice but to restart treatments at some point, add in the misery of the flu, and I finally felt defeated by my body.
And for one of the only times in this somber saga, I broke down and sobbed.
My wife, Jody, was there to contain me. She stayed silent for a long time, holding my shaking body.
“What are you scared of?” she asked eventually.
The answer surprised me.
“I’m scared that I’ll become like my father,” I replied.
My father contracted polio as a teenager. He recovered and was able to walk with barely a limp until he was later beset by “post-polio syndrome.” Eventually, he required a wheelchair to get around.
My father was no stranger to kvetching, but I never heard him complain about the hand he was dealt regarding the polio. Still, I could imagine the conversations that must have taken place behind closed doors between him and my mother. I surmised how my mother resented having to become his caretaker. I didn’t want that for Jody.
“You’ve got cancer, floaters and the flu,” Jody comforted me. “You’re far from disabled.”
“But I don’t know what’s coming next,” I bemoaned. “Then I’ll take care of you,” Jody said. “Will you let me take care of you?”
What could I say? That you didn’t sign up for this, Jody? But she did – it’s one of the vows we took when we got married. (OK, we didn’t actually recite vows at our huppah, but it was implied.)
Now Jody was asking – pleading with me – to not go through this alone.
I nodded reluctantly for the second time that day.
The flu turned out to be not just the flu but pneumonia. It took another two weeks and antibiotics but it finally passed, and I never went to the hospital.
The floaters are still with me, but there’s a laser treatment I’ve been reading about that’s supposed to have good results. As for the cancer treatments – they’re still coming, I just don’t know when.
I reached a low point with the flu. But I also forged a renewed understanding with my wife – and maybe an added appreciation for what my parents silently suffered through.
This may not be what we signed up for – but it’s what we’ve got. The alternative is unquestionably worse.
Just a mirage, that’s all you are to me... (Tommy James and the Shondells, 1967) On location in Universal City, California: “Who is wise?” asks Ethics of the Fathers. “He who learns from all people [and all things].” And this past week I certainly learned, or realized, a thing or two when I spent an eye-opening day at Universal Studios.
If Hollywood is the prime manufacturer of make-believe in this world, Universal is the epicenter of that art.
In one whirlwind day, I barely avoided being eaten by a Tyrannosaurus rex; I got caught up in a harrowing car chase that saw a dozen other cars around me wrecked; I flew across the ocean and above the mountains, led by a young boy on a broom; and I saw a flaming airplane land just three meters in front of me. I traveled from New York to London to the Old West to China in just a few hours, without a trace of jet lag. Wherever I went, all was not as it seemed to be. No one can fabricate false reality like Hollywood.
But they are not the only ones to have mastered the art of fooling the public with faux facades. In the Torah portions currently being read, Pharaoh proves quite adept at twisting and transforming reality. He convinces his people that he is an all-powerful god who controls the rise and fall of the Nile, thus determining the agricultural success – or lack thereof – of the entire country. He succeeds in erasing – literally – onetime hero Joseph from the annals of Egyptian history, convincing his nation that the Israelites are parasitic threats to Egypt and so must be enslaved or even murdered.
This past week in Israel, leaders from around the globe – from Pence to Putin to Prince Charles – gathered dramatically in Jerusalem to commemorate the Shoah and to spotlight both the victims and the villains of the Holocaust.
The Nazis were masters of deception, ingeniously creating a pervasive false reality that masked their crimes and their central cause – the murder of every Jew on the planet. Concentration camps were “labor farms,” roundups of Jews and mass murder were “Aktions,” and death camps were “resettlement centers.” Show camps like Theresienstadt put a false face on the horror, while signs of “Arbeit Macht Frei” on the outside gates masked the terror within. Much of the world was fooled, with disastrous consequences for our loved ones.
And even today, the Palestinians create a parallel universe made up of smoke and mirrors, forging a phony history of their own while using every means to erase, expunge and obliterate our truth: the truth of King David and King Solomon, of the Temple in Jerusalem and the 3,000-year presence of Jews in our homeland. Our holy texts affirm without a shred of doubt our legitimate claim to this land, while they are the authors of the shortest book in history: Ancient Palestinian Culture and Custom.
YET I wonder: Will the true events of Jewish history remain fact in the years to come, or will they be turned into fiction? The question is worth considering, for indeed our accomplishments in the last century boggle the mind and invite disbelief.
Will generations to come believe that we could survive the devastating Shoah and emerge to revive and recreate our ancient land and language?
Could we have really won a War of Independence against all odds and predictions, and then, soon after, vanquish seven Arab armies in just six short days?
Could we have actually taken in millions of immigrants – many of them elderly and impoverished – and could we have increased our population by 1,000% in just two generations?!
Could we possibly have made our tiny nation the hi-tech capital of the world, dramatically bestowing innovations of all types upon humanity, increasing its quality and longevity of life?
Will all this be acknowledged by future generations as fact, or will it be dismissed as fanciful fairy tales concocted by creative Jewish minds?
There are two conflicting narratives fiercely competing in the world today. One suggests that the Jews are an oppressive, malevolent force, robbing the world of its resources, stealing the property of others and espousing a doctrine of supremacy and world domination. The other affirms that the Jewish people are benevolent, decent, industrious citizens who hold the moral high ground and bring abundant blessing to every nation in which they live.
It is our sacred task, I suggest, to fight passionately for the truth we know to be real, to dispel the clouds of doubt and defamation that too often swirl around us.
It is an uphill battle, to be sure, because ignorance is a societal cancer that spreads exponentially, perverting and polluting even the best and brightest of minds.
We have the obligation to devote ourselves to separating the facts from the fables and declare, with unabashed pride: Israel is real.
Will the true events of Jewish history remain fact in the years to come, or will they be turned into fiction?