Kink

Two weeks ago on a Thursday after work I went with Lindsay to look for a headpiece and veil. There was a trunk show at the store where she bought her wedding gown. She put on a sample of her dress to match it up to the veil. Mary Lou, the salesperson that sold it to her, was there. Lindsay had weighed almost 90 pounds on that night; she had put on some much needed weight after having pancreatitis. It took two hours to decide that the first headpiece she tried on was the one she wanted and to find a veil reaching her fingertips with enough “bling”. Bling should be Lindsay’s other middle name. Bling is in the description of everything that Lindsay has ordered to plan this wedding. “It has to have bling,” she says, with a sparkle in her brown eyes and a nod of her head. Even the invitations, which didn’t come with bling, had bling inserted onto them. A tiny luminous Swarovski crystal was carefully glued onto the middle of each motif at the top of every invitation, over 100 of them. There was an intense discussion beforehand about whether to put one crystal or three. Too much bling can be tacky while just the right amount of bling is elegant.

The headpiece and veil were blingy and elegant, with a price tag that defied my imagination. I had no idea toile, which weighs next to nothing, can be so expensive. Both the headpiece and veil cost more than half the price of what I paid for the dress. I nearly fell off the fancy little cushioned stool I was sitting on when Mary Lou brought me the sales ticket. I suddenly realized that the phrase “What price range are you looking in?” was never stated. Exhausted and in a small state of shock, I just handed over my credit card, which Mary Lou had to release from my tense grip. I regretted that moment dearly. But how could I say no after we had invested two hours of our time deciding? However, two days later, my practicality triumphed when I explained to Lindsay that it was just outrageous to spend so much, without looking into other options. She had heard about a lady, Adi, who sells headpieces and veils from her home. We cancelled the order and made an appointment with Adi for the following Friday night. Then came the kink.

The kink was revealed on Wednesday night. Lindsay had to go back for the procedure to remove both stents that the doctor had put in her to repair her twisted pancreatic duct and bile duct. The stent from her pancreatic duct was supposed to pass naturally, but didn’t. It had to be removed with the same procedure that he did to place it in there. So, he decided, why go back to remove the other one and have to go through anesthesia again? Let’s just remove everything. The appointment was set for Wednesday morning and Mark was going to go with her because I had to work in Stamford, Connecticut that day. I was really not happy about not being there for the procedure, but Lindsay would not change the appointment. I left my cell phone on while I was doing my workshop to keep in contact with Mark. At about 11:30, he called to tell me that recovery did not go so well. They suspected she had to be admitted into the hospital again. I was 50 miles away. I left Stamford, Connecticut, flying down the rain-slicked I-95; I do not think the wheels of my car hit the pavement at all. I was not aware of the speed I was travelling, but I do remember the constant hum inside the car as I defied time to get to my daughter. If you listen carefully, you can hear panic; it envelops you in a vacuum. It forces you to focus on every uncomfortable millisecond that passes. It is callous and insensitive.

When I arrived at the hospital, Lindsay was being admitted to a different unit this time, a private room in the “M” wing. She was still in a drowsy state from the anesthesia, but it was clear she was in a lot of pain again. Her amylase level was 2003; lipase was 8232. Higher than the last time. Pancreatitis, round two. Dr. Stark explained the problem. A kink. There was a kink in her bile duct, like a kink in a hose. The cause for the kink was a choledochal cyst, which is a congenital deformity. It occurs during the first 45 days of fetal development. It was my fault, after all, I felt. What did I do during those first vital days? I had to do something wrong- take an aspirin, perhaps, or twist in the wrong direction. It’s silly to blame myself, I know, but nevertheless, I do. What’s so cruel is that this has revealed itself during what is supposed to be one of the happiest times of our lives. I take a deep breath. It is not a sigh of relief. It is a sigh of anticipation. For now, the doctor had to put in a new stent, one with pig-tails that rotates and will hopefully correct the kink. If that doesn’t work, he will try a different stent. If that doesn’t work-surgery- very invasive, complicated surgery. One day at a time; I say; we will take it one day at a time. And hope for the best.

The stent has to stay in for at least three months. That is three weeks before the wedding. It is too risky to remove it then because every time he does the procedure, there’s a great chance that she will get pancreatitis again. So, Dr. Stark says he will wait until after the wedding. The stent walks down the aisle with Lindsay. In sickness and in health….with or without stents. The honeymoon has to be postponed because there is risk of infection. She can take antibiotics with her, but I say no- I am not letting her go to St. Lucia with a stent and a pill. She will have to wait. One day at a time. And hope for the best.

I returned to work last Monday. Thursday I went to my office. I sleep deeply on the Long Island Railroad, now. As I walk through Penn Station, I carry a heavy burden on my shoulders, blending in with the frenetic hustle of the crowds of people. Sometimes, there is a man who plays an organ, right before the entrance to the “2” subway. He was there this Thursday. He is in his eighties, I think, with silvery white hair and leathery brown skin. He must have osteoporosis, because his head hangs down over his slumped neck. Maybe he has a kink, too. A mechanical monkey claps its cymbals right beside the baskets where people drop their money in for his music. He plays the same song all the time. I always stop, no matter how hurried I am, and find some coins or a dollar to place in one of the baskets. And every time I do, without fail, he lifts his heavy head, and waves his hand to thank me. His smile is broad and sincere. It is in that moment, I am almost certain of the presence of G-d. It is the organ-player’s smile that lifts the burden from my shoulders.

This time, Lindsay was in the hospital for five days. She is now 87.9 pounds. We went to Adi, the veil lady’s house yesterday. We found a veil with bling that costs $250 less than the veil in the store. She will make a similar headpiece for $200 less. We continue with our wedding planning, even with a kink in the journey. One day at a time. And whenever I feel the weight of the kink I think of my organ playing man lifting his head and smiling. And I hope for the best.

This is blog #36. 36 is double chai. Chai in Hebrew means 18 and life....a good sign.