Help Needed

I have always been a get-it-done, take charge kind of person. I love to be productive, and I’d usually rather be the one cooking/tidying/running errands if the other option is to watch someone else do it. I love to lead – some might call me bossy but I prefer the term ‘effective.’ (In primary school at around 3 years old, my teacher had to remind me to “be the captain of my own ship” because I had the tendency to get involved in my classmates’ business. And by involved I mean take over. But what if I’m a way better captain than they are? My ship is, well, ship-shape, and theirs is barely floating. Could I maybe be the captain of my own fleet?) I’m that person who does all of the work in a group project and kind of resents it, but also wouldn’t approve of anything my classmates might have contributed so I’m my own worst enemy. (And captain of course). You can imagine that this makes me resistant to asking for and accepting help – a bit of a conundrum when you’ve got a chronic illness. I both enjoy doing things myself, and have some insecurity about “slacking,” or “failing.” (Ex: if Avi makes one dish for a large meal, I feel like I haven’t made the meal at all, which is ridiculous but a hard mentality to let go of.) It’s silly because I’d never think worse of someone for needing help – and in fact love to provide that help, but have such a hard time applying that to myself. This has only become more relevant with an infant.

Almost immediately upon becoming a parent this became apparent (okay I’ll stop) – starting in the hospital. I was recovering from major surgery, we were both sleep-deprived, and suddenly there was this entirely helpless baby barely weighing as much as a sack of flour that we were responsible for. The first night she slept in the bassinet next to my bed and Avi was pretty much responsible for everything she needed because I was unable to get out of bed yet. We basically got no sleep and were both losing it a little the next day. After much back and forth we decided to have Hadassah sleep in the nursery that night so that we’d get sleep. We both felt terribly guilty, despite the fact that we were entrusting her with the most competent “babysitters” we’d ever have access to. I have spent significantly more time on Reddit post-baby than I ever did before, finding valuable information, humor, and reassurance among the various parenting/baby subreddits. One woman posted that she accidentally fell asleep holding her newborn after her emergency c-section. The baby fell off the bed and thankfully landed on pillows, completely unharmed. She wrote about her guilt and horror, and received a lot of sympathy and encouragement. One commenter pointed out how different the (western hospital) postpartum experience is now in contrast to recovery several hundred years ago. In the “olden days,” women would give birth at home and then be surrounded by female relatives and friends with a high ratio of adult to infant. Mom would essentially be responsible for nothing more than recovering and breastfeeding while everything else was taken care of. Now a woman gives birth, a baby is chucked at them, and they make do with their partner (if they have one) and maybe their parents/in-laws. C-section moms undergo brutal invasive surgery and then are expected to take are of a newborn immediately. I know people who have had laparoscopic appendectomies who were treated more delicately. In what world would someone have abdominal surgery, go home from the hospital, be told not to exert themselves or lift heavy objects, and then be handed a 5-10 pound alarm clock that rings after max 2 hours of uninterrupted sleep and requires bending down, getting out of bed, and moving around frequently?

I want to be clear that I had a very positive experience over all and have nothing but gratitude for the medical staff that cared for me and Hadassah and that I am thankful to have access to excellent health care. I am just trying to paint a picture of the postpartum experience. Alarmingly, as part of an effort to become more “baby friendly,” many hospitals are getting rid of nurseries entirely rather than having them be an option upon request.

When we left the hospital we were exhausted and it was quite painful to walk around and transition from lying down to sitting up and vice versa. I wanted to “power through,” but knew that was a terrible idea for everyone involved. My incredible younger sister Atira who’d only just arrived in the country several days before, came to our apartment and provided invaluable help. (When I told her I was writing a blog about her she asked if it would be called “little sisters: the biggest migraine trigger”). Atira happens to naturally have a sleep rhythm that keeps her awake until ~ 4 AM and asleep until ~1-2 PM. This magical sleep unicorn of a person took care of our brand new baby every night, granting us precious sleep until Avi took over in the early AM at which point she’d pass out on a cot in our little reading nook and sleep until around noon. There was not a single night that passed without me feeling guilty/anxious about this arrangement, but it was genuinely necessary and I couldn’t have had a better night nanny. Atira is a nursing student and just as neurotic as me so I knew Hadassah was in good hands. I’d frequently say “of all the people I don’t trust with my newborn, I don’t trust you the least.” I’d check on them throughout the night because I couldn’t help myself, and usually would find Atira reading or watching TV while cuddling a sleeping Hadassah. (Except for one time when I came out because Hadassah was screaming and entered the living room to see Atira trying to comfort a completely naked tiny baby covered in pee (as were Atira and the changing pad) who was furious about being cold and wet. In this case my checking in was a bit more appreciated and valuable.)

After those first days we went spent a bit of time at my parents before returning to the apartment for about a week so that we could go to local doctors appointments before the High Holidays. After a few days of being on our own I was falling apart. I do very poorly with lost sleep and still couldn’t move comfortably. I felt like we had to try doing it alone and resisted calling my sister for backup. On day 3 or 4 of being home I left Avi with the baby to get a 2 week incision checkup and spent the whole time debating how I’d tell him I didn’t think I could do this without Atira. Thankfully, Avi was really understanding and was willing to share our limited space with a third person so that I could get more sleep. I called Atira and she came that evening. My only regret was waiting those days. After that week or so, we moved into my parents’ house for nearly a month (the time coincided with some back-to-back holidays that we would’ve celebrated there anyways) and for at least 90% of those nights Atira was the night nurse, allowing me to get much needed rest and recovery and for Avi to get crucial sleep he would not have had otherwise. Many times I felt like I wasn’t doing enough as a mom or that I was somehow weak for accepting o much help. I feared that Hadassah wouldn’t know I was her mom and was worried that I was “spoiling myself.” It’s so silly because Atira’s help allowed Avi and me to bond with our baby without the exhaustion and frustration that most new parents experience. She was genuinely happy to spend hours at a time cuddling her niece and could not have been a better aunt.

When Tali Wohlgelernter (my most frequently featured writer!) was a guest on the podcast AMERICA’S TOP REBBETZINS (https://www.jewishpress.com/multimedia/radio/americas-top-rebbetzins/rebbetzin-tali-wohlgelernter-raising-a-child-with-a-rare-disease-a-mothers-personal-story/2024/10/07/) she spoke about how life changed when her infant started having seizures. She said that having grown up in a family that was always endeavoring to help others, “suddenly to be on the other side of needing help was very challenging”. Anytime someone suggested Tali call the organization Chai Lifeline, dedicated to helping very ill children and their families, she would think “we don’t need it”. It was only when her sister-in-law’s mother offered to call Chai Lifeline on Tali’s behalf that she realized they did need that help. Receiving that assistance and care opened Tali’s eyes to how to really be there for others and to notice “what does the other person need from me”. She learned how to accept that help and to accept its necessity sometimes.

It is an unbelievable privilege to have the level of help Atira provided. It is a privilege to have any form of help. So accept it! If declining help means you’re less capable, you are not doing anyone any favors. I can guarantee that I am a better mother when I am well-rested and have had the chance to take a shower. Generally, if someone you care about offers to help you, assume that they want to do so and take that help. Vague offers of “let me know what I can do” might not be so useful, but a friend offering to get you groceries or a relative volunteering to do dishes is likely truly happy to do those tasks, and you will later regret declining out of politeness or self-consciousness when that chore falls on you! It took major surgery and a newborn for me to learn this lesson: it is not a weakness to accept care. And you will never feel more cared for than when someone spends their valuable time taking out your garbage or folding your laundry while you are in need. I hope I can remember this when help is offered in the future – especially  in the context of migraines.

Today’s tip:

• In the deck of cards that my mother in law made me (mentioned in Migraine Hurts Like A Mother she wrote “accept all help from everyone who is helpful. Reject “help” that isn’t helpful.”