Welcome. I'm Jessica Fein, and this is the “I Don’t Know How You Do It” podcast, where we talk to people whose lives seem unimaginable from the outside and dive into how they're able to do things that look undoable. I'm so glad you're joining me on this journey and I hope you enjoy the conversation. 

Welcome back to the show. This is episode 75 of “I Don’t Know How You Do It,” and I have to say, I'm even kind of blown away by that. You know, I started this podcast about a year and a half ago for two reasons. One, I had just submitted my book to the publisher and I knew that it was going to be almost two years before the book came out and I would drive myself crazy if I didn't have another creative project [00:01:00] to get totally absorbed in.

So I decided to figure out how to launch a podcast and “I Don’t Know How You Do It” was born. And the reason, and I've talked about this before on prior episodes, that I really wanted to explore this concept of “I Don’t Know How You Do It” is because for years, literally a day wouldn't go by where somebody didn't say to me, “I don't know how you do it.”

And it was such a weird thing, it, it made me uncomfortable because I didn't know how to respond. I mean, I know that people were saying it out of a place of respect for everything that we, my family, were handling and that I was handling with a full time job and three children, one of whom was very seriously ill, and all the other balls we were keeping in the air.

But I never knew how to respond. Right? I mean, it was not comfortable to say, “Yeah, I don't know how I do it either.” Or, you know, “What choice do I have?” So it was one of those comments that just always got me thinking. And then I started to really be interested in what is it about certain people's lives that seems so unimaginable from the [00:02:00] outside?

Why do we look at some people and say, “I don't know how you do it”? And not only people who are going through really difficult circumstances, but also people who have just chosen incredibly unconventional paths. And so those are the stories that I've been so interested in telling for these past 75 episodes.

And after today's episode, I am going to take a bit of a hiatus. I've always wanted to be able to say I'm taking a hiatus. I mean, there's something that sounds very glamorous about that. Since I started the podcast, I've been going without a break. So I'm going to just take the summer off and hope that you will catch up on old episodes during that time and we'll be back better than ever in September with the next season of the show.

The other thing I wanted to talk about is that I've had the opportunity since my memoir came out, Breath Taking, which was May 7th, to have such amazing conversations in bookstores and on Zoom meetings and in other venues with readers about the book and to do a lot of readings. And [00:03:00] people are asking me if I'm going to be in their city to do a reading, and I'm still working on putting together some tour dates for the fall.

But in the meantime, I thought it would be fun to share an excerpt of the book today. I wanted to share a piece I wrote for the book about July 4th, given that this week is July 4th. Some of this made it into the final, and some of it didn't. So what you're hearing here is not word for word what's in the book, it's a little bit more.

I'm gonna go ahead and share that with you in just a minute. And I so hope you have ordered the book, Breath Taking. It's available wherever you get your books, whether that's at your indie bookstore or at Amazon, Barnes Noble. And it also is available in an audiobook and an e book in addition to the hardcover.

With that, I am going to go ahead and do a bit of a reading from the book. 

Two Worlds. 

We were living in two worlds. In the first, we were on high alert all the time. What might be run of the [00:04:00] mill for other families, a feverish daughter or bloodshot eye, could send us into a panic involving a team of doctors.

We'd seen a cold become a three month hospital stay, so nothing was too small to freak out about. In the second world, we had a zen like perspective. Strep throat or a broken foot? It could be oh so much worse. A child who goes missing for two hours at Disney World? All's well that ends well. 

In the first world, we knew anything could happen, and we were hyper vigilant as we braced for another tragedy.

In the second, we had a profound understanding that most things that did happen really weren't that bad. 

On July 4th, those two worlds collided. 

Growing up, in my family, it wasn't a holiday if there weren't bagels and kugel, and remembrance of either suffering or release from suffering. But July 4th was my favorite holiday, because I've always been a sucker for fireworks.

Up to that point, we'd been careful not to let Dalia’s new medical condition make her feel separate from the rest of the family. If we went to the movies, we didn't order the popcorn, since she wouldn't be able to have any. We made sure that at least one of us sat with her in another room during [00:05:00] dinner, since she couldn't eat.

We hadn't gone on vacation, since she wasn't able to fly. And we cancelled our annual pool membership, since she could no longer swim. I knew we needed to start thinking about what we were taking away from Jonah and Theo, while we were working so hard to protect Dalia. On July 3rd, I broached the subject with Rob.

“Do you think we could consider going to see the fireworks? We could leave really early and get a spot before it gets too crowded.”

“I think it would be more realistic to host an elaborate firework show in our own backyard than to take Dalia out in a crowd on July 4th,” he said. 

“Okay,” I said with a deep breath.

“Could we maybe go without her?”

 It took some convincing and a lot of planning, but Rob ultimately agreed, and I hired a nurse and babysitter to stay home with Dalia. A friend of mine told me that the town of Lincoln, just 20 minutes away from our home, had an incredible fireworks display. She said there was plenty of parking, and it never got too crowded.

It sounded like a perfect compromise. We packed a picnic, gathered some blankets, plugged the address into Waze, and set out for our adventure. About 18 minutes [00:06:00] later, we passed a pull off in the road, where a couple dozen cars were parked. We hadn't been expecting Boston-size crowds, but this was much smaller than we'd imagined.

We were just so happy to have made it there before the firework started that we didn't stop to think where the other thousand or so cars might be. There was one spot left as though it had been waiting for us, so we pulled in, unloaded, and began the short hike down to the field. We set out our blankets and settled in for the evening.

We arranged ourselves in a waffle pattern, my head on Rob's lap, Jonah's on mine, and Theo's on Jonah's. It was perfect weather, and as I gazed up at the sky, absently swatting mosquitoes, I thought, We can do this. We can pour our hearts and souls into trying to be great parents to Dalia and still be great parents to our sons.

We can have moments, whole evenings even, that feel totally normal. I was peaceful and optimistic and truly happy. The feeling of serenity was intense. It lasted for three whole minutes. We were in the wrong place. We could hear the fireworks, but we couldn't see them. We craned our [00:07:00] necks, we spun around, and then, way off in the distance, over the top of the tree line, we spotted a few scattered lights.

Let's go, I yelled, as I shot up quickly and started gathering our blankets in my arms. If we run to the other side of the field and around those trees, we'll be able to see them. The boys were all in. They picked up our thermoses and our uneaten picnic and headed off. 

Rob gave me the look that says, “This is a horrible idea.It's unrealistic and doesn't make sense, but I can tell there's no talking you out of it. So I'm going on record as saying I'm not in favor of what we're about to do, but I'm willing to be totally supportive and give it my best effort anyway.” It's a look I know well. 

We shot off across the field, Jonah in the lead, Theo and I coming in second place, and Rob bringing up the rear, walking at a leisurely pace.

When we got to the edge of the trees, we came to a rock wall, which Jonah and Theo scaled with ease. I was a little less graceful, stumbling on the wedge heeled sandals I'd carefully selected for the occasion. On the other side, we found ourselves on a path that seemed to lead right through the forest. We could hear the fireworks getting louder, and knew we were just a minute or so away from perfect [00:08:00] viewing.

It was very, very dark. I could barely make out Jonah's shadow up ahead, and as we got further into the trees, it got even darker. Theo was clutching my hand and we ran until we got winded, then just walked as fast as we could. Theo, who still slept with the hall light on and his door wide open, was getting nervous.

And though I was comforting my scared child, I was fairly freaked out myself. But we kept going over the knotted tree roots and under the low hanging branches. “We're almost there, baby,” I assured him. And because we'd slowed down, Rob caught up to us. Where's Jonah, he asked. I'd been so focused on looking down, down at the brambly path and down at Theo, that when I looked up, I realized I couldn't see Jonah in the distance ahead of us.

“Jonah!” we called in chorus. “Jonah, where are you?” But all we heard in response were those damn fireworks. Rob sprinted ahead, calling out for Jonah as he ran. We started to panic in earnest. Jonah had been out running me since he was two. There was no telling how far he could have gotten in the 15 minutes we'd been in the woods.

And we'd made both boys leave their phones at home, so they'd spend the evening [00:09:00] looking up instead of looking down. Theo and I resumed our run walk, and in a few minutes, we emerged from the woods onto a bike path that lined the main road. The fireworks were louder now, and were playing out in an extended rhythm, suggesting the finale.

We spotted Rob in the distance, running toward us. “Did you find him?” We shouted at the same time. 

Behind Rob were a few others, and then the few turned into a crowd. Groups of people carrying folded chairs and blankets, couples walking with their arms around each other, and parents balancing sleepy kids on their shoulders.

We were clearly headed in the wrong direction now, barreling through the throngs, headed back to their cars, desperately hoping to find Jonah in their midst, mocked somehow by every parent we passed who hadn't lost a child that night. The good news, if there was any to be found, was now that the fireworks were over, police on motorcycles started riding up and down the road alongside the crowds.

I ran over and frantically told a policeman we'd lost our son. I described what he looked like and what he was wearing, showing them a picture on my phone. The policeman radioed in that there was a missing teenager and quickly took off to start searching. It was all very Ponch and [00:10:00] Jon as he sped off on his motorcycle, blue lights flashing.

Within a few minutes, the policeman came riding back toward us. “We've got him and he's fine,” he told us. We ran up the road and there, just as the policeman had promised, was Jonah, chatting with the second officer. 

“Hey mom,” Jonah said, casually. “What did you think? Weren't the fireworks cool?” 

What did I think?

I cried relief morphing into anger. “I thought you were lost. I thought something happened to you. I thought … “

“Mom, I'm fine. I just ran ahead so I could catch the show. I thought you were right behind me.” 

The policeman pulled us aside and asked for Jonah's birthday in our address Then he asked Jonah to confirm those details.

Clearly he needed to make sure we belonged to each other, despite the fact that Jonah called me mom and that I was hugging him with every cell in my body. We turned around and started the trek back to our car and then rode home in complete silence, my mind playing a movie of worst case scenario where Jonah was gone forever.

What was there to say? The night was a total bust. All we wanted was a bit of normalcy, and even this was out of our reach. 

Dalia’s bedroom light shone onto the driveway when we pulled in. [00:11:00] It was hours past her bedtime. I raced through our front door before Rob even turned off the car and rushed into her room.

“What's going on?” I asked the nurse, who was standing by Dalia’s bed. 

“Dalia lost a tooth,” she said, “but we're not quite sure what happened to it.” Rob came in behind me. 

“Everything okay?” 

“Everything's fine,” I said. “Dalia lost a tooth.”

“There was a lot of blood,” the nurse added, “and I used gauze to soak it up so the tooth might have gotten mixed in with the trash. I'm also wondering if it somehow got flushed down the toilet when she was going to the bathroom before bed.”

“What's happening?” the boys asked, crowding into the doorway behind us. 

“No big deal. Dalia lost a tooth,” I said. “We just need to find it so the tooth fairy can come.” 

The five of us, Rob, the boys, the nurse, and I spent the next twenty minutes picking through the two trash cans in Dalia’s room and crawling around the floor with flashlights, looking for one of Dalia’s tiny baby teeth.

Dalia lay dozing in bed the entire time. The tooth not found, we agreed it must have gotten flushed down the toilet, as improbable as that seemed. But fifteen minutes later, as Rob and I were getting ready for bed, he suggested we call the doctor. 

“Let's just see what he [00:12:00] says,” Rob said. 

“Really?” I turned to him, beyond exhausted and completely done with this night.

“I'm just going to call real quick,” he said, the number already dialed. 

The doctor listened to Rob's replay of the events. 

“I think it makes sense to bring her to the emergency room for an x ray.” 

“Now, or do you mean in the morning?” Rob said. 

“Now. Worst case, you waste a little time, but we need to know if it's lodged on the balloon in the trach. We need to make sure it doesn't go into her lung,” he explained. 

We went back to Dalia’s room and told the nurse about the change of plans, We didn't even bother getting Dalia dressed. We simply put her in a wheelchair, fuzzy pajamas and all, and she and Rob headed off to the emergency room. Dalia was rushed in for an x ray just minutes after checking into the hospital.

“Take a look at this,” the technician said to Rob pointing at his screen. Rob craned his neck to see the screen without letting go of Dalia’s hand, and saw that inside Dalia’s trachea, resting on the little internal balloon of the trach that we inflated and deflated with a syringe of water multiple times each day, sat the baby tooth.[00:13:00] 

Dalia was admitted to the hospital for surgery to remove the tooth. When they rolled back up into her hospital room after surgery, Dalia was sound asleep and clutching a 10 bill. The surgeon moonlit as the tooth fairy. 

I went back to work that Monday after the long weekend, relieved to be returning to a job where I felt competent.

In my other job, the one that was far more important, the rules kept changing. I tried to give my sons a single normal night, But I failed. I tried to keep my daughter safe and I couldn't do that without four adults in the house and a whole surgical team at Mass General Hospital. 

“How was your fourth?” people asked by the coffee machine.

“Do anything fun?” they asked as we gathered for a meeting. 

I had two choices. I could tell them the truth. We tried to go see fireworks and lost our son temporarily. My daughter inhaled her tooth and wound up in the hospital. Or I could smile with, it was fine, how about yours? I didn't want to relive the failed fireworks, didn’t have time to explain about the trach itself. Let alone the balloon that was inside of it. 

I guess we were living in another [00:14:00] set of parallel universes, too. There was the world at home and the public world we used to fit into with ease. Our life at home felt surreal. Our life outside of home felt like a foreign land where nobody spoke our language.

Both felt like the Twilight Zone. 

When I was out in the world without my family, I looked exactly the same as always. But my life had changed so dramatically, it shocked me that nobody could tell just by looking at me. Years earlier, when my sister Nomi went out solo for the first time after giving birth to her daughter Liat, she told me she was surprised every person she interacted with didn't ask her how she felt, how her baby was, what it was like to be a new mom. Her sense of who she was had forever shifted. She wanted the world to keep up. 

Now, my sense of self had changed, too. There was a chasm between me and the rest of the world, even my most well meaning friends, because there was no way for me to adequately explain the intensity and fear of my day to day existence.

Emergency surgery at 2 a. m. had to be translated into a visit from an unexpected tooth fairy. I [00:15:00] craved the hours of normalcy when I went to work or spent time with friends, but I inevitably felt everybody else's life was spinning on a different axis from mine. My home with a panoply of caregivers and makeshift ICU in Dalia’ bedroom became the one place that made sense to me, even as it kept turning upside down.

I hope you have or had a better July 4th than I did that year. If you want to read more of my writing and stay up to date on what's happening with the show and with upcoming book tours, sign up for my newsletter, which you can do at my website, jessicafeinstories.com. That's jessicafeinstories. com. I want to thank you for helping this show grow, for tuning in, whether this is your first time or you've been listening all along.

I'm loving the conversations that we're having, and I really hope you are too. Have a great summer. I will be back to you in September, 

Music:

I’ve got the whole world at my [00:16:00] fingertips, I feel like flying, I feel infinite. I know we're the kind to think along other lines, but we'll be fine.

Come along now, the sky is endless now, we are limitless. We are limitless now. Come along now. The sky is endless now. We are limitless. We are limitless now. The sky is calling, calling out to me. Some new beginnings with endless possibilities. Are you with me? Can you hear me? I[00:17:00] 

Come along now. The sky is endless. Now we're limitless. We're limitless. Now. Come along now. The sky is endless. Now we're limitless. We're limitless Now. Are you with me? Now? Can. Can you hear me now, when I'm singing out, when I'm singing out? I've got the whole world at my fingertips. I feel like flying, I feel infinite.

I know that we're the kind to think along some other lines, but we'll be fine. I'm coming along. Now the sky is endless. Now we [00:18:00] limitless. We're limit. Now come along. Come along now, the sky is endless now, we are limitless, we are limitless now.