Chapter 57
White Days
Lily’s blood values stabilized, and we went to Pioneer Hospital once every three days.
Routine life returned to us. Between one dialysis session and the next, Lily went to her studies, and I continued my military post at the office of the Surgeon General.
Most of the time, I was with her throughout the treatment; sometimes, when I had to be on base, her mother took my place.
A few weeks after Lily began treatment in the dialysis unit and her condition stabilized, the department head called me into his office.
“Lily needs a kidney transplant,” he said, “and I recommend checking whether someone in the family is a genetic match and willing to donate a kidney.”
Of course I would have given Lily both my kidneys if I could, but unfortunately I wasn’t a family member.
After several weeks of deliberations, Lily’s mother volunteered.
To our joy, the biological match between them was perfect.
The only problem was that one diagnosis, not thoroughly investigated until then, concerned one of her heart valves, which also required surgery.
“Without that operation, the success of the kidney transplant is doubtful,” the cardiologist said. Another bomb had been dropped. I felt like I hadn’t had time to breathe.
“Can the two operations – kidney transplant and valve replacement – be done at the same time?” I asked Dr. Morton.
“I’ll check,” he replied, refusing to commit.
In mid-September 1979, Lily began her third and final year at the College of Art and Design.
I decided to change my IDF track, as it had been outlined in the interview back when I was still in Eilat, and broaden my knowledge during my service.
I passed the required exams and was accepted to the cyber unit, the army’s prestigious computer course.
Our lives began to take on more order. Lily added dialysis hours to her schedule – at first in the hospital, and later at home.
Bringing the home dialysis machine into the Ramat-Aviv apartment reduced her trips to Pioneer Hospital to once a week for tests, instead of three times weekly for four-hour dialysis sessions.
Her condition stabilized. We went back to living like any normal couple.
Meanwhile, the date for the kidney transplant and heart-valve replacement was moved up and set for mid-October, right after the Sukkot holiday.
“Noah Frost asked us to come back after the holiday with a ‘political work,’” she told me on the eve of Sukkot. Lavie was one of the senior teachers at the College of Art and Design.
“So what will you paint?”
“I haven’t thought about it yet, but I want to impress him. I’m also very scared of him.”
“Is he really that scary?” I couldn’t believe one person could strike such fear in his students.
“They told me he can be blunt…”
“Blunt isn’t scary. Lily, you have nothing to fear. Believe me, Dylan Rhodes has spoken to him about you.”
“Maybe. But in any case, I don’t understand much about politics.”
“So bring me in – what did he mean by a ‘political work’?”
“Something political connected perhaps to the peace process – say with Egypt – or to the situation in the territories, or something more international – India, Africa, who knows.”
“You have a week. Why the pressure?”
“I want to do it before the holiday. You know that during dialysis, I’m out of commission. I can barely even read the newspaper.”
“Maybe do something about ‘Peace Now’?”
“Do you have material on them?” Her eyes lit up.
“No, not concrete material. But the movement claims, for example, that continuing the occupation of the West Bank and Gaza is counter to the goals of peace, and that compromise is essential because war isn’t a solution. I think that’s a decent starting point.”
I wasn’t a member of the movement – I couldn’t be, as a soldier – but I knew its principles well. Their bumper sticker was on our car’s rear fender.
“Interesting,” she said, growing serious.
“When are you going for tests?” I asked closer toward the evening time.
“I was there yesterday. Wait – what day was yesterday?”
“Thursday.”
“If they haven’t called, it must be fine.”
She had just finished the sentence when the phone rang.
“If it’s my mother, tell her I’ll call later,” she called from her studio, eager to get to her “political ideas.”
“Hello?” I said into the receiver.
“Hi, it’s Maya.”
Maya was one of the senior nurses in the dialysis unit; I’ll never forget her distinctive voice.
“I hope you’re calling to say happy holiday.”
Maya had become like family to us after training me in home dialysis.
“That too – but mainly I’m calling to update you that Lily’s potassium is high. Sunday’s dialysis you’ll do here with us, not at home.”
“Lily, can you do your next dialysis on Sunday at Pioneer Hospital? Your potassium is high,” I shouted toward the studio.
“Yes – we’re on break.”
“Maybe we should do dialysis today?” I worried about the effect of high potassium on the heart muscle and the faulty valve. On the other hand, I didn’t want to risk hearing: “Be her husband, not her doctor!” Still, I took the risk.
“I spoke to the boss – she can come Sunday morning. That’s perfectly fine.”
“Anything to avoid?”
“She should stick to the diet instructions we gave her,” Maya answered.
“See you Sunday, then. Happy holiday!”
I remained the husband and hung up.
“Lily, are you okay?”
“Yes – why?”
“Because if you’re not feeling well, we can do dialysis at home.”
“I don’t feel like being hooked up to the machine for four hours. It’s not urgent, right?”
“No, not urgent. Maya sounded calm – but first thing Sunday morning, we’ll go to Pioneer Hospital.”
Before we went to sleep, Lily showed me the initial sketch of her “political work.” On white cardboard, she freehanded the borders of Israel after the Six-Day War and the pre-1967 lines. The proportions were quite good. On the map, there were faint pencil marks dividing each area into three.
“It isn’t finished,” she said.
“Tomorrow I’ll drop by Max’s, like I said,” I reminded her.
“Okay. I hope to finish the piece by then.”
“Are you feeling okay?” I asked again, worried.
“Like yesterday, like the day before.”
“Then we’ll have lunch out.”
In recent weeks, when she was still asleep, I listened every morning to her breathing. That Saturday, I woke up before her. Again, nothing sounded abnormal – neither the rate nor the depth. Lily slept peacefully. I didn’t want to wake her.
I went to Savyon. Max had gotten keys to a villa from friends and had invited the gang there.
At midday, I called Lily; she suggested that the group all go out for a holiday meal together. We arranged to meet at Younes Restaurant in Jaffa around four in the afternoon.
“I’ll pick you up at three, okay?”
“Okay – I’ve finished the piece.”
“The political one?” I asked, delighted.
Everyone who heard the word “political” turned their eyes to me. Lily was far from politics; the word didn’t attach to her. To me – yes.
“Yes,” she said.
“I’ll come now – I’m dying to see it – and we’ll meet them at Younes Restaurant.”
“It’s finished – you can look,” she said when I entered the apartment.
Lily had filled the borders of pre-1967 Israel with blue-and-white stripes, the colors of the flag. In the center, where Jerusalem should be, a blue Star of David appeared. The Palestinian areas she filled with the colors of their flag – black, white, green, with a red triangle.
“I think it’s political enough,” she said.
I agreed, adding that the work carried a strong political message. Lily was so happy she jumped on me.
“Remember – I’m not Noah Frost,” I smiled.
“At least now I’m not afraid. Well – maybe a little, but much less.
After he gave the assignment, I hesitated.
I’m so apolitical that for a moment I thought of dropping the course.
I have two more weeks to decide if I’ll continue; I think October 20th is the last day to switch courses.
Just so you know, Noah Frost is considered one of the harshest critics at the College of Art and Design – but also one of the best teachers.
Eliott Crane recommended I study with him; he was his teacher too. ”
“And how do you feel now?”
“I’m hungry – let’s meet the gang. By the way, who’ll be there?”
“Romi and Aliza, David and Nora, Max – maybe Orly will come, that’s his new girlfriend – Serge, Ika maybe with Ariella; I’m not sure about Noel.”