So I got my happy-ending that I dreamt about for so long. It all came full circle, and I thank Hashem every single day of my life for giving me my family.

Yonatan and Danielle were born by elective caesar at 9.36 and 9.37 respectively on the morning of the 8th of January 2009. Yonatan weighed 2.2 kgs and Danielle a very scary 1.7 kgs. They both looked like two little plucked chickens, so fragile and raw. I saw them for the first time all white with vernix-goo, I was attached to an operating table, the nurse thrust them in my face one by one before they were whisked off to intensive care. I was imobile, one arm was tied to a little table with my blood pressure being monitored all the time, and my other arm/hand was squeezing the Donor's hand so tightly that he actually should have had the bp machine attached to him, so the babies still covered in white goo were pushed in my face one by one by a very forceful ex-soviet nurse, saying or rather demanding, "give mommy a kiss', I very reluctantly but obediently kissed both babies dutifully. The next time I saw them was only in the evening, as has become common practice with me, the day did not pass uneventfully, I had to have not one but two blood transfusions. Also. I wasn't passing adequate urine so we had to wait till I had been adequately 'transfused' and had wee'd enough. Also, I found to my amazement that if you have a caesar in Israel, you are drugged so heavily that you can barely keep your eyes open long enough to focus, there I was in my drugged-euphoria, slurring 'can I get up now' over and over. I couldn't stand yet, couldn't focus, couldn't wee and didn't have enough blood, but I was determined to get up and see them. That wasn't happeneing, Israeli's are tough tough tough, and the nurses even tougher. But with all my eagerness to get vertical already, the lovliest thing happened that I would not have missed for anything, at around 10 pm, that same night, a young nurse told my husband to leave the room and that he would get a new wife in a half an hour. I was like, whatever, still morphined out I guess, turned out she wanted to help me shower. I really was not interested, but it turned out to be one of the most compassionate acts I have ever received. This nurse, went through my bag and took out my cream, deodorant, perfume, comb, underwear and clothes. She helped me get up, which is no easy feat after a caesar. Had I forgotten what a very very painful thing a caesar is?? We made our way to the bathroom, and she proceeded to help me, words will never be able to describe what a wonderful and unselfish act this was. You are totally unable of doing ANYTHING for yourself, that first day is a real challenge physically. So a half hour later my husband came back to the room and really did find a new wife, clean, awake and coherent.

We then went to see the babies (which I had already actually seen on cell phone pictures taken by the Donor). Adam and Noam were both in the Neonatal unit after they were born, Adam in the more serious one to start and Noam only in the less serious one. Nothing can ever prepare you to see the life-form that you have created so helpless, so tiny and naked, attached to every imaginable tube and IV, and ofcourse the relentless beeping of alarms and machines is enough to do your head in. And heaven help you if you look to either your left or right, because you will see babies smaller than 1.7 kgs, it is almost inhuman. Just focus on yours, don't look around, Neonatal Units are NOT fun places, no-one wants to be there, we all just want to get out as quickly and as far away as possible. And ofcourse with your baby/babies. But amongst the perpetual beeping and soundless cries of babies in incubators, there is this wonderful feeling of

I went to sleep that night with a mixture of overwhelming fear and relief. It was over, but the beginning was starting. For the 4 weeks prior to having the caesar I had been hospitalised in the high risk pregnancy ward in Tel Hashomer Hospital. The diagnosis, I had gone in for my amniocentesis, which was classified as a late amniocenteses on week 34, I had decided on doing it late based on information from the internet, that 'early' 19 week twin amnocenteses hold a higher risk for miscarriage in twin pregnancies, and if G-d forbid, I had to go into early labour the chances for saving the babies were much greater at week 34 as the babies could be removed by caesar as aversed to no chance at 19 weeks. So I went in to do the amnio and after much prodding and poking and ultrasounding by two doctors I was told that the twin on my right hand side (we still had not found out the sexes) had almost no amniotic fluid and it was not possible for them to do the amnio, I was advised to go home and to come back in 2 days and hope that the fluid had somehow improved by then. Two days of anxious waiting, resting, water drinking, and also shopping for a bigger car (I know, weird, but that is me and the Donor) I went back and it hadn't, I was admitted immediately.

And there I sat for 4 weeks, my normality became constant monitoring, ultrasounding, blood pressure taking, testing.checking, blood taking. This was going to be my new home until I gave birth, when I was first admitted the chances were very strong that if the fluid in the one baby continued to worsen then I would have to be caesared within the next few days. I was terrified. I din't know what was happening, it was all to fast, all to unreal. But Slowly and thankfully I guess, those first few days stretched into weeks and thank G-d, we made it to 36 weeks. The reality of where I was was constantly on my mind, you couldn't escape it, within the first week of me being there I was witness to the horror and reality which is life on a high-risk pregnancy ward. I was waiting my turn on the chairs outside the ultrasound room, the door was closed and I knew that there was someone from our ward inside having her turn at seeing her babies heartbeat and checking amiotic fluid for the day. That daily heartbeat check is what keeps you going. All of a sudden these deathly screams came from inside the room. Cries of 'no, no noooooo'. Only later once I had managed to calm down and stop crying back in my bed, did I hear her story, she (and I never found out who she was) had been 36 weeks pregnant, the baby weighed 2.5 kgs, and everything had been normal except for a low-ish quantity of amniotic fluid. She was almost seeing the end, she had had a normal scan the day before, and all of a sudden, No heartbeat, no explanation, just no heartbeat. I think about this woman so often, what happened to her, how she is, how will she ever come out of that unscarred? Just horrific.

I was in a 3 bed room at the window, the first bed also had a girl who was in for the long haul, the middle bed was like a bus station, women just coming and going all the time, just a haze of nameless pregnant women in early stages of labour, moaning and groaning and crying. It was all so insensitive. Placing high risk pregnancies where you don't know if your whatever-week fetus is going to survive, to 36 week plus women having natural labour right next to you, many a night was spent crying and listening to the pants and moans and cries from the 'middle bed'/

Mostly what I remember about my hospital stay was on the one had the filth and the cockroaches, and on the other the most wonderful caring and unbelievable staff of nurses and doctors. These people who I cried with and laughed with for 4 weeks.

So in the end I never even gave birth at that hospital, I transferred to a private hospital where I could be guaranteed of having the gynaecologist of my choice. The birthing experience is very different in Israel, loads of rules and regulations, but most of all beuracracy. We would not be able to film the caesar, and we would not be able to not have a curtain put up. That was the worst part, the curtain. In South Africa my husband and mother witnessed the birth of my firstborn by caesar, and my second I (almost) witnessed, the incision had been made into my uterus, and the babies head was out, and my gynacologist then, said look look quickly, I was able to lift my head and see my daughters head and face slowly turning from left to right, all with the rest of her body still inside me, This was one of the most unbeleivable experiences ever. So sinking in this thick red tape, my two beautiful little plucked chickens came screaming into the world on that wonderous day almost one year ago.

There are no words to describe my joy and wonder at my family, all four amazing children. Adam, almost 7 years old, Noam, 5 and a half and then these two babies who are discovering and finding out more wonders of the world as each day passes. Each milestone has taken a bit longer to reach, lifting heads, crawling, sitting. Danielle is still not sitting, but she will soon. Yonatan has three bottom teeth and two more have just come out on top. Danielle has two bottom teeth. They make each other laugh, like they are having their own private jokes, it is the most incredible thing to witness, I feel like I am a priveleged bystander being allowed in to their little world. I thought Adam and Noam would treat them like the main attraction for the first few weeks, and then slowly the interest would wane off, well I couldn't have been more wrong. They love, adore, hug, kiss, smooch, play with them at every possible moment, it never ends kisses goodbye, kisses hello, kisses just-because.

And here I sit, and think about where I was this time last year. In a miserable state hospital, winter and raining, in constant fear, longing for my two beautiful and Please G-d, healthy babies to enter the world, surrounded by people who supported and loved me.

And Thank G-d, we made it. We made it.

At last...I think my souls found me.

I am 12 weeks pregnant, with TWINS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



I feel like I have composed this Blog forever, from even before I actually fell pregnant. I imagined this moment with such intense clarity, it was a dream; a sometimes very unreachable dream, to actually officially announce that my time had come. That all the hoping and wishing and praying had had some use. And now, that my story will finally have that happy ending. Through my hardest 'fertility moments' the only thought that kept me going was that there was NO way that I could be put through what I had been through and not to have my happy ending one day. Well, Please G-d, this IS it.

So to fill-in the gaps, my Embryo Transfer took place on 16 May, due to my Veteran-fertility status, Profman put back 4 embryos. I wasn't being too ambitious I prayed for just one to take, just make one find their 'home' inside me. My sweet little twin/multiple fantasy had fizzled out ages ago.

I did a urine sample the day before I was scheduled to do the blood test, and to my absolute unbeleivable shock two lines appeared. No way! My Donor was away and I called him shaking and crying, and not beleiving that this could actually be true. When I think back to my frist ever pregnancy, I remember doing the urine sample and never once questioning that it did not mean what it meant. Now the jaded-me knows all to well that two lines on a urine sample does not mean a pregnancy, and that a positive blood test does not guarantee a baby, and not even a 6 week beating heart on an ultrasound does not equal baby. I guess this is what maturity does to you, I would have preferred not being so very mature. That inncoent thrill of beleiving what you see alludes me. Even after the next day, when I did the Beta Hcg to test exactly how much pregnancy hormone I had in my blood, I couldn't beleive it. It was 173, which is really high. I had to do the Beta again two days later to see that it had doubled, this would be the only sign of a 'strong' pregnancy, it had almost tripled, and I still couldn't beleive it.

I was scheduled for an ultrasound to confirm if 'anything' was there two weeks later. You think the two-week-wait after the embryo transfer is agony, well this is just pure unadulterated torture. Two weeks of wondering, and hoping and pleading with G-d. I went with my Donor for that scan, I faced the wall shaking, defying the ultrasound screen, tears streaming down my face. All I heard was the Profman saying, there are TWO sacs, and there are TWO heartbeats. I still couldn't face the screen, Profman jolted me out of it and practically shouted at me (Israeli's!!) and said: "Look!!" and there I fell in love with two tiny little blobs, just blobs with no distinguishable anything, just a fluttering heart-beat. Could I beleive it now??

Once back at home in an unbeleiving haze, Google-monster-me took to my computer and googled anything twin-like. Amongst a million other things I found out about Vanishing Twin Syndrome, where you can 'lose' a twin. Usually in the first trimester; at one scan you can see two heartbeats and then at the next only one remains. The one gets absorbed by the other. Trauma sets in and I decide I am going for scans every single week, and this is what I have done up until 10 weeks. Seeing the blobs transforming, into: maybe a head, maybe a leg, is that an arm etc, and ofcourse seeing corresponding heart beats, allow me sleep for the next 7 days.

That was up until last week when I had my above pictured scans. I still cannot actually beleive it when I say it. Kind of like when you get married and you get that thrill everytime you refer to the person who was your forever-boyfriend as your now, husband. Like you have to pinch yourself. Is this me, is this actually my life? Did this really happen, am I really really having not one, but TWO babies.

Between me, Adam and Noam, we have told the family dog, the owner of the grocery store, the waitress in the nearby restaurant and almost every single body else that we know. I have been showered with baby-tummy-kisses from my children, it's almost like a competition between the two of them, who can give the babies more kisses. And ofcourse intense speculation as to what we are having, is it another brother and sister, or sister and sister, or brother and brother? What will they look like? I am a really European-whitey, and the Donor is of 'dark chocolate' Yemenite origin, will one be blonde with green eyes and the other be something out of 'Lawrence of Arabia'? Well we are all going to have to patiently wait, as we will only know in about 6 months. So the countdown begins!

I am not going to use up any space complaining about symptoms, of which there are many, none of them deserve any mention whatsoever. My prayers were answered, and all I can do is celebrate every single day which brings me closer to seeing, touching and smelling my two new loves. I am realistic enough to know that this will probrably be my last pregnancy, and it's okay, I am just so grateful for being given one more chance.

Dear G-d, keep them safe and keep them healthy.

I dream up Blogs every night, I just never get to write them all.

I am not sure if it is IVF/Fertility treatments that does this to you, but each time, I tried something new, something different. All obviously in the hope that 'it' would work 'this time'. Praying at the Wailing Wall, getting special blessings from weird uber-religious Jews in Bnei Brak, googling more, learning more, praying more, bed rest, keeping Shabbat, talking more, and now just talking less. So I am still on my black-out, so no news really on the fertility status.

Also a footnote on Judaism, we are 'raised' (in my case converted) believing in the Evil Eye. Let me explain, it is not as weird as it sounds.

Some things you just don't talk about so you won't 'tempt fate' for fear of invoking the Evil Eye. Like you wouldn't tell someone you were pregnant before a certain time for fear of 'tempting fate', or for fear of invoking someone else's jealousy and that jealousy invoking the Evil Eye. Oh whatever, I understand it!

My Donor sais that the South Africa that I love and fantasize about is not the same. He says I am living in a little dream world based on my life 'then', and not on the reality of 'now'. Reality now, is that a wave of Xenophobic mania has taken over the country, two weeks of national bloodshed, 56 foreigners dead and thousands displaced and yet more shame cast over a once hopeful nation.

Our minds work in funny ways, I was trying so hard NOT to obsess about my current countdown, so I am obsessing about other things, sensitive issues, sad issues.

I irritated and embarrased my brother for about the first 25 years of my life. He was the golden-boy, and I was the rebellious hippy-child. We really had no relationship, I was on my planet, and he on his. No amount of head-banging, tying us together or locking us in the same room could have fixed it. We needed maturity to 'find' each other, and thankfully we did.

This was a draft Blog from whenever ago. How things have changed, my brother has not spoken to me for forever, he resents me for whatever reason, doesn't speak to me, and has totally cut me out of his life.

I need to be whole in the realization that the problems lie within HIM and not ME, and that is a hard journey to make.

I never thought this would happen. Never.

coulda, woulda, shoulda

It was 2am this morning and I couldn't sleep, again. The silence and solitude is all-consuming at that hour. Thoughts racing, and a thousand Blogs composing. The 'could haves', the 'would haves' and the 'should haves'.

I need words. I use words, I talk, I express, I analyse, I emote. This self-imposed black-out is good on one hand as I don't obsess too much, but on the other, I need this outlet, I need my words.

Now I play the waiting game, alone. Without my 'words' to help me through.

One of the 'could haves'(from the wee-hours this morning):

My parents always named things. Cute names were always thought up for new pets, new businesses (even if only in their minds), new ventures. That is their game. My mother had a pregnancy 'scare' when my brother and I were just pre-teens or somewhere around there. The possible unborn infant was duly named. If it was a boy it would be called Storm Keswick; and a girl, Jessica Wren. I spent hours, days, and maybe a week or two playing with my 'imaginery' sibling, dreaming up adventures, games, and fantasizing about the possibilities. She wasn't pregnant. And I was sad. They were so real to me. Even for that short time.

Reflections

This time last Birthday I was licking some serious wounds.

I was alone, I was miserable and I had just miscarried. I knew I would be fine. I am the grown-up. I worried more about the children, their trauma of experiencing first-hand, a South African-style armed robbery. Their loss of both their innocence and the only life they knew. Those 45 minutes on that Monday morning changed everything. New country, new life, new friends. Adapting, comparing, learning, surviving. Witnessing the transition in Adam from being the shy, insecure and scared little boy in those first days at his new school, to the boy soon after that everyone wanted to play with, sit next to and be friends with. And Noam, always smiling, outgoing, confident: before and after. Everything happens for a reason, and with our loss of South Africa, we also gained Israel.


And me. A year later. A Birthday later. I have a lot to be proud of. I survived the Summer, and the very mild Winter, I survived without a pool, I survived more failed IVF attempts, I survived being a mostly single parent, I survived being the maid/gardener/baby-sitter. I survived without my friends and family, who, without them, I probrably would not have had the tools to cope.

I still feel that my head is 'just above' water, but I don't feel like I am drowning anymore.

This time last year I was not the happiest camper.

Happy `birthday to me.

Its' my Birthday, it is officially the 12th of May!!!! It is 12.55 am and I have just got my Birthday present from the Donor. It felt only right to use my present to post this Blog. I got a APPLE MACBOOK !!!!!!!!!!!!! Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How cooooool is my Donor!!!!!!!

This past week has flown past in a haze of hysteria. Israels' 60th Birthday was celebrated in usual loud and proud Israeli-style. Every minute of this past holiday was spent barbecue-ing and more barbecue-ing. Eating, friends, fun and celebration of this miracle little Jewish state.

We got away this past weekend, we went with dear friends to the Golan Heights, on the Syrian/Lebanese border. What a beautiful beautiful place, all I heard this past Shabbat - all day - was birds singing and horses neighing. The veiw was of the Galillee, the company was great, the children were dirty and we were all in a mini little -rural bubble dream world. It all came to an abrupt end when I smashed my ankle into the corner of a metal flower pot, we waited for Shabbat to end, packed (me hobbling and moaning) and set off back home. It is a 2 and a half hour drive so we only got home around 11.30, me still hobbling and moaning. The Donor and I then spent the entire morning today dealing with the Israels National Health Insurance System. In laymans' terms this just means waiting, waiting and more waiting. And then finally dealing with a Orthopedic Surgeon who does not speak English. Apparently there is nothing broken or even fractured, I am still finding this hard to believe as I hobble and hop around the house. One word. Arnica. Needless to say I feel like a complete idiot that I wasted everybody's time.

After returning home from the joys of the National Health Insurance, we found our beloved Labrador with a gash in his back. This could only have been due to some kind of Divine Intervention as we cannot fathom how, or when this could have happened. He now has two stitches and some funky -non-scratching silver stuff on the wound.

Did I mention that I got a APPLE MACBOOK?????????????????

I wonder how different I am today than what I was 20 years ago. I still feel like a 15 year old, except I am going grey, have wrinkles (smile/character lines - whatever), have two children and have had the same partner (now husband) for 14 years.

Recently a friend from all those years ago contacted me, which got me thinking. Would we still like each other if we met now 20 years on? What would we have in common now. Then, she made me laugh, we liked boys, and liked sneaking cigarettes. But now, I wonder. I also wonder how much I must have changed, I don't even remember who I was at 15, was I anything, or was I really just still trying to figure it all out. And I am still trying to figure it all out.

I found myself thinking back to such far-away memories, funny, happy and some sad.

I wouldn't want to be 15 again for anything. I do truly love the way my life has turned out, but it is still quite staggering to realise that in a blink of an eye, I have got old. It just happened so quickly, too quickly.

Spring Break

The Donor is back, Pesach is but a memory and School Holidays are over.

I went for my check-up with Profman, I walked in, all confident and shiny; and walked out totally deflated. I thought that with my new-found post-operative fertile self that there was going to be no looking back. I thought I had it all figured out, full-speed-ahead to my Frozen Five. My 'worst-case' scenario was going to be CLOMID (ovulation inducing pills). What a joke!

I am not really good at 'making long stories short', but here goes anyway.

1. Due to my current 'status', I have a 5% chance of falling pregnant naturally.
2. If I choose to go with a Gonal F/Menogon-IUI cycle (Follicle Stimulating Hormone with sperm injected directly), my chances jump to 10%. The problem with this is that only the follicles from the healthy RHS would stand a chance, so automatically my chances are halved.
3. A Frozen Embryo Transfer is a bit dodgy as the survival rates after defrosting are not great, and generally frozen embryos are used for a 'rainy day'/last resort scenario. Basically for when I have run out of all other options. Success rates are 15%.
4. With IVF I would have a 25% chance for success. Eggs generated from both right and left sides would be used/fertilised, and those not used would then join the Frozen Five.

I have two major factors against me. Firstly age, from 35 years of age, egg quality and quantity rapidly decrease. Secondly, Ovarian Reserve, this is the amount of healthy eggs that I have left at my disposal. Every single month this decreases, and because I have not responded brilliantly to the past two IVF's my Ovarian Reserve is questionable.

Also, my new resolve (from a while back) was to NOT be so forthcoming with information about myself, ie 'the reproductively-challenged me-info'. I am going to try and put this into practice now. So I have decided to have a "news black-out". No more information. No more endless babbling about injections, Progesterone/E2 levels, hormones, ultrasounds, follicles, etc., etc. The more I talk/write about it, the more I obsess about it all. This time I am going to do it differently. This time it's going to be just Me, Myself and I(and maybe a Mom, oh, and the Donor).

Here's hoping that when next I discuss my two ovaries, one fallopian tube, womb, or anything else connected to my vagina will be in about 3/4/5/6 months to say that I have finally finally made it. Until then, if anyone asks, I am taking a breather, on Spring Break, letting 'nature take its' course', blah blah.

So Dr. Hand-Job (thanks Judy - http://averyopenbook.blogspot.com/- for the really good giggle)says that I am fit and fertile as a fiddle (if fiddles could be fertile). And, again, according to him I "will be pregnant within the next few months".

The coolest part was seeing the photo's he took during the Lapscope. I got to see the very rotten 'before' pic of my left hand side, and then the 'after', which looked exactly the same. Next I have to discuss with the Profman at next weeks' appointment how exactly to proceed from now. The Frozen Five ARE calling. After more than two and a half years of trying to conceive, it is going to be a hard-sell, convincing me to 'wait and let nature take its' course'.

I am single parenting again, the Donor has been back in SA for the past week and is now on a plane back to China until just before Pesach. Right now I have a sleeping angel next to me. Adam has an eye-infection, we put drops in tonight at bed-time, and I told him to ask Hashem (G-d) to make his eyes better, he said he would also ask Him to make me better. "Yaladim ze Simcha, Yaladim ze Bracha"!

Significant other information:

1. Adam lost another tooth. The Tooth Fairy brought 20 Shekels this morning.
2. Cat (of non-existent mouse-catching fame) looks a whole lot thinner, so I assume she has had her kittens. I hope far far away.

God told the Jews to "go forth and multipy". And they are. Winter was cold and now everyone is pregnant, there are bursting little tummies and big fat exploding tummies everywhere. It really is so beautiful. Not sure if it is Israeli's or Jews, but having children is like a national sport here. There is this great song from like 25 years ago by a famous Israeli singer that goes: "Yaladim ze simcha, yaladim ze bracha" meaning 'Children, that is joy; Children, that is a blessing'.

I had a bad week end, I am sure it was evident from my last post. Everyone has ups and downs, no exception with me. I found myself questioning everything, my life, my level of reigious observance, my choices, my parenting, the list goes on. The 'why's' and meanings of 'it all'. Too much thinking! I have picked myself up and hurled myself into the Pre-Pesach chaos of Israel. More rushing, more cleaning, more preparing. Regarding the annual Pesach clean, I am on a go-slow, the post-operative me has decided to just chill.

Tonight I am going for my check-up with the surgeon, hopefully it will NOT be a repeat of the ghastly 'hand job' from last time. And hopefully I will be told that I am now bursting with bubbling fertility.

Crap long and sick week.

The chest infection/cough turned my week into a haze of coughing and spluttering sick Me-ness. Husbandless again. And for two more weeks. Sick of coughing and sick of feeling sick. Sick of being told that I should be grateful as I "have two beautiful, healthy children". Like I don't know that! Like I don't know that I am blessed beyond words to actually have two children. Why do people feel the need to point out something which is so totally obvious to me? Am I not allowed to hope for more children just because I already have two? Am I supposed to NOT try so hard?

New resolve - not to be so free with information about myself and my feelings. Not to share so much. Not to wear my heart on my sleeve. Not to share my hopes and wishes for more children. Try and be a bit more private. Censor all this fertility stuff. There are those that 'get it' and those that just dont.

I understand me. I understand that there is nothing unrealistic with hoping that one day my son will have a brother and my daughter will have a sister. Something that I never had, and because I never had it, I know and understand the need for it.

It's all over.

The operation went ahead successfully on Thursday night. I have four neat little incisions on my stomach. As expected, my left hand side Fallopian Tube (with Hydrosalpinx) was completely removed, along with the lasering of the Endometriosis and Adhesions. It is now three days later. I was home the next day, I still am a bit uncomfortable, not really sore just like a pulling feeling in my stomach. I feel totally exhausted and have spent most of the time sleeping. I spoke to the Surgeon again this evening, he said that he was very happy with the outcome of the operation. My left hand side is really screwed though, even the ovary is past its' 'sell by date', there is still a chance that I could fall pregnant naturally from the right hand side which apparently looks 'beautiful'. I have to schedule a check up appointment next week with him, and then I can contact my Profman to find out my next step. I still have my 5 frozen embryo's eagerly awaiting their turn, and I really want to try them first.

I unfortunately have picked up some kind of chest infection, so I have been coughing almost non-stop since the operation. Hardly condusive to a speedy recovery after abdominal surgery.

China, and the 'East' is a distant memory. It was great being with the Donor, but I am not a fan of anything 'Eastern', ie the smells, food, spitting. I was really happy to get back to the relatively civilised 'Middle East', back to this place that I am happily calling 'home' now. Seven days too long without my children.