Mistakes Made
- Mistake #1: Host a sleepover for a group of girls at the downtown Omaha Hilton to celebrate my daughter’s 12th birthday.
- Mistake #2: Indulge in three slices of deep-dish pizza and a hefty slice of chocolate cake while rushing to catch the elevator.
- Mistake #3: Plead with the hotel shuttle driver to take us quickly to Starbucks.
- Mistake #4: While the younger girls happily sip their sweet drinks, I find myself nursing a grande cup of Alka-Seltzer.
- Mistake #5: After returning to the room, the girls settle in to watch The Theory of Everything, while I contemplate my need for more cake.
Fueled by sugar, I join them, and during a particularly emotional scene where Jane Hawking expresses, “I did the best I could,” I can’t help but laugh uncontrollably. “Mom, get out,” my daughter, Lily, commands, pointing to the adjoining room. Yes, she quite literally sent me to my room.
Life hasn’t always been filled with sleepover chaos and laughter, or watching my daughter anxiously eye new Converse sneakers, or my disbelief at the revealing styles marketed to 12-year-olds. “You must be joking,” I exclaim as she shows interest in a minuscule crop top and shorts that, as my mother would say, wouldn’t even cover her backside.
During her time in utero, Lily was diagnosed with gastroschisis, a critical condition where the intestines protrude through the abdominal wall and develop in amniotic fluid, cutting off blood supply. Her first home—and my second—was a neonatal intensive care unit in New York City, where she spent seven months relying on tube feeds and total parenteral nutrition, an IV solution that kept her alive but posed a risk to her liver.
When Lily turned three, I learned about Nebraska Medicine’s intestinal rehabilitation program in Omaha. The team estimated that we would leave with a treatment plan in one week, maybe a few months.
Before we departed, a neighbor burst into our apartment. “You’re moving to Oklahoma?” she asked. As a typical New Yorker, I had always thought of going out of town as a trip upstate. I always dreamed of having a SoHo loft with grand windows to wake me with sunlight, but instead, I resided in a Greenwich Village building where it felt like there were more Jews than in all of Nebraska combined. I achieved my goal of writing for New York Magazine’s “Best Of” issues and covering the vibrant restaurant scene for Time Out New York.
However, my greatest aspiration was always to be a mother.
Just three months after relocating to Nebraska, Lily’s liver failed, and she was placed on the transplant list for a small bowel, liver, and pancreas transplant, which she received on July 20, 2006—her second birthday. Initially, I hesitated to even say “transplant,” a term that felt too futuristic and terrifying. Yet, the universe has a way of guiding us toward exactly what we need. Our transplant team was exceptional, leading us to sell our New York home and purchase one in Omaha. I didn’t even know where Omaha was until I checked a map months later.
For years, those familiar with our story would ask, “You moved from New York to Omaha? Was that a culture shock?” Undoubtedly. When a teenager in a loud TransAm sped past me while I was walking my dog, I expected a rude gesture. Instead, he smiled and waved. At Target, the cashier offered help to my car.
I have come to appreciate the simplicity of life here: children playing outside until dusk, minimal rush hour traffic, and a low cost of living that made buying our home feel like Monopoly money. Ironically, my daughter has even performed on stage alongside Tony Award winners at the Holland Center, Omaha’s equivalent of Carnegie Hall.
Unknowingly, I transitioned from a high-strung New Yorker—who once begged operators for a coveted 212 area code, fearing 646—and learned the importance of allowing space for assistance, much like a kind aunt arriving with snacks and empathy. I encourage Lily to shift her perspective and accept circumstances as they are (“Feel the fear, and it will wash over you,” I sometimes say), to which she responds with a deadpan, “Buddhist.”
As I fly into Omaha now, I spot the skyline, which I refer to as “The Building,” and still long for my Manhattan roots. Yet, I have come to understand that home is a state of mind. A city girl can flourish outside her familiar environment, provided there is love—and Alka-Seltzer.
For more information on pregnancy and home insemination, this article from Parents offers valuable insights into the IVF process. Additionally, if you’re looking to enhance your fertility journey, check out this resource on fertility supplements.
Summary
This narrative chronicles the journey of a New York City mother who relocates to Omaha with her daughter facing severe health challenges. It highlights the emotional complexities of motherhood, the transformative power of community support, and the acceptance of new beginnings. Ultimately, it underscores the idea that home is more about love and connection than geography.