Mistakes Made Along the Way
Mistake No. 1: Organizing a sleepover bash for a dozen girls at the downtown Omaha Hilton to celebrate my daughter’s 12th birthday.
Mistake No. 2: Devouring three slices of deep-dish pizza and a mountain of chocolate cake while racing to catch the elevator down to the lobby.
Mistake No. 3: Pleading with the hotel shuttle driver to speed us off to Starbucks.
Mistake No. 4: While the younger girls happily sip on their tall, frothy drinks, I clutch a grande cup of Alka-Seltzer.
Mistake No. 5: Back in our hotel room, they settle in to watch The Theory of Everything. My theory? I need more cake!
Hyped on sugar, I join the fun. As the film reaches its most heart-wrenching moment, where Jane Hawking says, “I did the best I could,” the girls’ eyes glisten with tears. And I burst out laughing. “Mom, get out,” my daughter, Lily, points to the adjoining room. She literally sent me to my room!
A Journey of Challenges
Our life hasn’t always been filled with sleepover antics and belly-aching laughter, nor has it revolved around my daughter’s excitement over new Converse sneakers or my shock at the scandalous fashion for 12-year-olds at stores like Forever 21. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I say when she eyes a tiny crop top and shorts that, as my own mother would put it, cover less than a postage stamp.
Before she was born, Lily faced a serious health challenge called gastroschisis, where her intestines protruded through her abdomen, leading to life-threatening complications. Our first home—and my second—was a New York City neonatal intensive care unit. There, she spent seven months, relying on tube feeds and IV nutrition that kept her alive but risked damaging her liver.
Finding Hope in Omaha
At three years old, I discovered Nebraska Medicine’s intestinal rehabilitation program in Omaha. Before we even arrived, the team predicted we’d return home with a treatment plan within a week—maybe a few months at most. Just before we left, our neighbor burst through the door. “You’re off to Oklahoma?” she asked. Being a true New Yorker, I always thought a getaway meant heading upstate. I had dreams of a SoHo loft with massive windows, but instead, I found myself in a Greenwich Village apartment building that felt more Jewish than all of Nebraska! I had lived the dream of writing for New York magazine’s “Best Of” issues while covering restaurants for Time Out New York.
But my ultimate dream was always to be a mother. Three months after we landed in Nebraska, my little girl’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 “re-birthday.” Back then, I couldn’t even say “transplant,” a word that felt too futuristic for me. But life has a way of delivering what we need, and our stellar transplant team proved just that. So, we sold our New York home and bought one in Omaha. I didn’t even know where Omaha was until I checked a map months later.
Embracing a New Community
For years, those who knew our story would ask, “You moved from New York to Omaha? Wasn’t that a culture shock?” Oh, yes. One day, as I strolled with our shepherd-husky, Max, a kid in a black, loud TransAm sped by, and I braced myself for a rude gesture. Instead, he flashed a friendly wave! At Target, the cashier offered, “Need help with your bags?”
So yes, I’ve come to appreciate the simplicity: a place where kids play outside until dusk, five-minute traffic jams, and a cost of living that feels like Monopoly money. Ironically, my funny girl has even shared the stage with Tony Award winners here at the Holland Center—our own version of Carnegie Hall.
And I’ve unwittingly transformed from a hair-on-fire neurotic—I once begged four operators to give me a coveted 212 area code instead of the dreaded 646—to someone who allows space for help to come, like a sweet aunt bringing snacks and kindness. When I encourage Lily to also shift her perspective and accept what is (“Feel the fear; let it wash over you,” I say), she deadpans, “Buddhist.”
Conclusion
Flying into Omaha now, I admire the skyline (which I fondly refer to as “The Building”) and still miss my Manhattan. But I’ve learned that home is more of a mindset. A city girl can flourish outside her comfort zone, as long as she has love—and Alka-Seltzer. For more insights on family and health topics, check out our other blog posts like this one on home insemination.
In summary, what started as a daunting move from New York to Omaha has blossomed into a journey of love, resilience, and unexpected joy. From navigating health challenges to embracing a new community, I’ve learned that home is where the heart is—no matter the zip code.