Nahariya Hospital June 17 - June 21, 2015
Her feet were chapped and dry; the deep cuts looked dirty and
painful. The Muslim woman in the bed
next to mine was sweating. Her swollen body heaved as she tried to turn on her
side to find comfort and to sleep. I
opened the window; a heat wave assaulted the room. My eyes were drawn to her
feet. Unable to avert them, I stared.
Unsuccessfully, as I fought my staring, I also fought the thoughts in my
head. "He washed feet…of the
disciples not strangers; but, He washed dirty, dusty feet…yes, but He knew
them; He washed feet…they were Jews, she is a Muslim; He washed feet and He
healed…but she might have infectious disease; the servant is no greater than
his Master ". I yielded.
"How are you feeling?" I asked her.
"Hot", came the answer.
"Are you in pain?" "Yes, all the time"
"Your feet?" "Oh,
that's years like that. I saw dermatologist, had many ointments, it is still chap
and dry". Seeing tears in her eyes, compassion seized me.
Later Willie brought with him my mint salve. After washing her feet with
the hospital's alcohol, she massaged the mint ointment in. Within the hour, her feet were soft and the
pain subsided. Her family took pictures
of the jar, promised to buy it for her in Acco, and if they cannot find it
there, they will try in Hebron; into the night we talked about God. She left in the morning, smiling.
My room was quiet. The medical staff surrounded me with loving
peacefulness, smoothly moving about in their white gowns, like angels. I heard Hebrew, Arabic, Russian, and English. I slept most of the day. My arms, blue from probing needles, and my aching
bones were at rest in the comfortable bed near the window. Blue sky, sunny wind, peaceful sounds in the
middle of a shouting city. At midnight they wheeled in another woman.
As the medical staff continued to probe our bodies, to take our vital
signs and to wheel in great tasting food, three generations of family
surrounded my neighbour's bed. I thought of my boys and grandkids in Canada, of
my father in law coming 93rd birthday, and I was thankful for my faithful,
attentive husband. Friends visited;
Willie walked 5 miles a day between home and hospital. During the quiet times between visits, the
two of us ladies talked of God.
The choppers sounded in the evening.
Emergency Flying Vehicles screeched in the darkened sky. Another woman was wheeled in. We were three. Nurses
hurried, Physicians wiped sweat off their brows, and we were three Jewish women
in our quiet room surrounded with activities full of shouting in Arabic via the
corridors of the Neurology department.
We ate our supper quietly, and then began to talk.
An island of Hebrew - we talked of God, we told jokes, we laughed and we
exchanged cellular numbers.
The Ramadan fast started the night before. The corridors were crowded
with black cladding men and women, wearing white-cloth hats and white scarfs; family
members. The three of us were in room 8;
in the 20 other rooms laid Druze.
"When you are in hospital, you eat!" demanded the nurse from
the patient, "your family fasts the Ramadan, but you eat".
Medical helicopters were coming in more often, louder, throwing fear and
hope simultaneously. Shouts in Arabic
were outside the hospital gates, demonstrating. Emergency and hospital beds were filling up
with Druze and / or Syrians of all ages. Border and civilian police walked
about armed, guarding. I stayed in my room; the full corridors made me feel as
an intruder.
Nurses, Physicians and medical aides on the Neurology Ward were about
70% Israeli Arabs and 30% Jews; the cleaning staff - 99% Russian Jews. All of them continued to move among the
patient population efficiently and peacefully; by Friday night the beds were
full of Arab speakers, all but for our room. The department specialists were
called off for consultations to the emergency rooms and ran around the clock
between our Third Floor and the basement, all weekend long. The choppers kept
coming.
On the news an IDF high up official announced that Israel will not allow
genocide of any people around its borders.
The Medical Helicopters continued to fly into the hospital in Nahariya
all week. It is 3am of Tuesday, they are
still flying in. Against the
demonstrations of both political sides, against a world full of discussions and
snobbish talks and shows of hate, against all odds - IDF medical choppers are
filling our hospital with Druze from the Syrian border side of the Golan.
I took a private taxi to the Emergency Ward last week; they are flown in
free. I pay deer for the medical help while
67% of our old age pension goes to medications each month; they get it
free. We are thankful for the knowledge
and the care; they demonstrate against it.
It is my country, they are the enemy. Yet, they receive loving and
humane care.
On Sunday afternoon I was released. Monday, when the specialist saw me
again, he advised me that two of the procedures that he requested were not done. "Too expensive, you will have to do it
on your own". Monday evening I was
in hospital again, being probed and given a radio-active something or other for
the test. Dizzy and feeling faint I was laid down in a side room. Neither doctor nor nurse had time to look in
on me. Willie filled me with water,
orange juice and chocolate. After a
long wait, I was able to get off the bed and leave the hospital, second time
this week. We walked home through
streets loaded with bumper to bumper vehicles.
By this afternoon I will see the GP, and by tomorrow afternoon we will
ride the bus for two hours one way to have the second procedure done - the one
that is too expensive to be given to Israelis in our own hospital that is full
of Syrian Druze.
The three of us women in that room were all released the same afternoon.
The choppers continue, even now, to fly overhead bringing with them Syrians of
all ages from the border for medical help.
The next time someone tells you that Israel is where Arabs are second
class citizens, or that it should be eliminated since its people are enemies of
the world, sent them for a week to Nahariya hospital.
1 comment:
Loving the Blog and formost you two. In our hearts and prayers always.
Relda and Frank
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