Journal from the Surgery III

The Cough

Once we got permission to go home, I started worrying that maybe I had pushed Dr. Weinberger into releasing us, and I started thinking about all the things I could do wrong for Raphaela once we got home.  As she sat in the stroller on the way to the car, she started coughing, and I thought about turning around and checking us back in.  Rationally, her throat area is still inflamed and she is clearing junk from the system, but irrationally, I imagined worse case scenario.

This train of thought started the day before her surgery, where every action and every small event felt huge and final.  I must keep reminding myself that now that Raphaela is healthy, we have a new beginning, both of us, one that will be even more of adventure once we move to the new apartment in September.

The Bastard Landlord

Lest I forget that I have more on my plate than I can handle, no more than five minutes after I had been escorted to the waiting area by the nurse, I got a call from my current landlord;  he wanted to know when the electrician could come that day and wire up my apartment to his illegal space downstairs. I reminded him that I had informed him that I would be unreachable for the next several days, due to my daughter's surgery.  He didn't even respond with a sympathetic "Get well soon," but rather wanted to be sure that I would allow the electrican into the apartment as soon as possible.

Karma's a bitch, and he's got a real wallop coming.  It comforts me, even if I don't personally see the karma bite him on the gluteus maximus.

Political Statement

I feel like I have to preface this bit of the blog by saying this:  the following represent my observations and opinions on a particular aspect of the Middle East conflict. I have no issue with Arabs as individual people, nor do I think that I can solve the problem of peace in the Middle East.

During our stay, both in the surgical area and in the ward itself, Hadassah Hospital was 75% populated by Arabs and Palestinians, receiving the highest quality care from both Israeli and non-Israeli physicians and medical staff.  I did not feel uncomfortable in the least, and these children were treated with the same compassion as my child, or any other Israeli citizen.  It did, however, make me wonder how they spit in our faces and proclaim war and tell their children that it is laudable to blow themselves up and take some Jews with them; at the same time they enjoy a higher quality of life under the supposed Israeli reign of suffering than they ever would under Arab rule.

There, I said it.

What to Expect?

When we had gone to Tipat Chalav several weeks ago, Nurse Shoshana said that once Raphaela could breathe properly, she would expect to see significant weight gain.  Would Raphaela, a "foodie" to begin with, become a chubby child?  Or do my tall/thin genes prevent that?

I can already report that she is speaking more clearly, and I felt compelled to check on her last night while she was sleeping, because for the first time I couldn't hear her snoring.  This is all good.

What is not so good is the trauma she has suffered as regards doctors, nurses, hospitals and medication.  Since the surgery, she refuses to take her anti-biotics, she is more wary of strangers or people she hasn't seen recently;  and if someone walks up to her wearing scrubs or holding a stethoscope, she starts screaming.  Hopefully time will heal that wound.