Writing about hospital visits three weeks in a row was not my intention, but sometimes that's just where life brings you. Let's rewind a bit... On my group's schedule this past week was our big weekend trip/Shabbaton to Yerucham, a tiny town not too far from Be'er Sheva. We left early early on Thursday morning for Jerusalem, where we spent the day, and then headed off to Yerucham to spend our weekend in the middle of the desert. We planned ahead that Matt would join the group for Shabbat - he would take the train to Be'er Sheva on Friday and then a bus over to Yerucham.
On Thursday we got a call from Matt's aunt that his uncle had suffered a heart attack and was being treated at the hospital in Be'er Sheva. Rewind... Matt's aunt and uncle live on a kibbutz just north of Eilat (all the way in the south of Israel). When he wasn't feeling well, he went to the hospital in Eilat which is the closest, albeit very small, hospital. He then suffered the heart attack while in the hospital (which, if you're going to have a heart attack, is the best place to do it) and got medevaced in a helicopter to the larger, better equipped hospital in next biggest city, Be'er Sheva.
Even though Be'er Sheva is on the opposite side of the country from Haifa, as fate would have it, Matt and I would both be in Be'er Sheva anyway on Friday, which allowed us to easily pop over to the hospital to visit with Matt's uncle and family. It was a meaningful visit and we're glad we were able to do it with such little planning on our end (but lots of "planning" from the powers-that-be).
A quick story about getting to the hospital. I had agreed that morning to accompany a group of my students to Beer Sheva (with the intention of sneaking away for a bit). I also agreed to run an errand for a kid from another group who had broken his leg and had also recently broken his crutches. There is an organization with branches all over Israel called Yad Sarah that provides rental crutches, wheelchairs and other medical equipment to anyone who needs it, including tourists, and I was heading off to go switch out the broken crutches for working ones. As I walked down the street carrying the crutches and trying to hail a cab, our bus driver, who was patiently waiting in the parking lot for our group to finish the activity, began honking his horn at me. "Where are you going?" he shouted at me through the window, "Do you want a ride?" I hadn't even thought about asking the bus driver for a private ride around town. In the end, I got a personal ride to Yad Sarah and also to the hospital, had a nice conversation with the bus driver and saved myself s few cab rides.
Matt's uncle is now recovering well and has been released from the hospital. He asked us to reiterate to you all that he got to ride in a helicopter (for only the second time in his life). While in the helicopter, the paramedic struck up a conversation: "Where are you from? Oh, you're from a kibbutz? A real socialist kibbutz? I'm also from a kibbutz, Ramat Rachel. Oh, your daughter works there? Of course I know her! She's my children's preschool teacher!" And so it goes in this tiny country where your helicopter paramedic's children are students in your daughter's preschool class.
Let's hope that this is the end of hospital themed weekly updates. Stay healthy everyone.
Have a great week,
Stef and Matt
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