Friday, November 28, 2008

A Beacon of Light

This morning when I woke up to read the tragic news from Mumbai India, of how many people
had been killed, I felt the need to write on my blog, even though I have not yet caught up with
my encounters and happenings to date.

When terrorism strikes, it hits the hearts and lives of each and everyone of us, irrelevant of race,
ethnic, religion or nationality, for we inevitably stop to think 'it could happen to me, or to someone that I know'. This is especially true amongst Israeli and Jewish people, as we are a
nation that where ever we may travel or find ourselves in the world, we nine times out of ten,
end up meeting someone we know, or find a mutual contact, friend, long lost relative or some
other kind of relationship that arouses a sense of kinship and contact that may just me momentary or continue for a lifetime.

My heart and wishes, go out to all those who have been affected by this terror, but here I wish
to take a moment to think about the ones that I feel personally I know of. There, far from home,
a young couple took upon themselves to go out into the world and spread not the word only of
religion, but of love and care. Their Chabad home was open to everyone, Jew and non Jew
alike, as a place not only of learning, but of shelter.

I myself have known a time of not having enough food to feed my children and was unable for
my eldest son, to afford to make him a Bar Mitzvah. This is a ceremony that happens for a boy
when he reaches the age of 13. He needs to learn a passage from the Torah (the holy scrolls)
that is read out in the synagogue on Saturday morning and is called up and honored with
blessings and celebrations on this important occasion.

At the time of my eldest child's Bar Mitzvah day, I was going through a financial crisis; I was then
and still am, a single mother of 4 and was so short of money that even food had become a major
problem. At that time I was working in Tourism, at a Diamond facility in Jerusalem, when a
fellow colleague brought my predicament to the attention of our Human Resources Manager.
She went, without my knowledge, throughout the premises, from the showroom to the factory
enlisting the financial help of all who worked on those premises, to ensure that my son would
have his day.

The teaching of the passages was done voluntarily by the Chabad Rabbi of the village where
I lived, in Tzur Hadassah, just 40 minutes outside Jerusalem, but the lunch and celebration
following the service was provided by my colleagues and other members of staff at that
center. What was more was that they bought him new clothes, a prayer shawl and most
importantly Tefillin (these are two small boxes, attached to binding, that are worn at morning
prayers, by boys and men from the age of 13, as a remembrance that God is everywhere).
The passages that are found in these boxes, are hand written on parchment, by a scribe and
my son's were written especially for him.

It was a true day of celebration and dancing, surrounded by dear friends, a showing of love,
belief and friendship. That day has stayed in my heart as well as that of my family and in
addition to it, I would often find bags of food waiting for me, anonymously, as I left work
to ensure that my family would have enough food to enjoy the Sabbath (Friday night/Saturday)
as well as the rest of the week.

This morning, we woke up to the news of a young Rabbi and his wife, who were tragically killed
by terrorists, but gave their lives for bringing light and hope to others. They themselves
suffered in their short time in this world having lost a child previously some time ago. They
have left a young boy, who has is about to celebrate his third birthday, without his parents
standing at his side. In religious Judaism, the third birthday of a boy, is the first entry into the
role that he is to play as a man in later years. In some cases (tradition) the parents will grow
his hair until he is 3 and out of nappies. Then at his birthday there will be a special ceremony
of cutting the first locks. This is likened to the sapling of a tree, that is left to grow freely
till of age that we begin to trim and shape its growth.

A few months ago, in another tragic terrorist happening in Jerusalem, a young mother, in a car
near the busy market this Capital city, was about to be crushed by a tractor, in a moment of
clarity, that is so hard to fathom, but just wonder at her bravery, threw her young child out
of the window of her car, on to the road, in the hope that he would be saved and thankfully was,
even though his poor mother perished.

Today, as we stand in a moment of silence for the fallen, of all walks of life, a an extra minute
should be given to all parents everywhere who have lost, or who have the ability to continue
to embrace their children and loved ones, for these young people, who were a beacon of light
for all of us, have been taken back before the Jewish festival of Hanuka (the 8 candle lighting
festival, to commemorate the saving of the everlasting light of oil in the Jewish Temple), to be
the candles to light up the Menorah (candelabra of the holiday) in Heaven and continue to
shine their message of love and hope from afar. May they be blessed and remembered.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

A City By No Other Name......

We all know the expression, 'a flower by.....smells as sweet' but this too can be said of a city, such as Jerusalem. For all its glory it has like any other city, downsides, as in the never ending
'light railway' system or traffic congestion difficulties. Nevertheless, for all that, this city is like
no other, for all its large size, it is still a small village at heart.

Daily I try to take a walk/hobble out of my house, up the neighborhood staircase, on to the
main street of the area and off on to do my errands of the day. There is not a time that I am
not approached by a well wisher, who sees my limited ability and stop to wish me 'a speedy
recovery' or asks as to my welfare or even at times offers to help me with a shopping bag
(excluding the garbage ones!), but yesterday it reached an all high, when a smart looking car
pulls up beside me, driven by a young man in his twenties, with an equally young lady sitting
by his side and lowers down his window and asks "can I help you with a lift anywhere, nowhere
is too much trouble".

To say I was gobsmacked is not enough of a visual expression, but I was both touched and
overwhelmed by his offer and could all but do to stutter my thanks and decline out. I refused
not out of fear, but because I needed my daily exercise, but was delighted though at his thoughtful offer.

Yesterday, as on other days, I meet the regular haunters of Jerusalem, the shop keepers,
shoppers, coffee drinkers, tourists and day trippers. Each day is an adventure of seeing new
faces as they pass you by. Walking in Jerusalem is a most pleasurable experience, for it is the
one city that you can almost be 99% positive that you will meet someone you know on your
expedition and this in turn could delay your trip by quite some time.

Debating as to whether to buy some food shopping or not, it is extremely hard not to be pulled
in by all the delectable smells that whiff past your nose as you make your way along the streets.
There are the bakeries, with their delicious baking smells, mingled with Cinnamon, chocolate and
jam that tantalize you at first; further along are the aromatic smells of spices, over shadowed
by the deep fat frying smell of oil, as the falafel balls are prepared. The 'shwarma' (meat on a
large spit) is next and as you take a glance at this over sized meat punching bag, the crispy bits
tempt you with their wink as they turn around away from your gaze.
a
Further down the street, there is the butcher, but not displaying his slain wares outside,
instead a view of roasting chickens meats your eyes and the delicious whiff of what is yet to
come tantalizes your palette. But I restrain all these temptations and continue along my way,
saving my pennies for another day, but just enjoying the glorious winter sunshine and the other
pedestrians or cafe sitters and passer bye rs as they too enjoy the friendly warm atmosphere
and smells of this wonderful city, Jerusalem.

Monday, November 24, 2008

A Heartfelt Proposal

When one stands in an airport, train station or hotel, we tend to watch and look at the people
around us, but when they do it back, we feel offended and discomfort. This is particularly
noticeable in China, for anyone who is foreign is a novelty and something to be looked at. There
we see beautiful girls going around in microscopic mini skirts, but no one even takes a glance at
them, only the foreigners, but they in turn start at us whilst the smirk and even laugh at times
too.

So here I am in the hotel, feeling a little silly and vulnerable as I try to move myself in and out
of my corner corridor room.; again I am being watched, as there are security cameras
positioned along the hallways. I try to stick to a daily routine and have a regular time that I go
down to breakfast. I choose a position in the mostly empty dining room, that is as far away as
possible from prying eyes, with my chair facing the doorway as to see the coming and goings of
the other guests. The place is deep inside, close enough to the buffet, but far enough for privacy.

Making sure to take supplies for lunch or supper, I would wheel myself out to the lounge, where
I would exit out to the small balcony to get my daily dosage of sun (vitamin D). Then I would
sit a while inside too, chatting to the other guests or the couple that owned the small gift shop
that was stationed there.

In a hotel such as this, that has also apartment style rooms, there are those who come and
stay for a month or so and in turn become permanent fixtures, as I myself did, in the hotel
daily life. There was me, temporarily en cast in plaster and attached to a wheelchair, but there
were the others.

There was the elderly American woman, who would every morning, almost to the dot, come
down to the front desk and argue about a charge that had been added the previous day to her
bill. This argument would ensure heatedly until a placated guest would inevitably get her own
way and the offending figure removed, whether she had actually taken something that needed
to be paid for or not!

Then there was the English speaking gent, who's country of origin was impossible to decipher
as his language was so unclear, it was impossible to understand a word he said, but one would
sit there politely nodding till it reached the point of no return and I would beg my apologies and
wheel myself off to another position, out of sight.

Lastly there was the 'man'. To my surprise I seemed to still have been able to catch an eye and
for a number of mornings, was pursued by an ardent suitor. His years were more than mine
by twenty odd, but admittedly he looked still good for his age, with a full head of hair, sprightly
body and passionate drive! The first morning he sat down at my table and invited me to a free
breakfast coffee. His interest was apparent and intent as he proceeded to tell me how I looked
wonderful in his eyes, that he was on the search for a wife and continued in the same breath to
tell me of his property and assets!!

At first I just laughed and told him that I was unavailable but flattered, but his insistence
continued for the next few days, so reaching the point that I arranged to meet him and give him
my answer on the day that I knew I would no longer be staying at the hotel!! Oh well, maybe
I lost my chance of a large house in the outskirts of Jerusalem, a 'passionate' partner and the
opportunity to be wined and dined!! but somehow I don't think so, it was probably more a
case of a lucky escape, but I do wish him luck in his further propositions.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

A Broken Head!

In a changing world of finance and Internet, where everything can be bought and all is possible, it
is still nice to see that some things never change. Days at the hotel soon fell into a routine, a
pleasant one at that, especially as good as their word, my hotel room was changed for a different
one.

This new room was newer in furnishings, but the layout a little less comfortable and harder to
manoeuvre with the wheelchair, but never the less, the hotel Lev in Jerusalem had been more than accommodating. I keep joking that everyone should walk around with a plaster cast, as the
help and attention you get when something goes wrong, is very different to that when you are
without it, but on the other hand, you can also get largely ignored whilst being wheeled down the
road and no one bothers to look down and either ends up banging into you, or tripping over your
offending foot!

So days into my hotel stay, upon trying to get myself into the bath, I was unable to take down the shower head and consequently it fell and broke off in the bath. Feeling vulnerable and not
knowing quite what to do, I called down to the front desk and told them that there was something wrong with my shower. Immediately a maintenance man came to 'fix' the damage.
Upon seeing the broken head, he started to berate me for my negligence, but as soon as he
turned and saw my predicament, he retracted his tone and began to apologize for the fact
that the facilities had not been adequate to face my needs and changed it without a further word
of complaint!

Sunday, November 9, 2008

The Change is Coming

My time in the apartment had come to a close and it was now time to move on to my next
destination. This was both an up and down grade, as I moved into a studio apartment at a
nearby hotel. The walk or push there for me was not difficult, but for my children laden with
my meagre belongings, they were nevertheless burdened down.

Upon our arrival, we were greeted warmly, for after all I was to be a guest of that establishment
for the next 11 days, but was more than disappointed upon seeing my room. After having been
in a light airy apartment, I now found myself in a dark, dismal, poorly furnished, musty smelling
room. The sitting room had a sofa and coffee table, the kitchenette just a sink and fridge and
the adjoining bedroom a double bed that took up the whole room with no room to manoeuvre
a wheelchair. I could not contain my disappointment and burst into tears.

The previous day, on the way to one of my many visits to doctors, I had actually stopped and
bought from the bazaar shop, a couple of tops, that I would be able to wear over my clothes
to make a change from the two tops that I had brought; childishly thinking that in this 'hotel' I
would want to look a little presentable and was now so disappointed with my surroundings.

Deciding to complain, I returned to the front desk and tearfully told them of my feelings and
predicament, to their credit they immediately offered to bring me a kettle and to change my
room over in a few days, as it was the eve of the Jewish New Year and there were no rooms
available at present.

Comforted with these words, I returned to make the best of my room for the next few days.
Jewish New Year has great significance, as I am know does the Chinese New Year and am sure
in other religions too. It is a time for introspective searching and prayer for receiving and
achieving the best for the coming year. Under Jewish Law it is also important to make sure
that one has asked for forgiveness from any person you may have hurt during that time, so
ensuring prosperity and good health for the following 12 months. Going to the synagogue plays
an important role, as it is their that one hears the sounding of the ram's horn, which is a symbol
of awakening and awareness both of past and future.

This is a family time, when members close and distant will come together to partake and enjoy
a meal together and for myself and my children, this was to be no different. As to where we
should hold the actual meal was a decision that was made by the children, for it was too
inconvenient to bring the food up to me, but more practical for me to be brought down to them.

For this end, my youngest son, was enlisted to 'drive' me down the main road in my vehicle,
the wheelchair and bring me safely to their home in town. This sounds easier than it was.
The problem with my Rolls Royce wheelchair was that one it was heavy and two the road of
Jerusalem at present are in a state of upheaval as for the past few years they have been
constantly moving pipes, buildings, digging and drilling preparing for the new overground
'light' train that will be working as an underground system throughout Jerusalem, just over
ground!

So, our exit from the hotel went smoothly, but as we came to the kerb's edge, my son and
I had a difference of opinion as to how he should cross the road and fearing for my safety
I held on to the arms of the chair for dear life as we careered across the bumpy roads at top
speed to our place of invitation! There I had to tackle the staircase, choosing to descend and
later ascend on my rear end, for safety!!

But, it was well worth the evening's effort, it was a delicious meal and a wonderful time
spent together even though two of my sons were missing from our table, as they were not
in the country or city at that time. A moment for reflection and hope for the coming year
and followed by another speedy thrilling ride back to my apartment room, safely.

Helplessness!

Being in the appartment was in itself pleasant enough, but the feeling of frustration and
helplessness was one hard to bear. Who would believe that breaking an ankle could cause
such a problem and a long recovery. Memories of having broken a leg many a year ago
were still in my mind, but obviously then I was a lot younger and the break was not so
terrible.

If heaven forbid, such a situation should befall you, I totally recommend keeping to a strict
routine. This is imperative in helping the days pass more eventfully and not allowing a feeling
too often, of depression setting in. For the first time in my many a year, I found myself
sticking firmly to a routine, whether it be what time to go to bed (yes, I actually went into
bed!!) something for those who know me, I haven't often done for many year, choosing to
sleep in the living room on the sofa for a number of reasons. Also what time to get up, bathe
eat, or what to watch on the box should there be something of interest on that particular day
and most importantly, making sure that I would spend two hours in front of the computer
writing chapters for my book.

Visitors came and went and even a neighbor lodging for a period from America, stopped by
one Saturday afternoon whilst his wife was sleeping, but never was allowed to come again!
The highlight of the week would be if there was an appointment to the doctor and I would
anxiously prepare myself for this event. Bear in mind that I had been sucked up, much as
Dorothy from Kansas had, not into a cyclone, but whisked away by plane, leaving 99% of
my possessions behind in China. Requesting help from my daughter and friends, I managed
to put together a mixture of lipstick, mascarra, eye shadow and perfume, that left me feeling
more like an actress dressed for a part, than myself.

Clothes were another problem, for I had those that I had fallen in and a shirt or two as
replacement, but nighties and other personal items had to be bought upon my arrival, so
getting ready to go out, always involved a little more thought than usual. I would leave the
house armed with a little list of things that I wished to see; this was difficult as my daughter
was my pusher and I knew this was difficult, but so wished to go into a store and have a
'go see around' by myself, even if it was only to buy a 4 shekel nail polish!

For those of you like myself, who have in the past imagined yourself in such a situation, let
me tell you that from now on I recommend either that you walk around with a large Tote
bag filled with stuff needed for an emergency, or leave next to the front door a small
overnight bag, prepared with emergency needs, or lastly a list of same, waiting for anyone
who may have to come in and avail themselves of your possessions for any circumstance.
I personally shall never be caught napping again.

The time spent alone, was the first 'holiday' that I had taken in many a year and I tried to
use my time constructively, although going out to the balcony for my daily dose of sun, after
finding out that my Vitamin D was beyond low, I would find myself blanketed in a feeling of
melancholy as I would watch the comuters and neighbors bustling about their daily business
and would sit there above them, as a Queen watching her subjects, allowed only to look, but
not participate.

The opportunity to spend time with my children and grandaughter were moments and times
though that I will always treasure, it is moments such as these that one reaps the rewards of
the years and proud of that. But, soon my time at this residence was coming to an end and
it was time for me to move on to the next stage of my journey.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

What, no dog?

We piled into a taxi and took the 40 minute drive back to the city center, where we pulled up in the
famous market area of the city. There in this old and original neighborhood, where I myself had an
apartment that at present was rented out, my daughter had found me a temporary residence.

Even though my own place was on the ground floor and in the same area, it had no easy access for
a wheelchair and the bathroom itself impossible for me to enter on a wheelchair, as my ability on
crutch was more than limited. This new temporary place of abode, was on the first floor, but there
was a lift and all areas of it allowed maneuver easily both with chair and sticks.

The room itself was more studio and as you entered the square room, there was a small kitchen
area on the right, that housed a microwave, small fridge, worktop area and units that held utensils
both for cooking and eating as well as sink.

To the left was a small sofa and TV, two poofs. In between the room there was a divider, that
coming off from it was a table and two chairs, meant as the eating area. It was here that I placed
my laptop. Behind the divider was the sleeping area, that had a built in closet and double bed,
prettily encase in 'Ikea' linen.

Just after the kitchen, there was a wooden door that led to the bathroom, that comprised of a sink,
shower unit and toilet. Sending out my son for a plastic stool that I could place in the shower, I was
set to go. The fridge stocked by my daughter, the TV cables connected, I was to receive a phone
and Internet line in a day or two. This was a welcome blessing, both in fact, for I had been using
till then my daughter as my secretary to keep my contact going with the outside world and I was
looking forward to reconnecting!

It was Tuesday, I was to be in this particular place for another 3 weeks and would have to wait
for another 5 for the plaster to actually be removed. So I settled down, weakly and feeling
extremely vulnerable into my new situation.

The first night was difficult, there were no comforting sounds of other patients, I was on my own
and the fear of not being able to cope or of falling was strong. It took some maneuvering to
get myself into the bathroom and at first I was too afraid to even try to sleep in the bed, making
do with the small sofa, that proved too uncomfortable for my leg.

Before we left the hospital we visited a specialist to request tests to make sure that I was in the
best of health and that brought me a few days later to a visit to a new family doctor. A family
doctor is so much more important than we give credit for. As a child I can remember an old
dodgedy gentleman of German descent, kindly but inefficient, that would allow us to take sweets
from his jar after each visit. His surgery always smelt of old leather and we always spoke in
hushed voices there. My new doctor, because I was not registered in this particular clinic, has
proven to be really great. He is South African, young, kind and helpful.

Upon receiving the letter from the specialist recommending various tests, he set us on our way
with appropriate letters of recommendation and necessary pills needed for my speedy recovery.
He has proven to be a gem and has made the recovery period all the more easy.

So, soon I settled into a daily routine, receiving visitors from time to time, especially my daughter and grand-daughter and we decided to hold her first birthday party in my house
the following Friday. It was a joyous day, with the other grandparents and uncles on both sides
participating as she happily went from present to present enjoying her one week belated day.

As for me, well, I had started daily writing my book at long last, the long overdue story of my
childhood and life through marriage, until after 10 years and four children later, I had the courage to run away to Israel to start a new life.

A New Boot

The day of departure had finally arrived and like all would be travellers, I could not contain my
excitement. My case was packed from early morning and my goodbyes given. Now I had to be
set up with the right tools for my journey.

Firstly the vehicle, I had the wheelchair, a deluxe one at that, but had to go to the Charity Fund
that works something like the Red Cross; there you can hire any item that will help in the well
being of the patient, from walking stick to bed for unlimited time, for a nominal fee that will be
returned, unless you wish to make a donation, upon the returning of the said equipment borrowed. Armed with new and uncomfortable crutches; these were the type that fit like a cuff
around your arm, as opposed to the ones that I had brought with me from China, that fit snugly
under your arm, I was sent to have my heavy duty plaster cast changed.

The 'old fashioned' kind of heavy plaster cast is used mainly in the hospital, probably for it could
be termed as a dangerous weapon its weight being a few kilos and it could give a hefty blow to
some unsuspecting person, that is if one was able to lift and manoeuvre it?! I was sent to the
plaster room and was appalled to see that an electric saw was to be used to open the plaster
boot. In truth it doesn't hurt, but you do feel as if you are getting a close shave, as the hairs on
your skin seem to rise to the breeze of the turning wheel/blade. The plaster is cut through,
then prized open with pliers, and removed.

The surgeon (did I mention he is quite hunky, but married with kids) came to have a look and
was pleased with the result. I on the other hand was shocked and felt like Frankenstein. What
I failed to mention earlier was that now in my leg, from ankle above is a scar, on either side of
11 cm, that at that moment, was being held together with staples. Ugh!!! my revulsion was not
at the now lack of beauty of my leg, but at the distaste at the sight of it. In truth the surgeon
had after and during the operation, told my daughter that he had had to enlist the help of a
colleague during the surgery, because the damage was so bad and they had put in my right
leg and ankle, the whole tool box. This list entailed platters and screws, most of which would
remain there permanently except for two that would have to be removed at a later date.

A new cast of fibre glass was now put on instead, the weight being only 1.5 kg, so making moving
around easier, so they said. But of course now it seemed odd to be able to lift the leg easily and
now I had to relearn movements. On this cast though, the only disadvantage was that no one
could write on it, so it would stay clean and boring till it was finally removed a few weeks later.

Now ready to go, I was given my last instructions, I had to inject myself daily with a blood thinning fluid, that had to be done up to one month after the operation. This may sound easy for
some, but for those of us who are lucky enough not to have to deal with a syringe on a daily basis,
it is quite creepy and difficult at first, though in time like all things, you get used to it. The one
thing of note is, that the bruising from the injection, when self inflicted, is minimum as opposed to
those done in the hospital by the nurses, who have no time or patience and just stab quickly and
efficiently, but leave there mark. This brings to memory one particularly horrific occasion when
an elderly patient, who had received the flu injection and had been in hospital for 6 months
already with unexplainable backache, needed to have her blood taken.

First a male nurse came, this proved to be disastrous and her piercing screams of pain resounded around the ward. Proving to be insufficient, the original trainee orthopedic surgeon
that I had met the first day, who spoke almost no words of Hebrew, came too to take blood and
the same thing happened again, it was blood curdling and distressing for all around to see and
hear. I am not sure as to what could have been done to save her distress, but she kept shouting
that the needle was too large and no one listened, unless in fact that was the smallest needle that
they did in fact have?!

So, now ready to go, with my letter of release, my daughter, son who had come from further
afar to help, suitcase, wheelchair, crutches and myself, made our departure from the hospital
after a flight from China, an emergency ambulance drive, a two anaesthesia, one setting and
one operation later plus 11 days in total, I was ready to go and do you know what, I was a little
scared, because I had become accustomed to feeling safe in my little routine and cocoon of the
hospital ward and now I was to be alone in a strange apartment.

An Angry Word

Thank God for son in laws, is what I can say. The next day after hearing my tears flow more than they had for the past 20 odd years, my wonderful daughter set about rectifying the
situation. Upon speaking to her husband about my predicament, they found that is was possible
together with the health fund, to enlist the private services of a specialist surgeon to take over my case. Half an hour after finding and speaking to the head of the orthopedic department
he came to see me!

The first thing that this well turned out surgeon said was, that my son in law had spoken to him in no uncertain terms and here he was, forthwith taking on my case. Within the hour I had been
moved to a vacant position, that even after my pleadings had been refused to me, settled in a TV
ordered and telephone (that unfortunately after a day did not work any longer) plugged in, a
wheelchair by my side for more independent movement and I was feeling like a new person.

Encase in this corner spot, I could receive the privacy that I craved, would like there with the
earphones on and close myself off to the world. It was decided that a few more days would have
to pass for the swelling to go down and then I would have the operation necessary.

The days now passed more pleasantly, a visitor or two, chatting to the other ladies in the ward,
going down to see my grand-daughter, helped keep my nerves at bay.
Wednesday evening I was given the 'fast' tag and told that my operation was to be the next
morning. I knew I was in good hands, so I felt less anxious and woke up to find myself in the
ward with very little recollection of the recovery room etc....

The pain was bad and I was attached to a machine that allowed you to self induce morphine, this
is only allowed for the first night, for after that it is monitored by the nurses, but it helped. My
daughter slept by my side all night, that I shall be ever indebted for and recommend it to all
those who have to go through an operation, it is important to have someone with you, better not
to go through it alone.

Still encased in a heavy plaster, the days passed slowly. Now that I was under the care of a
'private' doctor, I was all but ignored by the nursing staff and left to manage on my own. This is
good and bad, as you know you are receiving the post operative care that you need, but each time you or one of your neighbors would request medicine, to be helped up, an adjustment to their bed or whatever, the nurses would sigh deeply and complain either how busy they were,
or that they were on their break (all of them at the same time) or take another hour before they
would actually bring the medicine to the patient in need.

May I guarantee you, that it is better not to be sick! stay healthy and stay out f hospital, for it
is a terribly sad place to be. Nurses who are pregnant and do not wish to lift sick, should stop
working; there should be more patient staff for the elderly, who I know can be difficult, but have
nevertheless lived their lives and are embarrassed to be in such a predicament of helplessness, I
know I was, but being younger and healthier, I could battle with myself to force my mind to
close itself to the pain and be independent, they nevertheless, were not so lucky and it was
painfull to watch, see and hear.

All in all, 11 had passed and it was now time for me to leave the 'comforts' of the hospital and
go home, but first I had to be fitted out with the right equipment.