On the Wings of a 'Dragon'

'Support your flag' has always been my motto, but after my disastrous previous
flights with our own airline, I absolutely refused to do so this journey and instead opted to fly British. As St. George, famed for his slaying of the dragon
is the patron Saint of England, it seemed a good choice, but admittedly I had heard mixed reports of this Country's airline and its well documented fatal opening at Terminal 5, Heath row. Nevertheless, I decided to take my chances.

Now a tip for all future travellers, never take anything for granted, always read
the website baggage allowance tips in advance and come prepared for battle. Gone are the days of getting away without paying overweight, for most of the
airlines, but even more frustrating is the fact whether you can bring one or two
bags and up to what weight are they allowed to be!

Having carefully read and measured my hand luggage allowance, I understood that I would be able to bring a large suitcase up to 23kg and if it was a long
distance haul, which I presumed China to be, a second case too. So, here I was
with a long, soft bag (I had especially chosen this kind as to ensure that no extra
weight would be incurred due the heavy steel trolley that is usually sewn into the
lining) an extra large shopping bag that encased my blankets - both of these to
be sent through. My on flight bag that held breakables and my computer and my rucksack, with my on flight necessities.

But, when it came to check in, I was informed, that I was not allowed to send two bags through and only upon insisting that the website was misleading, was
reluctantly allowed to do so! Next, even though requesting wheelchair help and
finding it difficult to walk with my hand luggage, I made my way somewhat gingerly and lumbering through the security. A tearful goodbye to my daughter,
words choking in my throat, I knew it would be hard to go, I had spent so many an hour with her talking, laughing and sharing as well as the best time ever with
my granddaughter, but it was 'unfinished business' that was pulling me back.

Offers of work there had been, but I still felt in a 'Dorothy' like state, having been pulled out of Beijing with no warning and felt that I had not completed my stint or had a chance to say goodbye, so now with a breaking heart, I said my
farewells and went on through. At the passport control, which is always a little intimidating and formal, I was affronted when the border policewoman climbed
down and came around the front, unsure of what was happening, I was stunned to find an offer of assistance and annoyance at her colleagues that no one had
stepped forward to help me in my predicament, of balancing myself and my
luggage too. Due to her kindness, I was place in a buggy and driven straight to
the border area and assisted right onto the plane!

My seat found, I settled myself in for the long journey. The staff was helpful and
kind, passing by many a time to ensure that I was comfortable, so unlike my emergency flight in August. A brief stopover in London would ensure my praise
of this airline's service. From the plane I was taken and dropped off at a waiting area where I was to be picked up again and taken to my next Gate of call. Seeing that the queue for this service was long and having a few hours to spare, a helpful assistant told me that I would be able to check in my hand luggage, so
freeing myself of any items other than those necessary and would be able to
wander around the airport lounge area.

But, after lightening myself of my load, I was aghast to find upon arrival at the
duty free area, that it was truly something to be proud of, but I was incapable of
walking it. Stopping to look only at the magazines and books, I was struggling to make my way through the maze to a coffee area, when a voice came up behind me, asking 'are you in need of assistance?'. There was a red vested smiling face pushing a wheelchair, with passenger inside, looking at me quizzically. I gratefully nodded my head and he promised to be back in a flash
to help me with whatever I needed.

True to his word, he returned and wheeled my around a while, before depositing me at a coffee shop after having booked my my next mode of transport to the Gate at an appointed hour. On time, I returned, only to be informed that my chariot had already departed, but told 'not to worry love' we shall find you another and true to their word, they did. The flight though long, passed pleasantly enough and as we drew nearer, I began to worry a little about further assistance in China. But be concerned, I need not have been, for with prompt
efficiency a chair was awaiting me and together with a porter in tow, my luggage picked up in the briefest of time and we were outside and raring to go.

Taxi found, porter paid, I was on my way back to my apartment, what would be waiting for me there I wondered, for no one had set foot inside for three and a half months. Would I be able to make it up the stairs? Did I still have electricity? All these questions were soon enough going to be answered.

The Moment of Truth

Having been given the all clear, it was now time to get ready to go. A last clean
out of the fridge and freezer, a final dust and wash down, a quick (well to be honest hobble) trip to the market, a final suitcase buy and home to pack up and
get ready to go.

I had arrived in Beijing with an empty suitcase, but now it seemed I didn't have
any room, it was not only because I had arrived with a bag only fit for the inside
of the plane, but nevertheless, I now seemed to be laden down. For a 'wanna be'
backpacker, I am obviously not doing a very good job, for even though I know how to pack well, using every nook and cranny, I seem to always be overladen with 'can't travel without its'!

Even though today we are in the world of the computer and Internet, I am still of the old fashioned kind, who needs pen and paper for writing on and reading material that is actually in a bound form, soft or hardback irrelevant. Besides the required reading material, there is always a soft toy, my old faithful friends having been left behind in Beijing, Hippo, Scooby Doo and Blue Elephant, I now had a new brown curly haired friend, named dog, who had been my constant
companion and supportive friend through my leg trials and tribulations, so he now had to find room in the ever expanding case.

When I first went to China, almost a year ago, I had gone completely unprepared for the biting cold wind that was to await me there. Never having
relinquished myself to a winter coat, tights, sweaters or any other restrictive clothing; I had gone with a suitcase full of light weight long sleeved tops and a
jacket that was nothing more that a large holey cardigan that did nothing to keep the wind out through its gaps. After a month in this foreign land, I found
myself suffering from a cold that I never thought was possible, so I now intended
to be better equipped. This of course meant, for sock less, no stocking me, a compromise of leggings, that in being no way would I agree to wear the full tights, but maybe a legging or two in a bright color, leg warmers (great idea on
my daughter's part) and fluffy socks, might solve the problem.

Now a bag to contain my warmest blanket, for previously I was sure that a light
quilting would suffice, toiletries as after my last fiasco of washing my hair in
conditioner for a long while, until I realised by my receding hair that I was not
using shampoo being unable to read the Chinese labels and a stock of coffee and
food to get me through the first few days, I was ready to leave.

But now the moment had come, it was hard to do so, so with a shrug of my
shoulders, my crutches in hand and a last glance back at my home, I stepped out into the night with my daughter, son in law and granddaughter in tow, the moment of truth had arrived, it was time to go.

Oiling the Hinges

Well, one of the bolts is out, but the rest are still in and I feel like a rusty old car
that needs more than its hinges oiled! Was it my expectations that now would be
a case of 'gliding along'? Could be, or just not being very well informed as what to expect. To say the least, it felt like a major set back, I found myself once again
in tears, I wasn't expecting it to be so hard another time over.

Now I had to wait again, this time till the stitches would be removed, which was to
be in exactly two weeks, I was holding the surgeon to his word that I would be able to travel back to China immediately after that. Nevertheless, I was playing it
cautious, still exercising and going out for daily walks, sorting out the house so that it would be free of any unnecessary items and even saying fond farewells.

In truth I didn't buy my ticket till a week before and as for shopping, I kept putting
off the dreaded day till the last moment. I love to shop, but not for myself and
my body now having changed shape again, it was with trepidation that I was to
embark on this adventure yet again. I have a very bad habit of buying something,
either for the day that I may be able to get into it, because I have seen it at a
bargain price, or have illusions that it may fit sometime; or worse still, buy something that does fit well, but bury it in the closet for fear that when I will look
better, someone will only remember me in my enlarged state wearing that outfit and not notice it now looking better!

The next more pressing predicament was to be the one of shoes. I was always
a shoe mad 'shopper' and in my younger years, my wardrobe would be full of an
array of many styles and of course colors, but due to my 'foot abuse' had totally
ruined my feet and now had to settle for almost flat ties of a more subdued shade
just happy that they could encase my feet. Nevertheless, I have had many an
incident with shoes over the years many a story to tell. On one memorable New Year, I was given permission to go out and buy a new pair of shoes on my own, these were to be worn to worship in the synagogue and my mother entrusted me
with the monies and sent me on my way. This was an unusual event and I was
happy to make the most of this opportunity.

I was 16 years old and of course the uppermost thought in my mind, was to impress. Being part of a youth group that met weekly, I was determined to make my entrance. After some heavy traipsing around the stores, I finally settled on a
nave blue pair of high heeled shoes, that in the shop felt non too high or uncomfortable. But, as you can well imagine, after walking the required distance
of half an hour each way in the morning, then standing for prayers and then going
out in the afternoon, I was by this time not only unable to put one foot in front of the other, but let alone stand!! My friends, willing and able aides, held me up on
either side, allowing me to lean heavily upon their person, as I stumbled over each step, but as soon as a relative would come in sight, I would hold myself up
carefully and proudly, ensuring that no wince passed my lips, for fear that this misadventure would reach the ears of my mother, who would berate me for sure!

To this day, as I am now safely and sturdily encased in heavy Velcro footwear, all
signs of beauty on my feet forgotten, I can only but smile at my vanity then, for today just being able to work, even with a cane, will be a small price to pay after my fall. So, there I was in the centre of town, searching desperately for a shoe,
luckily to remember a small outpost that was able to furnish me, comfortably and
helpfully with my quest. Now, a last few bits and bobs, a last hospital trip and I
would be on my way. But was I doing the right thing, that was now the question
that was playing heavily on my mind??

I'm Still Awake!!!

Why hospitals ask people to come at one time and then make them sit and wait
for hours on end, I still cannot work out. The day arrived and my appointment for the op was at 9.30. We arrived at the day clinic set aside for operations that allow the patient to go home the same day and were amazed at the amount of people that were sitting there. The office was situated just next to the eye clinic and we quickly came to realize that most of the occupants were there for
that particular surgery.

After having my blood pressure checked, changing into the compulsory gown and answering the necessary questionnaire, we (my daughter and I) settled down to wait and wait we did. The hours passed because we were so busy talking, but the wait was long and worrisome, as the more that time went by, the more jittery I got. Finally my name was called, the time 14.30. No wheelchair necessary, we made our way down in the elevator to the operating
rooms area, where again we were greeted my some now familiar faces from the
upstairs clinic, who too were awaiting their turn.

Now is when things got a little hair raising. My surgeon, was nowhere in sight,
but we sat down ready to have another prolonged wait. There was a lady nervously waiting and we exchanged pleasantries. She told us that she was
waiting for her husband, who was undergoing similar surgery to my own and she was a little put out that his own surgeon had not put in a show, but he
was being operated on by another. We assured her that the gentleman in question who was doing the operation was in fact the head of the department itself and that he was in safe hands. She proceeded to go on to explain her
nervous disposition, that was due to the fact that they had persuaded her spouse
to undergo the surgery under a Local Anaesthetic as apposed to General
Anaesthesia; the difference being that for one you are awake and aware, whereas
for the other fully asleep.

She in fact felt that he had been encourage to choose the first, due to the fact that the hour was late and if he would have the latter, the day clinic was now
closed and after the first recovery room, there would be no place for him to rest till he was able to go home. Commiserating with her and with assurances that
he was in safe hands, we awaited my turn.

After a while, the Head of the Department came in to see us and after asking all the necessary questions, too requested that I do the op under a Local. I immediately refused, saying that from past experience I was unable to and wished to have the Full Anesthetic. I also pointed out that my own surgeon had
promised to do the operation and that I preferred to wait for him to be present
before they began. Left again to our own thoughts, we discussed a little the strange situation and came to the same conclusion, that the lateness of the hour
had caused this strange request.

A nurse came in next and asked me why I had not signed the forms accepting
a Full Anesthetic and we explained that I had not been asked. From this moment on, my heart was pounding. I climbed on to the required bed and was
wheeled towards the operating theatre as the nurse pressed another piece of
paper into my hands explaining the down sides of the anesthetic! In the annexe to the theatre, the anesthesiologist again tried to persuade me to use a Local!
By this time I was a bag of nerves. After some discussion, we agreed that he would put me under and finally my own surgeon appeared!

But the fun had still only just begun. Wheeled into the theatre, I was transferred on to the narrow hard bed, where I was immediately strapped in. On my left my arm was pulled out to put the drip and on the right one of the male nurses was pulling at my leg, washing it down with alcohol and tying it up into a side ways position of immobility.

But I was still awake!! Beginning to feel forced to do something against my will,
I traumatically cried out in a croaky voice 'I'm still awake!!'

'Okay' said the surgeon, 'we won't begin till you are under'. After two or three
unsuccessful tries at finding my veins, the anesthesiologist obviously managed to put me to sleep and I woke up to find myself in the recovery room, where I
quickly told my daughter about what had happened. After a while the anesthesiologist came by to see me, squeezing my arm as a reassuring sign, just
confirming for me that if I had not cried out, I would not have received what I
requested!!

So, due to the lateness of the hour, I was checked in to a hospital bed for an over
night stay, at the surgeons expense, for if he was unsuccessful in releasing me on
time, it would be forfeited from his own pocket. Poetic justice I felt, after the
traumatic experience I had been laid out to!

One Step for Me, the Next....

Oh my! It was not easy I can tell you, those first steps, I don't know how babies
find the courage to do it, maybe because they have as of yet no fear of falling!
Stairs seemed like a mountain and the pain, well you do not want me to tell you
about that. It is amazing how we take things for granted. The following day I moved back into my own apartment. I suppose that to describe where I live would be to liken it to a Chinese Hutong, a series of straight and windy lanes that lead into a labyrinth of quaint stone houses, still erect, from a past era, the
only difference being its modern day inhabitants and clothing.

Down the staircase leading to the passage and entrance to my house, was a tearful one, but once conquered, pride replaced the crooked smile and I thankfully sunk down into my personal armchair to view my surroundings. I had rented out my apartment during the time I was away and even though
chose tenants that gave a warm outward impression, was disappointed in finding that they had treated my home a 'little too much' as their own, but this
is the risk we take when we leave our possessions in the hands of another and now I was home and able to re stamp my surroundings with my own style.

The one thing that I had forgotten, was that there was a small step up and over
into the bathroom and for the first number of times, this did in fact prove to be
my stumbling block! The days past quickly as the Day of Atonement got nearer,
this the most solemn day in the Jewish Calender, the day that every soul stands
in judgement, is a day of fasting, penance and reflection. Every year, as our own
personal tradition has it, my daughter and I would go for the final day's prayers
to the nearest synagogue, to join in and at the final cry, hear the loud blast on the ram's horn, blown clear and loud, but alas for me, this would be the first in
a long time, that I was unable to take up this post by her side.

Festivities over, now the Feast of Tabernacles, but for me, no outings to the city,
more a series of physiotherapy and starting to regain movement in my foot and
ankle. To stay sane, it is imperative to have a routine, whether it be when to bathe, eat, surf, stretch.... one it saves the sanity and too it keeps you occupied.

I have never been one that is unable to keep myself occupied and enjoyed spending my time writing my book (that I am now looking for a publisher for)
reading and yes, admittedly, watching the..... box. I must say, that Dr Phil does
have a thing to say or two, but some of those chat shows, ... yawn! too much of
the same.

The days passed and I continued a barrage of tests, to discover that I, the
ultimate 'block of cheese' was now totally, but totally lactose intolerant of the
highest degree!! Help, what was I supposed to do now?! I could not believe it.

For all those overweight ladies out there, listen to a word from the now wise.
For three years and more, I knocked on the doors of doctors and yes even
dietitians complaining that I had previously lost a large amount of weight on
the Dr Herman diet, which runs mainly on eating white cheese or only one kind
of fruit, vegetable, protein etc.. weekly, but since I had stopped, the weight had
returned plus a whole lot more. I understand that doctors are busy, but to their
shame, they did not really believe me, choosing just to look at my size and say
that I was over eating. Swollen ankles, body and feeling generally unwell, it was
only as I was leaving the hospital I stopped to see a Professor for analysis as to
my state. At his suggestion I went to do many kinds of tests, ranging from
allergy, bone density, lactose, thyroid to name but a few, only to discover how
intolerant to lactose I actually was.

Of course there are many who say 'did you not think of that earlier', but in truth
even if I had, I would have just stopped eating milk products from cows and
continue with those from goat or sheep, plus I would never have read the
ingredients on every package to ensure that I do not intake even whey or dried
milk powder for example. It is amazing how much milk extract there is in products! For the first two weeks I was completely in a daze, I had no idea what
to eat, where to begin or how to cope, but slowly I got the hang of it, with the
help and encouragement of my family and as I did not possess a scale, resorted
to a tape measure to keep track of my now shrinking body and it was changing
before my very eyes.

It was as if someone had put a pin in me and I was starting to deflate. Now
here I was, managing to get to be a deft hand at hobbling around, confident
and merry, but I was soon to be brought up short by my impending hospital
date, to have one of the steel pins removed and I admit that I was now totally
unprepared again for that.

The Big Day

The big day finally arrived, it was time to go back to the hospital to remove the
cast. What would they do, would it hurt, what about the staples that they used
instead of stitches, was I expected to get up and walk away freely, would I be able to???? So many questions were going through my mind, I was nervous as
all h..l. Getting to the hospital was the easy part, all I had to do was sit back and
relax one last time as I was wheeled out in my Rolls Royce of chairs, to the awaiting taxi.

Now if none have you (thankfully) have ever broken a limb, I highly recommend that you do so in the 'off season' months, peak periods being Summer holidays,
Winter holidays and any other festive occasions that may take place according
to your personal religious calendar. Breaking a bone during the Olympic period
just ensured the fact that the accommodation at the hospital was fully booked and
so ensuring that the take off plaster date would also be overcrowded and the
waiting long. In truth I had become quite a dab hand at the waiting game, having undergone a series of blood tests, plaster change and doctor appointments to name but a few, so I always came well prepared with a book or
magazine, settling down quietly and calmly whilst others around me would fret
and complain at the length of the queues for the x ray or doctor.

My turn finally came, two hours late and with my limbs trembling, I went in for
the visit. Off to the plaster room, the surgeon commanded and off I was pushed.
I am not sure whether being the passenger or the driver is the more harassing of the two, as one has to be maneuvered through a series of extended plaster limbs and an array of wheelchairs, that would put any traffic jam to shame!
'hop on the bed' the attendant cried, 'hum, how?' I replied. Seeing that I was
lacking in height and physical ability, weakened by my long stay on wheels, he
lowered the table assisting me to alight. Now came the scary moment, I begged
him to be gentle, unashamedly admitting that I was scared. To his credit, he was gentle with my shaking limbs and I was amazed at such neat scaring.

Back at the surgeons post, I was told 'physiotherapy, full weight and make
another appointment for another op in a month, to remove one of the offending
screws'. Let me assure you that getting up and re-walking sounds easier than it
is. If you just break the bones, it is less harrowing, as you know that there is all
kinds of steel in there to hold all parts together, but when the muscles, tendons
or ligaments are effected, this is another 'kettle of fish'. Bless the man's heart, he is great at his job, but his bedside information manual is lacking to say the
least and as I albeit reluctantly said goodbye to my carriage, that I had become quite accustomed to during the period of my confinement, it was eagerly snapped up by another patient waiting in the wings to try it out.

So now, here I was, being told to try out some new crutches that would
encourage me to take steps and not hold me securely under the arms, I was to
say the least, terrified. It is difficult to explain from what, because the fear is
irrational. You know you are being held together by steel, but the dread is the
re fall that you have gone over in your memory so many a time in the past.
But here I was, being forced out of my safe cocoon and told to go out into the
big world again and take my first baby steps again, 50 odd years later.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

Despair Sets In

For a person who is aiming so hard to always 'keep it together' it came as a terrible and immense
shock to suddenly find myself whisked out of the environment that I had built for myself over the past 8 months, had been taken away and I now found myself lying in a hospital bed, in an
orthopedic ward, unable to get up alone, feeling helpless and traumatized.

I was afraid to fall asleep, this was not because of the operation and side effect of the anesthesia,
but a constant reliving of my fall and lying alone on the cold floor unable to secure contact with
anyone! Every time I closed my eyes I could envision the state of my foot after my fall, and that
totally freaked me out! Even with constant reassurances that it was over, it in fact took me almost two weeks to finally be able to blot that picture out of my mind.

The hospital itself is building new premises that will be finished in two years, but for the present
the building itself, although equipped with all the top facilities, is inadequate to hold the population of Jerusalem and its surroundings today. The orthopedic ward has two departments
and a number of rooms, but only one room that is reserved only for women!! This seems
totally ridiculous and chauvanistic, as if to say that only fractures are reserved for the male
species, but as we know, unfortunately, falls are common in the elderly and in time my ward
of 5, would have 2 and 3 ladies of the golden age in it!!

The ward was square, with 2 beds lining the walls on either side and one placed centrally
in front of the window that led to an open balcony. This particular bed was set facing the
door and had little or no privacy allocated to it. Each bed had its own set of surrounding
curtains, a bedside table, plastic chair for visitors and a large wooden armed comfortable chair,
for day use by the patient. The pieces of furniture were placed side by side next to the bed
so that there was adequate room for visitors and patient not to feel claustrophobic, but the
centre one, was not awared this luxury, and except for the bed itself, each piece was placed
like a train, one in front of the other, making it squashy and uncomfortable both for visitor and
patient alike.

The centre bed also faced the open door of the ward and when the curtains would be closed,
it became such a small area, that it was stuffy and humid, so forcing the person to reopen the
drapes, only to become a central television for all those passing by. This was to be my home
for the next few days. Added to this discomfort was the fact that I felt so alone. I had no
telephone (I had left my Israeli phone in China), not adequate toiletries, nighties or way to
contact anyone to tell them that I was in Israel and my wonderful daughter was forced to
rush back and forth trying to keep my spirits up whilst I was lying there in a state of despair
and misery.

I must explain that it was not my predicament of my leg that bothered me so bad, as to the
fact that I felt so disorientated and cut off. On top of that the conditions and placement of my
bed did nothing to help. In my ward on my right was an elderly woman, who was constantly
surrounded by her curtains and only moaning could be heard. In the next bed, was a religious
woman, who had a large number of children, grandchildren and an unbelievable 103 great
grandchildren, so her bed was constantly an activity of visitors and noise.

To my left was a young soldier that was recovering from an accidental self inflicted bullet wound that was surrounded by family and friends 24/7 that was wonderful for her, but their constant
boisterous behavior was constantly pushing into my limited space to the point that I felt that
if the plastic chair, armchair, bedside table would be all placed on my bed, I would be better
off lying on top of them, I would probably have more room to breathe, as well as space to move.

As for my last room occupant, she was a little older than myself, had hurt her knee and was
in constant pain and a non stop stream of complaint. She had taken a surgeon privately to
undertake her operation and the nurses, even though more often than not, unwilling, paid
attention to her needs, more than to others, because of her connection.

As for myself, I was miserable, sad, exposed and weepy, I found myself in a situation not of my
choosing, unable to rectify my position and unable to control the flow of tears at my lack of
privacy.

The next day I was to meet the doctor and I was waiting to see what news that would bring.

Do They Know What They Are Doing??

It is a terrible thing to say, especially when you are feeling so vulnerable, not to have faith in your anaesthesiologist, but I didn't. I know that Hadassah is a teaching hospital and my own
daughter is studying there to be a doctor, but when you are the patient, waiting to be put under,
scared and feeling small (even if you are not), it is very frightening to lie there and know that
the minute they put the drip in your arm, you are not in control any longer.

For those who know me personally, you know that I am someone who is highly independent and
always try to be in command of myself and my situation, but here I find myself alone, on an
uncomfortable bed, in a lying down position, in a gown that was open at the back, listening to
a discussion about how much I would need to put me under, by someone who was having
difficulty in understanding what was being said to him, or making himself understood due to
a language barrier!!! I would not used the word terrified, but I would say that I was truly worried about the outcome of the situation. Whilst lying there alone in this narrow corridor,
next to oxygen pumps and theatre equipment, I was desperately praying for someone to come
who could speak Hebrew or even English!!

I could see through the door 'my' surgeon fiddling with equipment, trying to make himself look
busy, but succeeding in looking totally inefficient. I was scared. Whilst holding down the bile
of fear that was rising in my throat, I made the decision to absolutely protest against any action
until I was 100% sure that I was in capable hands Don't get me wrong, I do not believe for a
second that the hospital employs incompetents, but just that language ability is so important
not only to be able to understand what is going on, but to also transfer the relevant information
required.

To my rel lief, a senior member of staff appeared, he seemed so by his demeanor and way that
he took over, besides to my relief he spoke a language that I could understand!! Seeing the
fear on my face, he immediately understood and assured me that I was in capable hands,
answered my questions and before I could count 99,98 I was asleep!!

I awoke in the recovery room, with my daughter standing by my side, my leg had been reset
and now it was time for me to be transferred to the Orthopedic Ward where I would stay till
the next stage of my treatment and recovery. But little did I know what was awaiting me there
or how miserable I was about to become.

A Long Day!

We arrived at the hospital, the oldest and most famous in Jerusalem, Israel known as Hadassah
Ein Kerem, during the early hours of the morning and were taken straight into the Emergency
Ward area. If any of you have unfortunately spent time in an emergency room, you know how
long and tiring that can be, but in truth nothing prepared us (my daughter and myself) for what
was in fact waiting for us!

It was packed, as if being sick was something that you receive a financial prize for, by the amount of guests that were visiting there. Every age, possible ailment, fracture,[pain was waiting anxiously for attention, support and help.

Our day started off patiently waiting to see the doctor, then the orthopedic specialist, then
to have an x ray, plaster and finally finding a bed to check into. It was difficult and I could not
have endured that day as well as the ones to come, without the help of my daughter, who left
her baby and husband and stayed by my side the whole time.

There is no question that being in a hospital is frightening, for you are surrounded by people who are in great pain, suffering both noisily and quietly and the staff, is rushed and trying to help,\
although at times impatient. It is hard when you are involved to understand both sides, because
the patient is uncomfortable, lying on a bed not meant for long stay, scared, in pain, wants a
solution on the spot and on the other hand the doctors are rushed, willing to administer pain
relief, but constantly awaiting results either of blood tests, x rays, scans or whatever.

Of course having broken my leg in Beijing and being rushed emergency helped add to my
celebrity status, but did nothing to push me forward on the list and a day was spent unwilling
to eat or drink as I was convinced that I would be rushed for emergency surgery. Finally, in
the late afternoon, an orthopedic surgeon, with little or almost non existent knowledge of Hebrew or English came to visit me. He informed me that surgery would need to be performed
but that first my leg would have to be reset as it had been set badly in China. When he took me
to the plaster room, I adamantly refused to allow them to touch it if I was not under anaesthetic
which I was later informed they would not have done anyway as the setting was too bad to touch
whilst I was awake and finally in the evening hours I was admitted to the Neurological ward.

This was such a sad place, but in truth it was quiet and after the commotion and noise of the
emergency room, a relief. I was still dressed in the clothes that I had fallen in of the previous
day and desperately wanted to have a wash and refresh myself, but this was not to be. The
staff was kind and tried to make me comfortable, even though they admitted that they were
not equipped to deal with a break or fracture. That night a sign was hung on my bed saying
FAST as I was to be operated on early the next morning.

The following day, which was Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath, is not a day that is usually set aside
for operations, as it is supposed to be a day of rest and the hospital is short staffed, though
Sunday is an ordinary working day once again. But, I was given to understand that this was
now an emergency (according to the x ray) as the bones were already starting to set, wrongly
and almost 48 hours had passed. Scared to be alone, I begged them to wait for the re-arrival
of my daughter and was taken to the theatre. There was no one there except me, the waiting
area quiet and still, with no bustle of nursing staff or doctors and I the only awaiting patient.

If you have never been through an anesthesia or operation before, it is hard to describe your trepidation at it is happening. In the past I had been put to sleep through dental surgery, but
this was different. Thankfully my daughter arrived in time, quick kiss and hug and I was
whisked off to the next stage.

Knights in Shining Armor!

After a difficult and uncomfortable flight, we finally landed in Tel Aviv, Ben Gurion Airport at
4.30 am, after an 11 hour flight. By this time, I was so piled up with blankets and pillows propping up my leg, that I was almost hidden as I lay there waiting for all the passenger to
descend.

An airport official, armed with walkie talkie, came and explained to me that my amazing daughter had arranged for an ambulance to come and transfer me from the plane to their
waiting vehicle. I have to explain first who these wonderful ambulance team were. For those
of you who read this blog, in Judaism, there are many types of people, religion being practiced on
many levels, the highest known as Haredim or Hassidim. These good people have long side locks, where black skull caps and adorn a four fringed garment over or under their clothes, with
long strings hanging down from its four corners. They are often under attack for being lazy,
eccentric or some other such complaint, but in truth like every community or sector, there are
good and bad people. This particular ambulance service, gave their time and energy for FREE!

Two burly, gingy bearded men came to introduce themselves. Upon seeing my predicament
they asked to borrow the collapsible wheelchair from the National Airline that we were flying
on, to transfer me to the airport cargo truck that was waiting attached to the plane. Again this
was easier than it sounded, as I had to jump once again over the arm rest and propel myself
without further injury into the chair. Successfully having done so, we now proceeded down the
aisle smoother than our entry, but to my disappointment once again in my countrymen, we were
accosted by the same unfriendly stewards, who instead of wishing me well, shouted out twice
that they should be sure to return the chair to its place; totally ignoring me and my discomfort
at their rude and inappropriate behaviour!

At the entrance to the aircraft their was a large blue cargo truck, that was fitted with elevator
facilities and I was lowered slowly to the waiting 'Lancelot' chariot. Here, I transfered on to
a collapsable bed and was comfortably placed inside and the offending chair returned to the
surly staff of the airplane. Security check was brief and warm, with well wishes given and at
the entrance to the airport, the doors opened and my wonderful daughter alighted to join me
on the rest of my journey. What a sight for sore eyes.

We then began our 50 minute journey to Jerusalem, to the Hadassah Hospital in Ein Kerem
where I was taken to the emergency room for the next stage of my unplanned and painful
adventure.

Disappointment in 'Flying the Flag!'

The smaller, narrower white wheelchair was uncomfortable and rickety, but even so, I fitted into it snugly. Tearing down the ramp to the entrance of the plane, holding on tightly to my bag and
the side of the chair, we were greeted by two airline stewards (male) of around 40 - 45 and two
young flight attendents. The greeting that I received was not one of may we be of assistance, or
sorry to see your plight, but pure surliness and aggressive behaviour for the inconvenience I was
causing, the flight being slightly delayed due to my mishap and the fact that the wheelchair would block up the aisle for some time as they took me to my seat.

A quick decision was made as to which aisle I should go on and I was passed through Business
Class. I admit, till this moment I thought that the seat I had paid for and been allocated was in
this section of the aircraft, where I would be able to extend my leg and keep it in the required
outstretched position. But, I was told in 'no uncertain terms' that this was not so and that even
though there were spare seats in this area, I was forbidden from sitting there, irrelevant of my
predicament. I begged the head steward to reconsider, explaining that there was no way I
could sit in a regular seat, but he firmly, rudely and aggressively refused, even though I offered
then and there to pay an additional fee for this purpose.

Flabbergasted, in extreme pain and tears, I was dragged through the cabin, past uncaring,
curious as well as annoyed faces, to the middle of the aircraft, where I was told I would now have
to jump over the arm of the chair, holding my leg in the air, in the limited gangway on to a row
of three seats, that were available for me to lie down on, but where the two individual arm rests
of the seats, could not be lifted up to an upright position, but would keep falling down on me
pressing me onto the seat, unable to move, only wriggle, throughout the following 11 hour flight!!

Impatience evident, my smaller bad was placed as a pillow for my head, my larger case next to
the seat next to my ankle, blankets and pillows brought for mere to place around me, an extention
seat belt so that I would not roll too far off the seat and I was left to my own devices.
Here I was, flying the national airline, lying across three seats, two arm rests laying over my
upper chest area and the other over my thighs, my strapped up ankle resting on a mixture
of blankets and pillows, scared, uncomfortable, thirsty, hungry and in terrible pain.

A Mad Dash

It sounds easier than it was. Picture the scene, myself sitting in a wheelchair with no leg rest,
surrounded by two airport orderlies that were to push me through and take my bags, my agent
and her family as well as my friend laden with all the food stuffs from my fridge in my g appartment. The race was on. But, how to let them go quickly and efficiently in the rickety chair
that I was sitting in.

Holding my laptop on my lap, I had an idea on how to hold my leg in the air; I took the thick strap of the bag and looped it around my leg, put the computer on my lap, holding on to it tightly
whilst putting pressure on to my hands to hold my leg up in an upright position! A quick hug, kiss and thank you to my friends and away we went. Passport control was relatively easy, but
the security check proved to be long, annoying and extremely thorough. The culprits of this
hold up not being my shampoo, that they quickly removed, or my perfume, that they let me
keep, but the party hats for my grandaughter and candles that had been thrown in at my request into the suitcase!

Having already had a small overnight case packed on the first visit to my appartment by my
helpers, on the second return trip I requested that some presents that were allocated to a
special corner in my appartment, for my grandaughter accompany me on my journey, as well
as camera (I needed to take pictures of her) and my computer. This of course entailed leaving
behind clothes, make up, jewellery, books, relevant telephone book etc.... for my only thought
was not to arrive empty handed and to write a list of all my work in Beijing and to whom it
should be allocated to, as to leave no problems for the scheduler behind!

After this frustration and trying to keep my leg held high, restrain annoyance at my pushers
who every time I said ouch! would immitate me, but were doing a good job and were in their
innocence, just trying to keep my spirits up, we arrived at the check in desk situated next to the
plane doorway. Now, I would once again have to transfer myself, my computer holding my leg
up by its strap on to a very narrow looking wheelchair that would escort me to my seat on the
plane, through the narrow aisles. This did not look like fun!

Harsh Treatment

Time was ticking by, the flight was to leave at 22.00 and I still did not have either a ticket, baggage or confirmation if it would all come together. Going on the assumption that it would
all come together, my daughter was to make all the arrangements on the Israel side, all I had to
do was get on the plane. My agent made her way to the airport and telephoned me from there
around 20.30 to tell me that they would not sell her a ticket! I immediately asked her to hand
me the person and I would talk to them and in no uncertain terms, I made it plainly clear that
I had to get a seat on that airline due to my broken ankle and urgency to get proper medical
treatment in my limited timespan.

Crisis over, my attention now turned to getting myself released, arranging for an ambulance to
come and take me, as well as my friends to return with my few possessions. Now the fun began.
An abulance arrived at the clinic, time was now limited, my colleagues had returned and with
well wishes, had left my fellow teacher remained with me, insisting on accompanying me to the
airport. But, the ambulance was now refusing to take me, they insisted that the distance was to
far and they did not want to get caught up in the traffic!! I could not join in the arguing, as my
Chinese is reserved to a simple right, left and straight on! but after some heated discussions, they were persuaded to take me.

I wish I could tell you that it was a smooth and comfortable ride, instead of one of bouncing
around in pain and discomfort, but to give them credit they got me to the airport in record
time, with minutes to spare. Creating a true entrance into the main doorway of the airport,
we were waved past the first security gate, straight into the care of my agent, her husband and
young son, flight attendant and wheelchair.

There was little time to spare if I wished to catch this plane, the way to the carrier was long,
further than European flights, for security reasons and after changing into the airport chair,
that had no leg rest, it was a mad dash to get through passport control, security checks and
reach the airline on time before take off!!

Flying Doctor!

Sitting in the clinic was difficult, not because of the pain, but what to do. Work, responsibilities and finance all being of the upmost importance and made the decision more confusing and
difficult to make. The option of flying to Hong Kong seemed the best idea at the time, as the
doctor in charge assured me that the operation would be a simple procedure and I would only
have to stay there for 3 - 4 days maximum. I would then return home, but would somehow be
able to manage to continue working, even if it meant sleeping for a while on work premises. But,
after a long deliberation of where, what and how, the choice was made for me by nature. In Hong Kong the next day there was reports of a typhoon and the ex pat hospital in Beijing did not
invoke enough confidence in me, so I telephoned my wise daughter, who immediately told me to
come home! Which is what I did.

During the hours that I spent in the hospital, two young Chinese colleagues came to help me out,
by going over to my house and packing me an overnight bag and a few belongings that I wished
to take with me, I know that it was not easy for them, one having given up her free day to do so,
but I shall always remember their kindness. But, it was the unexpected that warmed my heart,
not only the offers of help from a couple of my male counterparts at work, but the unexpected
sight of a fellow female teacher who came and held my hand, massaged my back and offered
warmth and support throughout my ordeal, she knows who she is, bless you, I will never forget
your help in those difficult hours.

After the decision was made, it was now time to find a flight. I called an ex colleague now turned
travel agent and enlisted her help. The doctors had agreed that I could make the flight home, but were unwilling to take responsibility if something should happen to me along the way. They
bandaged my leg as best as they could, armed me with pain killers and arranged for an
ambulance to take me wherever I wished t go. My agent explained that all the offices were
already closed and the only place to get a ticket was from the airport itself. After having my
daughter check on the internet, we found out that there was one direct flight leaving that day
in under four hours! This was the only direct flight to Israel until Sunday, otherwise it would
have to be a connecting one on the following day.

This for two reasons would be too late. One the operation was urgent and there would be no
way that I would be able to transfer myself to a different plane, it would be hard enough to
even get on the first one. So, sending my fellow teacher and our Chinese colleagues beck to
the appartment, to empty the fridge of my two weeks shopping, I sent my agent friend to
the airport to buy a ticket, while I waited nervously in pain, at the clinic.

August 21 2008!

This to you may seem like an unimportant date, but for me, it changed everything.
I woke up as usual that morning to go and teach my student, but more often than
not, we check in with each other to make sure that she is on time, in the country or
generally able to have the lesson. Unable to reach her, till well past the starting time
and already being near her place of work, I nevertheless agreed to cancel the lesson
as it would interfere with her work starting time if we began late, or in turn she would
miss part of her class for the same reason.

So, I decided to stop by and visit friends in the same area, after a cup of coffee and
chat, I left to make my way to work and my next class. It had been raining heavily and
I am always especially careful as I tread in my Crocs not to slip. But coming out of the
elevator in the appartment block, I slipped on a wet patch obviously left by someones
dripping umbrella and found myself twisting my ankle, which I heard snap, and falling
in slow motion to the floor.

On recovering myself and in terrible pain, I saw that my right foot was now twisted
completely around, under excruciating pain, I quick thinking turned it back. Trying my
hardest not to get into panic and pass out, I attempted to reach up to the lift, but that was
an impossibility. So I reached into my handbag and pulled out my cellular phone. It was
to my great distress, impossible to get a connection, either due to the heavy storm outside
or the echo of the building that I found myself in.

This was a real predicament and I had to stop the trembling of my leg that was causing my
whole body to shake uncontorllably. I pulled myself across the floor to the staircase, crossing
my left ankle over the right one, to hold it in a reasonable steady position. I screamed at the
top of my lungs for someone to help me, but this just fell on the echo of the building. This was
in a large residential block, but probably due to the bad weather, most people were staying
indoors and there was no one in sight.

Screaming at the top of my voice, for assistance and calling every number I knew for rescue,
I was finally heard and assistance arrived. Not being able to of course speak Chinese, if took
a further 10 minutes, after the 20-30 that I had already been lying on the floor, for it to be
understood that I needed ambulance assistance and wished to be taken to the ex-pat
(people who are foreigners in China or another place of residence, not of their own nationality)
emergency clinic.

The most brave and calm in the situation, was a young 10 year old, who sat holding my ankle
in place, whilst her mother and another kind woman took care of the explanations to the rescue
ambulance service. When they arrived, the medic in charge splinted up my leg, but I knew
immediately that he had done this incorrectly and tried to gesture for him to do otherwise, but
of course with the lack of adequate words, it was ijmpossible. Nevertheless, with sirens blazing
I was whisked away to the clinic.

There the doctor in charge arranged for an x ray and informed me that I would need immediate
surgery. Now the question was where, how and what coverage did I have? This was besides
the fact that I was in an incredible amount of pain and trying to hold myself together to
coherently decide what would be the next best step to take.

The Eve of the Big Day!

It was decided that Friday 8th August, was to be a 'holiday' for the city of Beijing, enabling all
the organisers and participants as well as guests, to have easy access to the Olympic area.
For the first time in a while, having a free day from work, left me at a loss what to do. So after
some deliberating, I arranged to meet one of my students and her husband for lunch and set
off to immerse myself in the excitement and atmosphere of the coming event, that had taken
hold of the city.

I decided to go to the city centre. Cola and other major companies had set up 'fun' sites
at major spots in Beijing, as well as enormous TV screens where one could see all the major
activities and sport events. I wandered into one of the shopping centers and browsed,
mingling with the crowds. There was an atmosphere of carnival in the air and people
were generally window shopping, except for the shops that had gone on Sale, were doing
roaring business, as if they were giving it away for free!

Lunch was a pleasant affair, in a restaurant that sold a mixture of Chinese, Thai and other
provinces food and for the first time I felt that the food I chose was similar to that that
I would eat back home. After lunch, we leisurely browsed through one of the multiple
bookshops that adorn Beijing and was thrilled to find, at a reasonable price, the 'Hello'

Ending the afternoon early, we decided to set back for home as we heard that all the streets
were to be closed and the possibility of catching a taxi seemed difficult should we wait too
long. Well, after standing out on a Friday night outside my office on a number of occasions
in the rain, unable to catch a cab and being pushed aside by an assertive Chinese boyfriend
wanting to prove his machoism to his girlfriend, I was determined to show my powers in
grabbing a taxi as it drew up!

On arriving back at my appartment, I settled down to watch the programmes that were
leading up to the opening ceremony of that night. I must admit that I had the feeling of
butterflies in my stomach, this was for me what I had come to Beijing for. I had chosen
China above other country possibilities for I wanted to be part of the Olympic experience
as well as see it with my own eyes.

As the show unfolded, there were moments as I am sure many an individual can vouch for the
same feelings, of wonder, beauty, amazement and pride. Yes, pride, even though this was not
my country, this was for me an alien place, so different of any other that I had seen or been
to in my life, I was proud at this moment to be there and experience these sensations even
though I was unable to afford or find an opening ceremony ticket, I think that the view on
my own television screen, was more than adequate.

The next day, I had a spring in my step, having watched a couple of weeks earlier how China
had opened its Shanghai doors to the refugees of Europe, the Jewish people who were trying
to escape from the tyranny of Hitler, I felt pride as I looked around the streets at the
beautiful floral arrangements that were lining the streets, admittedly the only thing that I
did not like, were the large red lanterns hanging from the lamposts, that I truly found a
little tacky.

Having been born in England, I was used to a country that is a specialist in putting on a show
of pomp and ceremony, but there is no question, that China surpassed itself in imagination,
celebration, ceremony and occasion. My only suggestion for future Olympics is that the
parade of the participants, which is their moment of glory, should somehow be reduced in
timing, either by letting them enter from two entrances at the same time, to shorten the
time spent, so reducing the level of the previous excitement felt at the show itself.

Well done China, I am truly happy and proud to have been part of this event, actually see
some of the sports taking place first hand and being able to discuss the events and feelings
together with my students, it was an honor and my only regret was that I was not there
for the closing ceremony and consequent discussion that would have taken place thereafter.