Save a Child's Heart: Hospital Blog

Dialah

lilysadventuresabroad — Mon, 10 Sep 2012 17:57:02 +0300

As the weight of my backpack sets heavy over my shoulders I poke my head into the children’s playroom at the Wolfson Medical Center. I see a woman sitting alone as an Arabic tune emanates from her purse. She picks up her cellphone to answer, bowing her head with narrow eyes in my direction. The conversation ends and she looks back up toward me. The corners of her mouth crease into a smile as she welcomes me in Arabic to the hospital.

I learn that three weeks have passed since she first came to the Wolfson Medical Center by ambulance after giving birth in Gaza. Never having been to Israel before she is shy and withdrawn. She wraps herself in her own warm embrace as she sits alone, her infant child in the Intensive Care Unit. We sit together there in the children’s playroom on green metal benches. I watch as the ripples of her head covering rise and fall over her shoulders with heavy breaths. She is alone in a foreign country, coping with emotion that thankfully most people never have to experience. We sit together and she tells me about her child, Dialah. Her eyes begin to water as she explains to me the trauma of her birthing experience. Dialah’s mother woke up in labor in the middle of the night, barely made it to the hospital in time, and gave birth in the hospital’s emergency room. She believes that Dialah’s immediate heart condition might have been a result of this traumatic experience. Recalling the experience brings about heavy breathing and subsequent sobbing. Her back heaves up and down as she rests her head on her knees. As her tears subside and her breath calms she wipes the pain stroked salty water from her face and lifts her back and neck to sit in an upright position. I don’t know enough Arabic to console her through words alone, so I sit by her side in silence.

Eight months later we meet again. I see her float through the hallway toward the ward as I chat with the hospital clown. My eyes strain to recognize her face from a distance. “Lily!”, she exclaims, shooting out her arms and capturing my frame in a quick cheek to cheek embrace. “Come!”, she starts with excitement, “Come see Dialah”. Her English is better than I remember and her demeanor much more positive. As we walk together to Dialah’s bedside I see a child that in no way resembles the barely surviving infant I saw in the ICU less than a year prior. Now Dialah is beautiful. Her plump cheeks and full body indicate her relative health. She is back for a routine catheterization that will indicate the need for a future surgery. Her mother smiles proudly at me. Quickly, before they head out of the ward and back home, I manage to sneak a picture of this bubbly little girl.

Tala looking fashionable in the clinic.

lilysadventuresabroad — Mon, 20 Aug 2012 00:02:50 +0300

Tala looking fashionable in the clinic.

How I lost my pen.

lilysadventuresabroad — Sun, 19 Aug 2012 23:59:00 +0300

How I lost my pen.

We Look Forward to our Future.

lilysadventuresabroad — Fri, 20 Jul 2012 01:12:00 +0300

Walking in to the Echo clinic at the Wolfson Medical Center I immediately recognized nearly every mother or grandmother visiting with children that day from Gaza and the West Bank. We shared excited wide-eyed and smiling gestures and embraces. I know that for them a familiar face means a great deal. Most of them traveled through the Erez crossing from Gaza to Israel with the heat of the morning beating down on their fully cloaked bodies. Not to mention, each was traveling with an infant or small child. This surely was not easy. Still they made it, and I found myself there to offer a comfort of familiarity and welcome them back to this familiar hospital environment.

There was one pair that I never met before. The child’s name is Saleh, and he and his father also traveled from Gaza that day for a follow up examination with the clinic. His father spoke English. I later learned that he received a university education to teach English lessons at the elementary school level. His son, Saleh, is six years old and already received surgery two years ago to correct the functioning of a heart valve. In general, Saleh’s father said that Saleh was in good health and doing much better after his first operation.

After asking the routine questions I began to speak with Saleh’s father more generally. When I am able to find parents who speak a very high fluency of English I really enjoy speaking with them in more detail about their lives in Gaza. “The situation in Gaza is very difficult”, began Saleh’s father, “electricity is not consistent and there is not enough gas for cooking”. “It is even difficult for most people to find food, and there is no work”. As he spoke to me I could see his expression becoming depressed.

At that moment I felt so helpless. There I was, iphone in hand, taking pictures of his child while he considered his family and friends desperate for survival. Slowly the weight of his expression began to ease as he looked straight at me. “I am so thankful to be here, and for all the help we received for Saleh”. He began to smile, “I said to Fatma (a SACH staff member) that as soon as there is a facility for this organization in Gaza I will be a volunteer, god willing”. He sat hopeful and looked to be proud to consider himself a future member of the Save a Child’s Heart team. His words were a way to implement hope and service, to give back to an organization that saved his child’s life.

I must have taken nearly 10 pictures of Saleh that day, but he simply did not feel like smiling. Instead he sat there for me, the animation on his bright yellow shirt depicting a Smurf and the words, “We look forward to our future”.

Mram and Remas

lilysadventuresabroad — Sat, 30 Jun 2012 18:02:00 +0300

What is it about stickers and bubbles that makes them so entrancing? I’ll admit that my heart still races nearly every time I see them. It probably has to do with positive memories I associate with my childhood: sticker books, collages and decorations for birthday cards to name a few. As we grow older our stickers tend to display written material, political agendas, consumer slogans, etc. Despite their changing significance in our lives as we age and mature they have a way of capturing our attention. The same goes for bubbles. Bubbles are so compelling to me in the way that they reflect light and dance in the air until they dramatically pop, melting immediately into the carpet or flooring.

Watching the way Mram and Remas played with these bubbles and stickers on Tuesday brought me back to these moments in pre-school. The hospital clown at Wolfson on Tuesday wasted no time in introducing these anxious little girls to her magical world of colorful animals and dancing rainbow soap spheres. She began by pulling out a sheet of three dimensional animal and star stickers. Mram and Remas wasted no time in gathering all the stickers and meditating on their correct placements at the footboard of Mram’s hospital bed.

Once all the stickers had been used up Remas began to squeal as the hospital clown transferred the stickers onto Mram’s face.

After pretty much all the stickers had been appropriately placed on shirts and dresses, out came the bubbles.

Now I have never had the opportunity to visit Gaza, where both these girls live, but I can only assume that they do not often have the opportunity to play with stickers and bubbles as much as they did that day. It was such good timing as well because both girls had already completed successful surgical operations of their delicate hearts and both were heading home to see their families for the first time in weeks. Any anxiety they may have felt due to their impending travel arrangements were immediately eased by the soft and playful expression of Rotem the hospital clown, and these cheerful stickers and bubbles.

After watching their activities, sitting with the mothers and grandmothers all equally amused, the understanding of why they were there in the first place began to escape me. These children are survivors. They had holes in their hearts that due to a focused and competent Israeli medical team, as well as generous financial assistance from Save a Child’s Heart supporters, were fixed.

Five month old Odai before and after surgery.

lilysadventuresabroad — Sat, 09 Jun 2012 22:40:00 +0300

Before Surgery

After Surgery

Five month old Odai before and after surgery.

When I met Mahmoud a week ago he would not stop crying. This...

lilysadventuresabroad — Mon, 28 May 2012 00:11:00 +0300

When I met Mahmoud a week ago he would not stop crying. This time he looked very curious, with wide eyes starring directly at me. I sat with him and put my finger in the palm of his hand. He grasped on to me more tightly than I would have ever expected and then began using both hands to grab the length of my arm with a surprising degree of strength. His eyes grew bigger until a subtle grin appeared on his face.

Hala was sitting quietly on her hospital bed the first time I...

lilysadventuresabroad — Fri, 18 May 2012 16:57:00 +0300

Hala was sitting quietly on her hospital bed the first time I met her, draped in hospital pajamas nearly 5 sizes too big. She was quiet when her dad introduced us, and just gazed blankly at me for a moment before turning back to play with her feet. Her father began to explain to me everything the family had been going through for the sake of their daughter. Since one week after her birth she has was transferred from hospital to hospital in Gaza to find a cure for her heart condition. She is now three and a half years old.

“If only we had known about the Wolfson Medical Center sooner,” her father began, “she would be doing much better by now”. As his eyes creased downward he paused, “I’m going to go for a walk” he said, and left the room.

When Hala’s dad left for a few minutes it gave Hala and I a chance to connect on a more personal level. I sat in the armchair next to her bedside and opened my palm in front of her to give her a “high five”. To my surprise she instead grabbed onto my hand with her tiny fingers and did not let go. She still had this blank look in her eyes, as though she was just too tired to put any more effort into our interaction. We held hands for a good 10 minutes before her father came back to check up on her.

Her father left the room again to make a phone call, so I decided to make it my duty to get a smile out of this beautiful little girl. I opened my notebook and tore out a piece of fresh paper. Now I only know how to make one oragami creation, and this has proven to be quite useful over the years. I whipped up my famous cat hat design and put it on my finger as a puppet. As I danced the “puppet” around in front of her, her eyes began to light up and the edges of her mouth began to broaden. I kept going with the act and then placed the cat hat on top of the empty soda bottle she was grasping between her tiny hands. “Whoops”, I declared, as the small origami hat quickly fell off the bottle. Hala’s smile turned into a laugh.

We continued this trick over and over again until her father returned. They were registered to leave the hospital that day. Hala’s father took her out of the oversized hospital pajamas and into a full pink and red matching outfit. Then they were on their way.

Ayhan

lilysadventuresabroad — Fri, 18 May 2012 16:53:00 +0300

Ahyan’s story is a bit different. He is a year younger than Hala and grew up with his family in Hebron. Yet, their biggest difference lies in the fact that Ahyan is a hugely charismatic and talkative extrovert. Immediately upon meeting him he had already begun to engage and babble enthusiastically. However, though Ahyan is one of the most gregarious children I have ever encountered he does not utter a coherent word. At two and a half years he is still unable to use his Arabic at all to communicate with his parents.

When I first met Ahyan he was sitting in the clinic waiting area with his family, awaiting his echo examination. There he was, cell phone in hand, babbling away to his aunt back in Hebron. Of course his aunt had no way of understanding his unique language, still it made the entire family quite happy to witness his attempt.

As it was time for Ahyan to leave Wolfson he walked through the doors with a big balloon in hand. Well it wasn’t a balloon exactly but rather a latex glove blown up. He didn’t seem to mind. With big wide eyes he clutched on to his new toy and posed for my pictures.

Lian

lilysadventuresabroad — Wed, 09 May 2012 19:09:00 +0300

“Lian, Lian, Lian..” I muttered to myself, pacing around the echo waiting area at the Wolfson Medical Center. It was time for me to interview children and their families who had come from either Gaza or the West Bank for follow up appointments months or years after their heart surgeries. I found seven year old Lian, smiling, shy and standing very close to her mother on a bench outside an exam room. She wore light pink circle framed glasses and bright purple clothes. As I sat down and began speaking with her mother she inched closer and closer toward me. Soon she was shoved right up next to me, watching me write her mother’s responses in English on my pad of paper. “How are you?” I said in Arabic, “How are YOU?”, she replied. As her smile grew bigger and bigger, mine did as well. “Tisk!”, she said, flicking my curls from the center of my face. “Tisk!”, I replied, doing the same. She swayed left and right, belly pushed forward, a big toothy grin stamped on her face.

*Photograph taken by Meredith Somers

As I began to move around to visit with the other children and their families I noticed Lian running around with 8 year old Jihad, another boy from the same city who was also visiting Wolfson for a follow up after surgery. It surprised me to see how quickly they ran after one another, their agility and excitement. After all, these were kids who not more than a year or two ago were visiting Israel to receive open heart surgery. If one did not know this fact it would be impossible to tell by simply viewing their behavior. The hospital clown arrived shortly thereafter to visit and play with the children. Lian and Jihad jumped and shrieked with excitement as the hospital clown fell all the way into a full gymnast’s splits.

*Photograph taken by Meredith Somers

When I finished with my interviews and was preparing to leave, I went up to Lian and Jihad to say goodbye in Arabic, a phrase I just recently aquired. “Goodbye!”, I said quietly, as the children were enraptured by the clown balancing on top of a waiting room chair. “Goodbye!”, Lian shouted, throwing her arms open she gave me a tight hug around the waist.

Hospital Update

lilysadventuresabroad — Wed, 09 May 2012 19:08:00 +0300

It has been only two months since I started my work interviewing with various families from the Palestinian Authority. To date, I have met with nearly 40 different families and recorded each of their stories for use on the international website. The main idea behind obtaining these profiles is to help donors visualize exactly who they are supporting. Also, the profiles help to create positive PR to encourage future donations to support more heart treatment. The profiles I write are a completely honest attempt to portray the lives of individual children and their families, and how they benefit from Israel’s medical aid and international financial support.

I can not believe how comfortable I feel now walking in to the hospital each day. I know these families now. They recognize me. Despite the fact that new faces appear, and the more familiar return home post surgery, each new batch of children and families bring new excitement and personality to the ward. I am blessed to work with an incredible young woman, my Arabic translator, as well as the expressive therapist. I believe I am correct in speaking on their behalfs as well in saying that there is a certain level of groundedness one obtains from connecting with these families.

For various reasons I came in to work with a gloomy disposition. The sky was chalked yellow with the hue of desert sand. There was a humid chill, the kind that seeps into one’s tightly bound jacket and causes the bones to ache. My head throbbed and my eyes watered as I passed through security at the entrance to the hospital building. I made my way to the clinic area and then to the ward where I met Fatima, the Arabic translator. Upon seeing the kind expressions of the men and women, as well as the inquisitive looks of their children, my whole body began to thaw. Tension began to melt down my shoulders and arms. I then found my way to various families that had not yet been interviewed as well as children back for their post surgery follow up assessments. I was lucky this week, and one of the fathers spoke Hebrew so I was able to conduct the interview on my own.

Before I could finish my dialogue with this particular family, in walked seven Palestinian doctors. Doctors Assali, Rulla, Azab, to name a few, gathered in the clinic waiting room for their tour of the ward. These incredible people are crutial to the success of Save a Child’s Heart’s mission. They are the individuals who have chosen to create a bond with those in Israel and refer patients to the Wolfson Medical Center for heart surgery. They were at the hospital today in order to brainstorm plans for building a surgical center in the West Bank based on the Wolfson Medical Center’s model in Israel. How incredible that a child’s broken heart can bring together adults from such opposing societies together, to unite for the good of the future. It was incredible to sit and listen to their discussion, and see the kindness in each one of their expressions.

Needless to say, upon leaving the Wolfson Medical Center that day I felt a complete turnaround. There was a lightness to my step and a freedom to my breath. It was the feeling one gets when it is understood that the world is so much bigger than oneself, and that the universe works in mysterious and complex ways. Because, as we know, each and every human being suffers and rejoices. When I visit the families at the Wolfson Medical Center I understand the extent to which these feelings are possible and it causes me to more greatly value life in its purest and simplest form.

Photo

lilysadventuresabroad — Wed, 09 May 2012 19:08:00 +0300

Salma (Gaza)

Noor (West Bank)

Hazam (Gaza)

This is a photo I took of an Iraqi child receiving surgery at...

lilysadventuresabroad — Wed, 09 May 2012 19:07:00 +0300

This is a photo I took of an Iraqi child receiving surgery at the Wolfson Medical Center. When I first met him earlier this month he was glum and literally blue in the face. He just received heart surgery and now beams happiness and personality.

Save a Child, Save the World

lilysadventuresabroad — Wed, 09 May 2012 19:05:00 +0300

I had always been nervous about working in a hospital. The beeping of the machines and the smell of stale flowers haunted me from past experiences. Hospitals spelled out the end of the road for me. That was until I experienced the children’s ward at the Wolfson Medical Center.

Fumbling with my bags, I awkwardly walked onto the hospital grounds. “Straight down the hall, all the way, make a right, and then straight down the hall to the end”, I was told by hopital security. I was trying to locate the children’s branch of the hospital, where my assigned patients and their families were waiting anxiously for a doctor’s word. I found my way to the ward, only to be barraged by a crowd of Portugese tourists, a documentary film team, nurses and a complete ethnic salad of patients. This was the area of the children’s ward sponsored by Save a Child’s Heart. Children from Angola to Moldova, the West Bank to Gaza, occupied the various patient beds. I was there that day to interview the children under the Palestinian Authority and document their stories for presentation on the international website. Unfortunately for me, almost every family only spoke Arabic. Fortunately, I was assigned a personal Arabic translator. Her name is Fatma.

Fatma, I instantly noticed, is one of those people who spills buckets of love and compassion for the work she does. I immediatly felt more comfortable knowing she would be my counterpart in the day’s events. After a brief introduction, she immediately introduced me to the various Palestinian families present that day. With Fatma’s help, we managed to document five complete profiles in under two hours. For each interview, Fatma would introduce me to the children and their families in Arabic, and I would comence my interview in English while Fatma translated every word.

For each child, the story was different. For example, Iman came from a family of over 7 children, and lived in a tin roof hut back in Gaza. Both her parents were unemployed. Her curious eyes found my computer and purse completely facinating. Then there was Mahmoud. He would not stop crying when his mother put him down in the stroller, that was until Fatma handed him her car keys. A huge grin appeared on his face. Mahmoud’s family was more well-to-do than Iman’s, his mother wearing a higher quality silk black garment head to toe. Mahmoud’s father worked for the Palestinian government in Gaza. Mahmoud’s mother emanated warmth and curiosity throughout the interview, and upon completion told Fatma in Arabic how thankful she was that someone cared to hear her child’s story. Mahmoud’s surgery went perfectly well, and he was on his way home from the Hospital that day.

That next week I asked Fatma to take me to the ICU. I wanted to know what these families and children experienced regularly at Wolfson. We washed our hands upon entering. There they were, beautiful children attached to drip IV’s and heart monitors. I thought the sight would make me uncomfortable, but instead I felt quite at ease. Fatma led me to the different children and we said our hellos. None of the children were able to respond to our gestures but their innocent expressions, and the way Fatma spoke to them made me feel quite at ease. I could tell how much a caring face meant to them, and it amazed me to see how positive an atmosphere the ICU could be.

My experiences at the Wolfson Medical Center have truly inspired me thus far, and I look forward to continuing my work there in the weeks and months to come. A few things specifically struck me as important to note. To start, there is something so optimistic about working with these hopeful and innocent beings, so ready to enjoy life and rejoice in their new found spirit and gusto post surgery. Also, I had never before worked with anyone associated with the PA. It was an embarrassing and shoking revelation for me to find that those behind the Gaza border were no different than anyone else, regarding their variety of political opinions or priorities for maintaing the health of their children. I found great satisfaction in learning the stories of these children pre or post heart surgery. I was startled to find how much these families were willing to share about their experiences and background during such a crucial and vulnerable time for their children. Moreover, I was impressed to find how much Save a Child’s Heart, in coordination with Israel, work to help the families on the other side of the fence, truly standing in line with the Jewish principle of Tikun Olam.