‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Thinking upon it for a moment, one may be quite amazed at the importance of even the most trivial’  decision – let alone the important ones. Why, even the smallest may cause momentous changes to one’™s life. Consider for example one to finally clean out the attic having put it off for years. A fall. Perhaps a maiming for life.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  After thirty years of happy marriage, and upon the recommendation of her gynaecologist, my wife, decided upon a hysterectomy.’  I, of course, went along with her decision; she had suffered discomfort ever since the birth of our first child.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “It was nothing,” assured us her doctor: “In three or four days she will be out and about and rid, once and for all, of her problem.” His easy manner, his confidence were reassuring.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I hate hospitals, they may well be known as the workshops of an industry whose raw material is the human.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  But, as promised, everything went smoothly at the operation, and when I came visiting, my wife was lying as comfortably as one can be expected.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  She gave me a wan, but brave smile. “Well, thank God it’s over. A few days and I should be out of here.”
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  My wife happens to be one of those who never complain. This is a wonderful trait for the doctors and staff alike, but it can certainly have its drawbacks. This became only too clear in the course of time.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  As a non-complainer, she put on the brightest face she had whenever asked about how she felt.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Strangely, however, by the fifth day,’  things were far from well.’  My wife, as un-complaining as ever, was pale, feeble and visibly waning by the day. She began to feel that, after all, her condition was not as well as she had hoped.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  But it was not until the following afternoon, when I came in and saw her state that a sudden chill and fear clutched at me.’  Something must be out of control.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  She managed a feeble smile. Her white, cold hand in mine, I don’t know whether I was giving or receiving comfort. I smiled as brightly as I could. I was sure that my concern was clear in my eyes.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I excused myself for a moment, turned, and quickly sought the doctor.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “What’s happening?” The two words held a world of meaning for me. “Does her gynaecologist know of her state?”‘ ‘ ‘ 
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  The doctor’s response to my words surprised me. “Don’t be worried, many such cases pass through the ward. There is often a temporary reversal before an improvement sets in. A little patience is important.” His smile was most re- assuring. I sighed with a deep sense of relief. I thanked him and returned to my wife’s bed far more confident. My attitude said as much to her.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Up to then I had had a quick, friendly “hello” relationship with my wife’s bed neighbour, who, though nice, was also rather talkative. So I limited my relationship to a brief greeting. This time, however, upon hearing my encouraging words, she caught my attention with a silent movement of her hand.’  I turned to her with a questioning glance.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  With my back to my wife, this neighbour, whose name, by the way, was the same as that of my wife, urged me in a whisper to “pay no attention to what the doctors were saying but to seek the advice of the professor.”
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I was completely taken a-back. Can’t the ward doctors be relied upon? The gynaecologist? “How can I get to such a doctor ‘“ the Professor?” I asked, having not the slightest idea where to begin.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “Ask the secretary,” was her whispered answer.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I left the ward at a fast pace. My heart and mind troubled. “Who is the chief doctor of the wards”, I asked the rather attractive secretary.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “Why?”
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “There is an urgent problem. Perhaps a matter of life or death,” I told her. The urgency in my voice must have got through to her.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “She has a clinic on the top floor.”
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “She?”
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “Yes. Professor Lipman. But you’ll never get to see her. She is with patients who have waited months for their turn, that is if she is in her clinic at all.” But I had already left, her words trailing behind. I was already half way out of the ward and racing for the stairs.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I made it to Professor Lipman’™s room in record time and entered. The secretary who looked up as I entered seemed a little surprised. Her eyes held a question.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “Is Professor Lipman in?”
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Her quick glance at a communicating door gave me the answer I needed.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “I must see her. It is extremely urgent.”
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “You cannot. She is examining… er, female patients,” she added, hoping that this would add weight to her response.’  “You cannot possibly go in at the moment.”
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I leaned towards her with a confidential smile on my face. “I promise that the first thing I shall tell the professor is that you did your very best to stop me,” and, not waiting for any reaction, turned and, after gently knocking, opened the door slowly and apologetically.’  I walked into the room.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I picked out the Professor at a glance. I vaguely made out the form of a patient on an examination bed on my right but kept my eyes riveted to the doctor’s face.’  My split- second’s summing up was that she was serious, middle aged, attractive in a positive way.’  She even took my coming into her room with concern rather than anger or surprise.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I began my play, my voice coming to her in little more than a whisper. My face, undoubtedly pale, was as deadly serious as the circumstances I had found myself in.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “I really do beg you to excuse my coming in like this. Your secretary nurse did her best to explain, but you are now the only one I believe that can help. It is my wife – I am sure it is a matter of life or death.’  I cannot believe anything the doctors in the ward are telling me. My wife is not only a mother and a wife, she, as a nurse, has worked for many years in this very hospital. Her best friend died in the maternity ward, one floor up from where she is lying now.’  Please. I can trust no one but you. You only. This lovely girl does not deserve to die – to be another number to the sad statistics of the ward.”
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I had spoken my piece as a stream of words, leaning slightly towards the doctor, my voice barely reaching her, and’  with great earnestness.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Her reaction astonished me.’  She stood abruptly, turned and left the room. I followed close behind her, closing the door quietly behind me.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  *’ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  *’ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  *
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Her appearance in the ward seemed to get everybody running in all directions all at once. I went to my wife who was now tearful and I related that the chief was now taking charge. That maybe things would go right at last. The look I received gripped me like icy tongs. My wife was too relaxed. Non- caring. It was as if’  she had already accepted the inevitable.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Hospital staff began preparing for the tests. I knew I was now only in the way. I went out into the garden my mind full and in turmoil and my heart praying. There was nothing more I could do.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Tel- Aviv is well known for its sunshine. The afternoon was bright, the garden beautiful but to me inane. All I could see in my mind’s eye was the scurry of preparation for an emergency operation.’  After some thirty minutes of endeavouring to collect and calm my racing thoughts, I re-entered the ward.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  My wife, pale and subdued was resting quietly.’  Her neighbour of the same name, greeted me with an expression of deep concern which I returned with a smile of gratitude for her caring and thoughtfulness.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  There was not much I could say to my wife except beg her to be strong ‘“ for the sake of our youngest son, then only twelve.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “They have taken all the tests for the operation. They should be operating within the hour,” she said.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  It had all been so fast.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “How do you feel?”
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “Weak as a jelly.” I took her hand in mine hoping by doing so, transfer to her some of my strength.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Time dragged. They came to take her to the operating theatre.’  I turned to the gynaecologist who happened now to be on the spot.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “What do you feel about this operation?” I asked feeling not a little guilty that I had gone to the Professor behind his back.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “I still think that in a day or two things would work themselves out,” was his astonishing reply.’  Bitterly I decided that this would be the last time I would ever address the man. I turned and joined my wife who was now being wheeled through the corridor.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “I am not afraid to go,” she said weakly. “It’s almost a relief to leave a life of constant care and worry.”
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Those icy tongs were again gripping ‘¦ ‘œBut the boys,’ I said. They’re quite grown but they need you. We all still need you.”
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I was walking beside the bed and the tears were stinging. I looked down at her. My eyes were beseeching, earnestly asking her to be strong. Her look was tired.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “Just this once. You must have strength just this one more time.” I was holding her hand. They turned another corner and entered the operating theatre leaving me in the corridor – icy cold.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  In a dream I went out again into the garden my mind a whirl. Some three hours I walked my eyes unseeing, my mind focussed on but one thing. Back at the theatre door for the umpteenth time, I waited for someone to appear. The professor came out.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “What’s happening?”
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “Severe peritonitis. We got in at the twelfth hour. A few hours more and it would have been too late. It’s now a matter of touch and go.” She certainly didn’™t mince her words.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “What was done?”
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “We opened her up from here to there, rinsed her out, filled her up with antibiotics.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  “There’s nothing more to be done”, she said, and then, almost as an after thought. “You any good at praying?”
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Bewildered, I found myself again walking … walking…
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ 
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  *’ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  *’ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  *
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ 
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  It was to take some hours until she woke. To pass the time, I had been also with her neighbour whose talkative spirit was to me now a godsend. She was sweet and kind. ‘œIF it hadn’™t been for you,’ I began. But couldn’™t finish the sentence.’ 
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I looked down at my wife when she came to. I held her hand. Her wisp of a smile was enough to tell me that she had decided to hold on. I was deeply moved. It took some six years for her to overcome most of the effects of the operation some of which are still with her.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  I never was one to believe in angels ‘“ but now? I’™m not sure at all.