"Mom, I'm not so glad you're going," my daughter Yuval told me while taking a shower, all of a sudden.
"why sweetheart?"
"Because you could be injured by an explosion."
"We are far from the Yuvali war zone," I replied, "and very close to the border, so if there is a problem we will leave immediately."
"And who will take care of you?"
I stare at her in shock. Overwhelmed by the wisdom of this not-so-little girl at all. Where does it come from? After all, at no point did I talk about danger or fear. But as she directs her smart gaze at me without blinking, I suddenly think that perhaps in her sensitivity she is a mirror of the feelings I have repressed a bit. Unlike me, it is impossible to work on it.
In mid-March, a few weeks into the heavy fighting, Dr. Keren Shachar-Nissan, 39, left for Ukraine. Part of the Israeli medical aid delegation that set up a field hospital in the western Ukrainian city of Moschiska to treat war refugees.
There she met worried parents, families torn apart by their loved ones who were not allowed to leave the country, and sick children who tried to hang on to every fraction of a smile the adults could provide them.
She even contracted Corona there, fell asleep, and returned to treatment after less than 24 hours.
At Shishvat's request, Dr. Shachar-Nissan documented her experiences in a travel diary: a baby with severe anemia who needs blood counts, but the hospital he is supposed to get to is under shelling; a 3-year-old girl in pain due to the enormous stress she experienced in the war; Paralyzed in four limbs after an unexplained convulsion, and a 7-year-old girl who was excited to find out that despite the doctors' recommendations in Ukraine, she would not have to undergo amputation.Ukraine refugees, through her eyes.
Monday, March 21st.
Flight day
10:30 in the morning.
El Al flight LY5119 is waiting for us.
This.
Passengers.
A ceremony was held at the airport with Prime Minister Naftali Bennett and Foreign Minister Yair Lapid.
Everyone is reading the road prayer, and suddenly the token falls to me.
It happens.
Maybe it's the waiting and the expectation, maybe the tension that rises and falls again and again, God forbid.
And perhaps simply the unknown.
What will we meet there?
Under what conditions will we sleep?
Will we have rest time?
Will the language barrier prevent me from reaching the children's hearts?
Will I feel significant enough?
What is the definition of "justified" travel - 10 patients?
100?
Maybe just one that I can put a smile on his face and make this impossible period easier for him?
14:00.
We land in Poland.
A pleasant and caressing sun greets us, and we are photographed and smiling, trying to feel a bit like a trip abroad. Take the last chance to stop at a cafe, and pounce on the loot in the form of Cola Zero and a coffee machine. Pictures with the house and continue on the bus in the direction of Ukraine.
As the hours go by, a sense of unity and partnership for the journey is created among the members of the delegation - not all from the same hospital.
The same experiences, the same profession, the same fears.
The same longing for the children we left behind, the same delight in every conversation or picture from home.
Arrive at the border crossing.
Several ambulances are parked there, and next to them a small tent of medical assistance.
Standing in line, going through passport checks time and time again, and after more than two hours finally entering Ukraine.
There is a frightening silence in the streets.
Too still.
In a short time we arrive at the hospital established in what has hitherto been the courtyard of a school.
We first see the flags of Israel and Ukraine.
A shiver of excitement replaces the exhaustion of the long day.
We hardly feel that we have been on our feet for 20 hours.
The establishment staff greets us with great excitement, and a hot meal awaits us in the dining room.
The heart is filled with an inconceivable sense of pride in everything that has been established here in recent days: hospital rooms, a pharmacy, a laboratory.
Simply inconceivable.
23:00.
We get the classroom that will become our living room.
In less than half an hour the girls' living room gets signs of a house.
I paste on a bedside chair the picture of the children and of Ren, my husband.
Close to the heart.
Making a common corner of coffee and house delicacies, trying to digest the past day and imagine what awaits us tomorrow.
Now let's try to get some sleep.
Tuesday, March 22nd
07:00 in the morning.
A night of restless sleep ended in waking up to the sound of an alarm.
We go downstairs in our pajamas, to a floor that is half a basement with windows and was used as the school dining room, and is now an improvised and really unprotected “shelter”.
false alarm.
Lviv, it turns out, is a huge province.
The alarms apparently refer to a location that is far, far away from here.
You can start the day.
After a quick breakfast, we begin to vigorously organize the tent of the children's nursery. We try to produce as much color, warmth and playfulness as possible. .
The bags we brought from Schneider are packed with everything good - toys, surprises and even tablets to show children songs and movies.
With kids you have one chance, very fast, to build trust.
Eliminate the fear.
If the environment is inviting and non-threatening, showing love and laughter - you will get cooperation and maybe even win a smile.
If not, go for it, and you will have to deal with a scared, anxious and avoidant child.
Matvey, a child with Down Syndrome, is having an echocardiogram.
"The connection with him and his mother is so exciting, that it fills us with incredible energy for the rest of the day,"
In the school yard we hold a dignified opening ceremony.
The Israeli flag is hoisted on top of the mast, "Hatikva" is played, and I shiver.
Here, in this place, which has not always been a safe haven for our people, Zionism and humanity win.
We do not stand aside, and our heart is open.
22:15.
This is the first moment of the day when I manage to sit down for a minute, and try to digest the crazy day we went through.
From the moment the ceremony ended, children began to arrive at the hospital.
The first one I met was Arena, a beautiful 12 year old girl for a single mom.
The pavilion was completely destroyed and since then they have been on roads with no defined destination.
She arrived with a suspected heart rhythm disorder.
Suspicion of not being properly examined, and it is not known when he will be examined or when you will see a doctor again.
Despite the hardships they went through, they were sweet, dressed in fashionable and clean clothes.
Polite and modest, grateful for every check and every gesture.
Although we could not understand each other without the translation of Miri Hillel, a nurse from the Schneider Children's Department, we understood well with our looks.
Arena went straight to my heart.
We did a comprehensive inquiry and tests, guided her mother and released them on their way.
They asked for a souvenir photo, and Arena's mother shed a tear.
She looked at me with a look that said "you too, you also enter our hearts".
In this short, one-time moment, a connection of the mind is made, neither temporary nor one-time at all.
The day is over.
I go into the shower, not having time to finish it.
Two minutes after I try to indulge in the hot water there is a loud knock on the door.
"Ma'am, true alarm!"
They shout at me.
I must admit that I had a difficult deliberation between the warm and pleasant water and the shelter.
But the determined Israeli security man informed me unequivocally: "I will not go down to the shelter until you join me!".
Come on, the shower is gone.
I measured myself in flip-flops, pajamas and a wet towel for a "shelter" with 60 delegation members.
First leak - Check!
Wednesday, March 23rd
06:30 in the morning.
Again I'm ahead of time.
I slept a little better.
I even managed to pee in the "bullet" service of the compound.
The morning passed without alarms, the organization was crowned a success.
But this morning, it turns out, does not at all hint at the rest of the day: a sweet boy with seizures, who has run away from home and does not know when he will see a neurologist again who can balance his medication doses;
A two-and-a-half-year-old puppet with recurrent feverish illnesses, which blew towards me with air kisses that turned me into a puddle;
A girl with chest pains and chronic rash, and more and more.
Everyone is quiet, patiently waiting for their turn, appreciating the advice and treatment even if it comes down to "everything is fine, nothing needs to be done".
One of the mothers even asked me "how much should I pay you?", And was in utter shock when I started laughing and told her that really, but really, nothing.
14:00.
The middle of the day, and I find myself overwhelmed.
My perfectionism does not meet well the harsh conditions in which the hospital operates.
I go out to get some air, and see that a message has come in from Yuvali's school.
She had a hard day, and she told the teacher that while she was talking to me she heard an alarm and she was worried that "bombs were falling on Mom."
And another message from my mom, who says I might want to call the kids in the middle of the day because Uri is also having a bit of a hard time.
So I call, and all the tears came out when my gorgeous and intelligent girl said to me "Mom, I love you, you just have to get over it".
And so, instead of encouraging them, I find myself receiving encouragement and comfort from them.
I also receive a hug and support from the members of the Schneider delegation - and important insight as well.
"The thing I love most about you, but that I also have the hardest time with you, is that you demand of yourself and of everyone that everything be perfect," Yaron, a brother from Schneider, tells me.
A lesson for life, straight ahead.
Learn to let go.
The essence of my life in one sentence of a friend's caring.
I took, hugely.
The longings are enormous, the conditions are not simple, but in the midst of this storm of emotions, more and more children continue to arrive.
10 feels like 30 when you are not in your natural place, everything is delayed, cumbersome and different.
I get a sweet 3 year old girl with a lip delay.
Since the bombings in Kiev she has been complaining of abdominal pain, shortness of breath, on a night of complaints that have no medical logic combined, and we immediately realize that they are related to the immense stress she is experiencing.
Thanks to the amazing team of counselors at my amazing hospital, and in remote coordination with psychologist Daphne Rorman, who remained in the country, we are able to arrange for the little girl and her mother to receive advice from a language-speaking psychologist and guidance on how to mediate and alleviate her condition.
23:00.
So not everything went today exactly as I wanted.
My perfectionism did not get its breakfast today, and maybe not its lunch either.
But wow, how much we earned today, and how much they are.
We managed to touch so many people today.
Our heart and theirs expanded.
Thank you thank you thank you for the right.
Thursday, March 24th
06:55 in the morning.
One of the things that amazes me the most is how quickly everyone's defenses and shells come off, and how quickly friendships are formed here.
Honest, poignant and genuine.
Today we start the morning more organized, more versed in the situation and needs.
We meet some children with chronic diseases who live in the district, and came to us especially with piles of documents in Ukrainian that need to be translated to get a medical opinion.
It gets more complicated when there is no one to translate, and you have to use Google Translate and the Russian-speaking nurses, which are not as similar to Ukrainian as we thought.
Jaroslav, an 11-year-old boy, is carried in the arms of his father, who immediately lays him down on the bed.
And that's a bad sign.
Very bad.
Miri the nurse and I approach him.
His mother tells us that until three months ago everything was fine, Jaroslav was perfectly healthy.
Then suddenly there was an event, probably neurological, and a seizure, after which he was left paralyzed in four limbs.
He was hospitalized for an extended period in the hospital where his mother works as a nurse in the Department of Infectious Pediatrics.
He underwent a thorough examination, received treatment and began rehabilitation - but then the hospital was bombed, Viroslav and his mother were forced to flee to a more remote hospital.
Unfortunately, the bombings caught them there as well.
Relatives in Israel told them about our hospital, and the two traveled 300 miles to reach us.
Today, it turns out, Jaroslav is celebrating his 11th birthday.
Miri and I look at each other, and without speaking it is clear to us that we are celebrating his birthday.
We enlist the help of the Truman Foundation, the champion operative director of the delegation, who within a second and a half organizes cake and balloons, gathers delegation members and everyone enters the tent rejoicing in birthday songs and joy.
This sweet boy, unable to move his body, puts on his face the widest smile I have ever seen.
As if for a few moments the fighting does not exist.
As if for a few moments the disease does not exist either.
His father cries excitedly, his mother has a hard time maintaining restraint.
And of all the medicine in the world, all I take with me from today is this moment.
A moment of respite and happiness in an impossible situation.
Friday, March 25th
16:15.
After two days without alarms, this morning we received a respectable dose from them.
In one of the alarms we went down just to help make Shabbat challah.
There's something on a Friday afternoon.
In this silence, in the lighting of the candles, in the transition from the intensity of the week to the sanctity of the Sabbath.
And on this special Saturday night, in a dining room in a basement in Ukraine, we spent 60 delegation members together around a huge Shabbat table.
23:00.
Shortly after the meal I am called to check on a 10 month old baby.
I go down to the pediatric hospital room, and discover three senior doctors there, including a deputy hospital director and five nurses in intensive care and emergency medicine - all around one crying baby.
We do all the possible tests for her, including an ultrasound for urgent conditions of the abdomen, and diagnose a very dangerous emergency - "constipation".
This is how we find ourselves, nine emergency medical staff members, sitting around a tiny baby until after midnight, waiting impatiently for departure.
On the weight "How many people does it take to replace a light bulb?"
So "How many doctors and nurses does Schneider need for one baby to be vacated?"
Saturday, March 26th
09:00.
Last night I made a mistake.
I grumbled that I did not see enough cases of urgent medicine.
There is no question at all between medical staffs: one must not say "how calm here today" or "what a quiet shift."
But I steamed, and in honor of my steam two children arrive in a difficult condition this morning.
One, a year and a half old, was run over by a vehicle traveling backwards and screaming in pain.
The other, seven-month-old Danilo, arrives wrapped in a huge coat, and just by peeking at his face I realize he's probably the sickest kid seen here.
This little one, his parents say, has been "weak" for two months now.
Their regular pediatrician fled the country because of the war, and meanwhile the baby started panting while breastfeeding, stopped rolling over and slept most of the day.
"Pale as lime" is an understatement compared to this kid's color.
He just dripped into my hands.
The baby Danilo, having been transferred to Poland.
"The hallucinatory state",
After a quick laboratory examination and clarification it turns out that he has severe anemia, and he should get a dose of blood as soon as possible, and in a careful and slow manner.
It is clear to us that he needs to be transferred to a large center for treatment, and we are arranging for him to be transferred to a hospital in Lvov, to the hematology department.
We're even talking to the doctor there about a plan for further clarification.
But when we return enthusiastically to tell the parents, an alarm goes off.
Three missiles fall in Lvov.
Parents are afraid to travel.
This is how we find ourselves in a delusional situation, where a child needs urgent medical treatment but in order to give it to him - he needs to be put into a war zone.
Which is more dangerous - not giving blood, or giving blood and life threatening due to the bomb?
Flying to Israel in an unstable condition is also unsafe, and because of the alarms ambulances cannot arrive and evacuate him.
We'm stuck.
21:00.
Thanks to the alarms, a window of opportunity has been created.
Dr. Michael Segal, a pediatric surgeon from Schneider, manages to arrange a suitable place of hospitalization in Poland, and even an ambulance of volunteers who will take the baby and his parents to the border. Michael is originally from Ukraine, and has managed to create a lot of connections here to help patients.
Although this solution forces the father of the family to separate from his wife and son, because men of conscription age are not allowed to leave Ukraine, we decide to give the child the care in the safest place for him.
And so, towards 22:00 at night, a volunteer ambulance emerges and evacuates the little one and his mother.
We end the day with hugs from the father, and great concern for the well-being of the family.
Monday, March 28th
12:00.
Today they are flocking to us in droves.
Dozens of children with prolonged chronic problems, with unsupervised follow-ups, with a sea of documents that even for those who know Ukrainian are difficult to decipher.
I want to be a better doctor for them.
I want to study cardiology, and nephrology, and hematology and neurology.
I want to learn to do a whole heart echo and a formal kidney sonar.
And we try to do the best we know.
And it takes hours, and it still feels not enough.
But they come out so happy, satisfied, grateful.
A mother who comes with a baby for an examination after a skull fracture, tells us that the girl is frightened by any noise, and that she herself is terribly anxious about the situation.
I do an ultrasound for her for a quick diagnosis, and show her that the fracture is healing well without the need for further follow-up.
We arrange for her to have a zoom conversation with a language-speaking psychologist who gives her guidance and calms her down.
When she comes out, she kisses our hands and cries.
I want to stay with her, hug her a little.
Sometimes I feel like some of them come just for this listening.
19:00.
When I finally get to look at the phone, I get a message from Danilo's mother, the baby we moved to Poland.
She updates me that he has received a dose of blood, and sends me the results of the clarification they did to him and the treatment they started giving him.
She ends with the sentence "Thank you for caring, you are our angel", and my heart melts.
Tuesday, March 29th
We got into a kind of out-of-routine.
Ticks matters, works efficiently.
They all combine forces, getting 50-30 children a day with a variety of acute and chronic problems.
Sometimes they come for a "general examination," or in free translation "attention," and sometimes we discover medical problems that have not been answered until now.
12:00.
Matvey, a sweet boy with Down Syndrome, arrives for a heart echo follow-up that went wrong.
I did a quick ultrasound of him live with cardiologist Dr. Alex Leventhal of Schneider, who is in Israel. This live collaboration is amazing professionally, but the human part is even more exciting, and this sweet kid keeps rolling with laughter throughout the test. I make him faces Funny, and he never stops laughing and with him the whole tent.In these minutes the connection with him and his mother is so exciting, that it fills us with incredible energy for the rest of the day.
4:00 pm.
A few hours after the laughter therapy we went through, Taisia arrives, a 7-year-old girl with a swelling in her knee from which she has been suffering for several months.
We go through the tests she did in Ukraine, consult with Prof. Gil Amerilio, a pediatric rheumatologist from Schneider, who is in Israel, and give her a diagnosis and guidance for further treatment by injecting steroids into the joint.
Everything seems pretty routine, until her mother asks us in tears: "What, no need to amputate her leg ?!".
Thus it becomes clear to us that this is the diagnosis they received from one of the local doctors, and they have been living in anxiety for many months.
This fear was finally released, and she did not stop crying.
Taisia gets a shot in the knee.
"What did the job was a video on the phone and a hug from the nurse engine,"
Wednesday, March 30th
Last night I was disabled.
In all the last two years, in which I was exposed to corona patients one after the other, and even did the resuscitation for Corona children, I did not get infected.
My son was positive and I slept with him hugged in bed, and nothing.
But here I snatched her big time: a whole night of vomiting, and in the morning I could not lift myself.
It's not exactly a five star hotel, there are almost no toilets (pit toilets, remember?), And to vomit you have to go down two floors.
Tough to be sick in a place that is not home.
And this corona is not a sucker.
I, who used to take paracetamol and go to work as usual, not only could not get to my feet, I could not even open a bottle of water.
Luckily, I have my second family here, the delegation of angels who came with me.
Yaron and Yosefit, a brother and sister from Schneider, put on 95-N masks and within a minute they came to put me on an infusion and give me fluids.
I received deliveries from the dining room, and even the bottle of water they left me open, that I would not have to move.
A wonderful connection is formed here that cannot be described in words, which we have earned for a lifetime.
And it will be a great great gift when we return to the land.
4:30 p.m.
Insomnia.
I roll over from side to side and try to figure out if it's because of Corona's severe vertebral pain, or bothersome dreams.
It's probably a not-so-fun combination of the two.
Going through all the people I know who have not recovered since they were in Corona - physically and respiratory - and thoughts of "Will it hurt me in the long run? Will I get back to myself?" Creep into me.
Going to get rid of them with Optalgin and try to go back to sleep.
Thursday, March 31st
08:00.
It turns out that Optalgin is a panacea.
I manage to get to my feet, put on a mask and get back to work - knowing that I am positive, with proper protection, so as not to infect others.
In the country, when a staff member is positive, he is sent to a five-day solitary confinement at home.
But here, staff members who have been infected move to an isolation compound at the school, but get up every morning, put on a 95-N mask and a protective mirror, and treat patients as usual.
11:30.
We transfer to a group from Sweden that we met by chance in a rotation area in the hospital.
Suddenly you start to smell the end.
Instead of being within the experience, one sees it for a moment in retrospect, in the experience of parting.
And I'll get a little sour-sweet.
Seeing this wonderful place, which functions like a hospital for everything, the so special human fabric of a bunch of people who were strangers to each other, landed into a mission in the middle of nowhere and became a cohesive team.
One who stops to take care of each other, who consults and shares and experiences together the good and the bad and the annoying and the exciting in all this madness.
I want to go into the tents of the other teams a few more times, get to know them, see them work some more.
Learn from them.
But most of all I want to preserve this experience of cohesive togetherness, when everyone's families are far away and there is a lot of longing, and you can only lean on each other.
Members of the Schneider delegation.
Right: Yaron Fox, Yosefit Moshe, Dr. Michael Segal, Ina Barium, Dr. Eran Moshiach, Noa Resmet, Miri Hillel, Dr. Keren Shachar-Nissan and Dr. Omer Niv, Photo: Spokeswoman for the Schneider Center for Pediatrics
Friday, April 1st
14:00.
Taisia's mother, the girl with the knee infection, arrives with a bag from the pharmacy containing the medicine that needs to be injected into her daughter's joint.
Brother Yaron helps me get organized with a suitable place and a sterile field, we apply an ointment that soothes the injection site, and give it a sedative with nasal spray.
An entire team prepares to hold Taisia's leg so she does not move, but what he did at the end of the job is a video on his cell phone and a hug from an engine, a nurse from LRD Schneider. We invite them to return the next day for an inspection, before we return home, to Israel.
Saturday, April 2nd
12:00.
Taisia and her mother arrive for review.
Dimitrio, a Ukrainian medical student who works with us here every day, helps and translates, accompanies me for the physical examination.
"The knee is not hot at all anymore!"
He exclaims in amazement.
Taisia's mother happily tells us that this morning was the first time her daughter woke up painless.
She takes out of the bag paintings that Thaisia had made for each of us.
On my painting is written "I love doctors" and a rainbow and shields of David are painted.
I do not think there is one dry eye in the tent.
19:00.
The evening is packed with farewell ceremonies and equipment packing.
The mayor and the school principal say goodbye to us with moving words and gifts.
The Ukrainian flag, signed by each member of the delegation, was hung on a central wall in the school, a souvenir of the brave friendships formed.
Everyone is eager to see the house already, but also a little sad to say goodbye.
We spend time together until the wee hours of the night, enjoying the last moments together in this wonderful connection between people who until very recently were complete strangers.
Dr. Keren Shachar-Nissan and patient. "There is one chance with children,"
Sunday, April 3rd.
Return to Israel
07:00 in the morning.
From the window there was a white white view of a little pile of snow, adorning the hospital in honor of our departure.
Longing for home mixes with a pinch of farewell from this special thing that has arisen here, and the two together bring tears to my eyes.
That is, the journey is over.
I think it will take some more time before I start internalizing it, breaking it down into factors, digesting.
המשלחת החדשה מגיעה מלאת מוטיבציה וחדורת אנרגיה. אנחנו עושים להם סיבוב קטן במקום, ויוצאים. מעבר הגבול לצד של פולין מסמל רשמית את סוף המסע. חזרנו לעולם שלא נמצא יותר במלחמה.
אני לוקחת איתי בתיק את הציורים שקיבלנו מהילדים לאות תודה, ובלב את המקום הזה, באמצע שום מקום, שבו יצרנו חלקה של אנושיות וחמלה, חיבור אנושי, נקי ואוהב - אחד עם השני, ושלנו עם המטופלים. לעולם תישאר אצלי התחושה שלא משנה איפה, לא משנה ההיסטוריה, ולא משנה באילו תנאים - בכל מקום עלי אדמות אפשר לייצר אהבה.
ביה"ח ההומניטרי: חדרי מיון, מחלקות אשפוז וציוד מתקדם
בית החולים ההומניטרי "כוכב מאיר" שהוקם בעיר מוסצ'יסקה שבמערב אוקראינה כלל 15 אוהלי ענק, שבהם הוקמו חדרי מיון, חדר לידה ומחלקות אשפוז פנימיות, ילדים ונשים. בין הציוד שנשלח היו מכשירי רנטגן, אולטרה־סאונד נייד, ציוד מעבדה, ו"הולולנס" - משקפיים מיוחדים שדרכם ניתן לתקשר עם מומחי רפואה בארץ.
The hospital was sent by the Prime Minister's Office in collaboration with the Ministries of Health and Foreign Affairs, and was based on the logistical and medical interface of Sheba Hospital.
The treatment of the children was led by members of the "Schneider" team from the Clalit group, from which nine staff members emerged - four doctors and five brothers and sisters.
During the first two weeks, about 2,500 people were treated at the hospital, including about 400 children.
The hospital is slated to stay in Ukraine until the end of the month, and last week a third delegation of medical staff arrived.
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