No Country for Sick (Wo)Men

The past few days I've been suffering from what can only be called Israelitis. I'm not sure what it is. It's probably a stomach virus, though the doctor I visited didn't think it was anything more than "digestive troubles." Yet last night, after a week of minor suffering, I came down with a low-grade fever and chills. It felt like my body was falling apart. I hate getting fevers. They're terrifying.

So, I elected to stay home from school yesterday and only stayed in class one hour today to take my Hebrew test. Which, all things considered, went fairly well. I've been resting and dousing myself with fluids, but I still feel disconnected and slightly out of it. I miss being around all my classmates but don't want to get them sick, too. So, here I am, alone in the apartment, trying to get well. Adam is out with a friend from his Birthright trip. Though I miss having him here to take care of me, the kid deserves some fun times out in this city!

Yesterday's visit to the health center was oh-so-blogworthy. It started with my nearly getting lost on the way to the doctor. I was told the Wolfson Medical Center in the Wolfson Towers would be easy to find. I followed the directions and arrived at the building ten minutes after leaving my apartment. Yet I was confused to discover two apartment building towers in front of me, and no information on "medical" or "health" anywhere. There was a big blue-silver-art-looking-building contraption between them, but that thing had no apparent entrance. So I walked around and around, walked upstairs and downstairs, and finally, totally frustrated, found the path to the security guard who informed me in horrible English that Wolfson was on the third floor of the blue-silver-art-looking-building.

Turns out, we were on the 7th floor (ground level) and I had to descend to the third floor to seek medical attention. So I did.

I think Wolfson is a part of a greater program called Family Health Practice or something, because there were several different reception desks in the area. I walked up to the one with four young conservatively-dressed women working behind the counter because it looked the most... sanitary. I didn't even notice the four artsy signs above the desk designating it as "Wolfson Medical." One of the women took my name and insurance information and asked me to wait. So I did.

After about fifteen minutes, a doctor whose name I still can't pronounce took a quick look at me. Originally American, he made aliyah eight years ago and became a partner in this health practice. He was nice, religious, and had a kind way about him. Yet I don't completely trust his diagnosis, and I have to wait a few more days to see if the medicine he gave me really does the trick.

After the visit, I was told to head downstairs to the pharmacy (floor 2) where they would make a copy of my perscription and give me the medicine, which was already included in my co-pay. However, when I arrived the rather unhelpful woman assured me that, no way did they have a xerox machine, I certainly did not understand the doctor, I had to go back upstairs to make the copy myself (both copies go to the pharmacy, mind you) and that it would be a 17 shekel charge for the medicine.

At this point, I was just so annoyed with the whole thing. I tried to give the pharmacy woman a bit of attitude (or, a bit of Israeli-ness) but to no avail. She wouldn't even give me my prescription until she had her two copies. So, I headed back upstairs to make the copy, then back downstairs to get the medicine. Then I got back in an elevator, headed to the 7th floor, somehow found my way back to the main road, and walked home.

Even for an English-speaking health clinic that deals primarily with tourists and students, it was a typically Israeli visit if I ever had one. There was so little interest in my personal situation. There was no polish, no finesse, no comfort. Confusion, misinterpretation, language barriers, and me being given a hard time. This place made Cowell Health Center at UC Davis look like a five-star health retreat resort center! Still, it was exactly what I expected. And I think I may have to go back tomorrow morning for a second opinion. Lovely.

I have concluded from this nonsense that is within all our best interests to just not get sick here in Israel. This is obviously impossible. However, I feel I have to step up my already overeager sense of health paranoia in order to avoid further health issues.

Unfortunately, this country doesn't take food cleanliness or sanitation as seriously as I would like. It would make my father absolutely cringe to see how food is handled here; in restaurants (casual and fancy) and especially in the shuk. Not to mention the lack of thought put into aesthetics; food is simply given to you, and you eat it, and it's done, and you're full. There's no show, no riffraff, it's just served, straight up. And if the plate's dirty, nobody cares. It's unnerving.

And it's not just the food! The other night a huge group of HUCsters ventured to the Malcha Mall movie theater to see The Dark Knight. (Which was very good and VERY intense) The floor of the theater was disgusting and dirty. It was sticky and smelly, covered in popcorn and soda droppings from Hashem knows when. And the women's bathroom at the theater was positively vile. I can't even think about it without feeling sick to my stomach. Then again, I am a bit under the weather.

Again, this is just the Israeli way. This land fought over for thousands of years is treated in places like a garbage heap. Why? No one really knows. Adam mentioned something a bit disturbing a few days ago; maybe their thought is, it might get destroyed anyway, so why keep it clean? I personally think it's linked to Israeli's lack of patience, or the fact that they just don't want to invest the time in something so trivial when there are much bigger problems going on. Either way, some places are just plain gross.

Despite all these complaints, my random observations about life in Israel have furthered my insight onto all the different ways this country is so unique. These experiences, good and bad, all deepen my understanding of this culture and how it functions. That is the purpose of this year, so in a strange small way I am grateful. I get to see the dirty underbelly of living here, not as a tourist, not as an olim hadasha, (aliyah-maker) but as a one-year resident with an apartment, a lease, and a purpose.

Missing all of you back home, hoping the LA crowd is recovering from the earthquake.

Lots of love,
Jaclyn