Last summer, my then 94-year old father-in-law was gallivanting around Europe with one of his sons. He had always wanted to visit the towns that bore his last name. One was in Germany, one in Czechoslovakia. And he did so. And he was having the time of his life, that is, until one morning while staying in a little inn in Poland, he couldn't lift his head off the pillow. His body wasn't working. An ambulance was summoned and Zaidy was rushed to the small, nearby hospital. He had suffered a stroke.
I'll spare you the terror that went through our minds when we received the phone call. It was bad enough that Zaidy was deathly ill in a foreign country, but this was in the very same country that turned over his whole family to the Germans back in 1943 so they could be transferred to the concentration camps in cattle cars never to be seen again...his parents, grandparents, sister, 9 brothers, their spouses, and children. As a young adult, Zaidy was out of town when it happened.
But now this Holocaust survivor was at the mercy of the Polish doctors to save his life. What a paradoxical situation to be in. What an enigma he must have seemed to them. Trust me. They probably had never seen a Jewish patient in that hospital before, let alone a near-centenarian who survived World War II! He sure got their attention! Zaidy was the talk of the entire hospital, the entire town. And call it collective guilt or old-fashioned medical professionalism, they saved his life.
After a week or so, Zaidy was transferred to a major hospital in Germany to further his recovery and receive physical therapy. He speaks German as well as Polish and though his speech may have been slurred, he could still communicate very well with the staff. Much to our tremendous relief, Zaidy got superb care there too.
Amazingly, although incontinent and unable to walk, our barely 110 pound Zaidy boarded a jet a few weeks later and made the transatlantic flight... ...back to the States and the American health care system. Taken to the ER immediately upon arrival, Kaiser Permanente relinquished him directly to a rehab facility in which he was allowed a maximum stay of 21 days or so. That is, as long as he was showing improvement. Otherwise, we were informed, he'd be discharged sooner.
The day after Zaidy's admission, I arrived to work bright and early for our monthly staff meeting. In addition to our clinic practice, we also visit 60 facilities throughout the city. I looked around the table. I think there were 9 or 10 doctors and nurse practitioners that day. What did they think of this particular care center that Zaidy was in? "Was it good?, I asked, hopefully.
Dead silence. Nobody said a word. They all just starred at me.
Finally, Candy, one of the Nurse Practioners answered. "The truth is," she said, "you never want one of your family members to go to one of those places, if you can possibly avoid it, especially THAT one. But if you have to do it, remember, it's up to the family to make sure that the family member gets the care he needs. They need to be all over it!
Long story, short...in that rehab facility, my family became omnipresent!
And Zaidy got the care he needed. Excellent care, in fact.
And after 21 days or so, he went home back to his condo, albeit fragile and weak.
It was difficult. Lots of physical therapy. Lots of effort and determination on his part. It wasn't long however before Zaidy celebrated his 95th birthday. Soon he was walking again without a discernible limp and cooking in the kitchen. He renewed his driver's license. He was playing golf again.
And just recently, with some amazing tutelage from his eldest grandson, Zaidy started using a computer again. He signed up for high-speed Internet and registered an email address. Now we can hardly break him away from UTube where he watches his favorite Yiddish videos.
What a guy. Yasher Koach, Zaidy!
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