Baby-girl Nili was born on November 2nd in the Ihilov Hospital in TelAviv, a few days ahead of the scheduled C-section.
First, there was her name selection, and it was not easy. Feeling loyal to all the cultures and languages we come from and speak, we wanted a Hebrew name that sounds pleasant in English and Russian. Moshe and the kids insisted on the name to start with "N" like Naor and Nadia. Kids didn't want the name to remind them of anyone they don't like. Grandparents had to approve the name. And with a short last name like ours we needed the first name to have at least two syllables. The beautiful Hebrew name "Noga" was out of the question because Noga with emphasis on "a" means a leg in Russian. Another name we really liked - Naomi - was ruled out as it is pronounced with a different emphasis in English and Hebrew and we decided to spare the correction work from our daughter. You see, it is miracle we came up with a name at all and managed to maintain peace in the family.
Second, there was delivery. Ihilov hospital is one of the largest hospitals in Israel, it does 11,000 births each year. Exactly like with our American-born kids, Nili decided to break the waters a few days of the scheduled C-section. The admittance and surgery went quite similarly to the US hospitals. However, the majority of the doctors were men while in the Brigham and Mt Auburn hospitals in Boston they were women. I felt like a raw chicken spread on a small cutting board. The only thing that kept my dignity was the professional pedicure and manicure that I managed to squeeze the day before.
The baby was doing great and well-taken care off. But my post-operation recovery was difficult. While in the US we got spoiled with a private patient rooms featuring big bed for the patient, convertible chair-couch for the partner, flat screen TV on the wall, food service delivered to your bed, nurses and doctors visiting every few hours and over-medication for pain, Israeli hospital offered nothing close. A few hours after the surgery I was wheeled into a tiny room that already had two miserable patients. When Moshe complained, nurse offered to place my bed in the hallway. The room didn't have any place to bring baby bassinet so I couldn't see our daughter before I could walk all the way to the newborn room (15 hours after the surgery). I had to take some medicine with the food but had nowhere to place a plate of food other than on my freshly sewed belly. Moshe ended up going to work because while I was under morphine and happy with anything, he was awake for over 30 hours, exhausted, angry and only had two-by-two foot of space to stand next to me while other patients squeezed by in the universally terrible flower gowns.
Looking back at the whole hospital experience I realize that in Israel the whole birth recovery is centered only around a child while in the US it is a mom and a child. An obstetrician in the hospital told me that in Israel we do not treat childbirth as a sickness and therefore do not wrap moms with as much care as the newborns that are still unprepared for this life. I wonder if she knew that US insurance companies indeed classify childbirth as a long-term disability.
The kids are all right, the moms are not. Newborns get brand names: Pumpers and Huggies diapers, wipes and Dr Fisher creams while moms are offered only the cheapest pads. And moms are the ones who bleed. Baby nurses are patient, polite and cheerful. Moms' nurses are tired, angry and rough. On the 3rd day my daughter asked to look at my C-section cut and we were both shocked to realize that I have staples. How come no one mentioned this to me before?
It seems that in the US there is a trend toward overmedication for the mom. I was advised to take Percocet and, if I recollect well, up to 4 Tyleonols every 4 hours. Doctor explained to me that recovery after a C-section is difficult and I should use painkillers to make myself comfortable so that I can concentrate on the baby and breastfeeding. In Israel doctors refused to give me Percocet and anything stronger than 1 gram of Optalgin, for which I had to walk all the way to the nursery and beg for every 4 hours. By the way, Optalgin, which is so popular here, is apparently not approved by the FDA due to some potential side-effects.
Throughout my stay in the Ihilov hospital I felt that I am under-performing according to doctors and nurses expectations: feeling weak, not recovering fast enough, complaining about the pain, forgetting to clean the cut. Not tough enough for this culture. Post-surgery time is never easy, but somehow in the US I was treated as a super star that accomplished something - created a new life and deserve a good rest, assistance in walking, bathing, food delivered to the bed and medical care. This whole experience reminded me of the opinion my daughter offers when someone asks her to compare school in Israel to the schools in the US. She answers: "In the US we were treated as kids. Here they treat us like adults - the tone of voice, the demands, the language." Perhaps we were spoiled in the US and here Israeli reality managed to create tougher human beings who in childhood do not cry in response to a strict teacher's voice and as adults can dismiss the pain even in a weak and sleepless state.
Lastly, there was a sweet homecoming. Baby Nili got 3 pages worth of instructions on how to be taken care of, I got 3 lines. No instructions on when I can drive, have sex, exercise, stop bleeding, expect to be done with the pain. But we were finally home, surrounded by love and support of our families and friends. Kids made fliers and inflated balloons, the house was full of flowers and presents. Naor was the first to announce on the internet that he got a cute little sister. He also surprised us by voluntarily lowering the volume of a football game when Nili was in his lap. Nadia told me: "Mommy, thank you for making something so beautiful." However, both of them also complained that their lives got more hectic with the new creature, all her equipment and grandparents in the house.
My mom did come to help us in the US for a few weeks when each of the older kids was born, but now it was very different. We were wrapped in family help from all the sides. Grandmothers brought us loads of food and help with laundry; relatives took turn driving Naor to swim practices while I still couldn't drive; my father moved to stay with us and cuddles Nili while I am catching up on sleep or trying to keep up with all the errands; he built us a co-sleeper and taught us all funny card games that we all play into the night laughing so hard that my staples almost burst. There is always someone who takes kids to school and picks them up. There are piles of baby clothes and baby equipment from our siblings, and advices on how to clean her tush and eyes, whether I should take some Iron supplement or chicken liver. We are happy and relaxed. We are at home.
First, there was her name selection, and it was not easy. Feeling loyal to all the cultures and languages we come from and speak, we wanted a Hebrew name that sounds pleasant in English and Russian. Moshe and the kids insisted on the name to start with "N" like Naor and Nadia. Kids didn't want the name to remind them of anyone they don't like. Grandparents had to approve the name. And with a short last name like ours we needed the first name to have at least two syllables. The beautiful Hebrew name "Noga" was out of the question because Noga with emphasis on "a" means a leg in Russian. Another name we really liked - Naomi - was ruled out as it is pronounced with a different emphasis in English and Hebrew and we decided to spare the correction work from our daughter. You see, it is miracle we came up with a name at all and managed to maintain peace in the family.
Second, there was delivery. Ihilov hospital is one of the largest hospitals in Israel, it does 11,000 births each year. Exactly like with our American-born kids, Nili decided to break the waters a few days of the scheduled C-section. The admittance and surgery went quite similarly to the US hospitals. However, the majority of the doctors were men while in the Brigham and Mt Auburn hospitals in Boston they were women. I felt like a raw chicken spread on a small cutting board. The only thing that kept my dignity was the professional pedicure and manicure that I managed to squeeze the day before.
The baby was doing great and well-taken care off. But my post-operation recovery was difficult. While in the US we got spoiled with a private patient rooms featuring big bed for the patient, convertible chair-couch for the partner, flat screen TV on the wall, food service delivered to your bed, nurses and doctors visiting every few hours and over-medication for pain, Israeli hospital offered nothing close. A few hours after the surgery I was wheeled into a tiny room that already had two miserable patients. When Moshe complained, nurse offered to place my bed in the hallway. The room didn't have any place to bring baby bassinet so I couldn't see our daughter before I could walk all the way to the newborn room (15 hours after the surgery). I had to take some medicine with the food but had nowhere to place a plate of food other than on my freshly sewed belly. Moshe ended up going to work because while I was under morphine and happy with anything, he was awake for over 30 hours, exhausted, angry and only had two-by-two foot of space to stand next to me while other patients squeezed by in the universally terrible flower gowns.
Looking back at the whole hospital experience I realize that in Israel the whole birth recovery is centered only around a child while in the US it is a mom and a child. An obstetrician in the hospital told me that in Israel we do not treat childbirth as a sickness and therefore do not wrap moms with as much care as the newborns that are still unprepared for this life. I wonder if she knew that US insurance companies indeed classify childbirth as a long-term disability.
The kids are all right, the moms are not. Newborns get brand names: Pumpers and Huggies diapers, wipes and Dr Fisher creams while moms are offered only the cheapest pads. And moms are the ones who bleed. Baby nurses are patient, polite and cheerful. Moms' nurses are tired, angry and rough. On the 3rd day my daughter asked to look at my C-section cut and we were both shocked to realize that I have staples. How come no one mentioned this to me before?
It seems that in the US there is a trend toward overmedication for the mom. I was advised to take Percocet and, if I recollect well, up to 4 Tyleonols every 4 hours. Doctor explained to me that recovery after a C-section is difficult and I should use painkillers to make myself comfortable so that I can concentrate on the baby and breastfeeding. In Israel doctors refused to give me Percocet and anything stronger than 1 gram of Optalgin, for which I had to walk all the way to the nursery and beg for every 4 hours. By the way, Optalgin, which is so popular here, is apparently not approved by the FDA due to some potential side-effects.
Throughout my stay in the Ihilov hospital I felt that I am under-performing according to doctors and nurses expectations: feeling weak, not recovering fast enough, complaining about the pain, forgetting to clean the cut. Not tough enough for this culture. Post-surgery time is never easy, but somehow in the US I was treated as a super star that accomplished something - created a new life and deserve a good rest, assistance in walking, bathing, food delivered to the bed and medical care. This whole experience reminded me of the opinion my daughter offers when someone asks her to compare school in Israel to the schools in the US. She answers: "In the US we were treated as kids. Here they treat us like adults - the tone of voice, the demands, the language." Perhaps we were spoiled in the US and here Israeli reality managed to create tougher human beings who in childhood do not cry in response to a strict teacher's voice and as adults can dismiss the pain even in a weak and sleepless state.
Lastly, there was a sweet homecoming. Baby Nili got 3 pages worth of instructions on how to be taken care of, I got 3 lines. No instructions on when I can drive, have sex, exercise, stop bleeding, expect to be done with the pain. But we were finally home, surrounded by love and support of our families and friends. Kids made fliers and inflated balloons, the house was full of flowers and presents. Naor was the first to announce on the internet that he got a cute little sister. He also surprised us by voluntarily lowering the volume of a football game when Nili was in his lap. Nadia told me: "Mommy, thank you for making something so beautiful." However, both of them also complained that their lives got more hectic with the new creature, all her equipment and grandparents in the house.
My mom did come to help us in the US for a few weeks when each of the older kids was born, but now it was very different. We were wrapped in family help from all the sides. Grandmothers brought us loads of food and help with laundry; relatives took turn driving Naor to swim practices while I still couldn't drive; my father moved to stay with us and cuddles Nili while I am catching up on sleep or trying to keep up with all the errands; he built us a co-sleeper and taught us all funny card games that we all play into the night laughing so hard that my staples almost burst. There is always someone who takes kids to school and picks them up. There are piles of baby clothes and baby equipment from our siblings, and advices on how to clean her tush and eyes, whether I should take some Iron supplement or chicken liver. We are happy and relaxed. We are at home.
