The load, the disconnection from the world and the window from which we part forever

On the minus four floor, in the parking lot of Beilinson Hospital in Petah Tikva, is the D. Corona Internal Medicine Department. The parking lot was converted into a ward in the third wave, a glance at which reveals the congestion and difficulties.

“There was a parking lot here and cars were parked here,” explains Dr. Amir Shlomai, the department’s director, who waits to exit the elevator and accompanies us on a tour of the department when everyone is wearing full protective gear. “The conversion was a huge operation in a short time. Hang monitors and oxygen dots – and everything you need for a ward that treats severe corona patients. “

Long plastic robe, nylon sheets, nylon coat, two pairs of rubber gloves on top of each other, 95N mask and goggles. This is what the defense in the frightening journey to the land of the Corona looks like. Dr. Shlomai’s face disappears behind the plastic sheets, making it difficult to identify the director of the ward where 28 patients are hospitalized. On the protective suit he pasted a picture of himself: “So that the patients know who I am. That’s the decent thing to do, and it should end there. “

Dr. Shlomai puts the double glove on a red button with a non-contact sensor, which opens a large door behind a small, sterile cubicle. After the door closes, he passes a hand over another sensor, which opens a second door. So much so that this ward is protected. “God forbid there is a leakage of contamination into the clean area,” he explains, “Welcome to the world of the corona.”

“We see difficult things here,” says Yehudit Zelig, a Corona patient from Jerusalem who is waiting for surgery. “Last night she lay next to her body. I do not know what happened – I only know that I treated her and helped her before she died.”

“I’m not afraid of the corona. I came here and found out I needed urgent surgery, so it turned out well – the corona saved my life,” says Zelig.

80-year-old Jerry Teller also shows surprising optimism despite the oxygen pipe to which he is connected. “I feel good. I want to go home, I have great-grandchildren and I love them and miss them.” Next to Teller is Yochai Nizri, the department’s physiotherapist. He encourages him to make movements with his hands, and exhale air into the tube. “It’s a treatment we do to improve lung ventilation and the patient’s ability to oxidize,” he explains.

In the bed next to lying, said Mahmoud, 75, from Kfar Qassem. He, too, is connected to an oxygen tube, and a considerable concern in his eyes. “I got a second vaccine and I had a fever. I came here last night and they told me I had corona. I call on the Arab public to get vaccinated,” he asks. Next to him works the department’s auxiliary force, Alfei Ayalo, trying to persuade him to eat.

“I was infected in Corona at the hospital,” says Aylo. “It was scary and hard mentally to go back to work and see the patients go through what I went through, but I felt I could support them. When I serve them food, I know what it is to lose their sense of taste and smell.”

Yaakov Minsky, 72, from Petah Tikva, misses home. “I came to the ward two days ago,” he says. “I had chills, my wife called an ambulance, and they found I was dehydrated. When I was hospitalized we met a guy on dialysis who said he could not put on a mask. He infected me with corona. But I was told that because I was vaccinated, I was not in a serious condition.”

Every small talk with a member of the medical staff in the ward turns in the blink of an eye into a disturbing and disturbing conversation about mortality. This is in addition to the difficult data that about a third of the corona victims since the beginning of the plague in Israel passed away in January. The death toll stands today (Tuesday) at 4,863. 1,143 critically ill patients are hospitalized in hospitals across the country, and 316 of them are resuscitated. 8,271 Israelis were diagnosed as carriers yesterday.

“We try so that the patient does not suffer, and that the separation is as human as possible,” says Dr. Dor Sheerin, a doctor in the department. There is loneliness, uncertainty, and we do not know what tomorrow will be like or what the next month will look like. Dr. Shlomai also adds: “This place has seen a lot of tragedies.”

He takes us to the “aquarium window”, where the most difficult patients, who have a few hours left, are taken to stand behind the window and say goodbye to their loved ones. “It’s a terrible sight that I do not wish on anyone,” says the doctor. “Because of the virus, the deterioration is in the blink of an eye and it is very difficult to get used to it. Even when I am at home, I can not disengage. Just a few days ago a 45 year old young man almost died at our hands and he is still fighting for his life.”

Keren Shmuel, the head nurse, hugs a nurse who is going through a moment of crisis. Both are wrapped in plastic and protective gear from head to toe and only the heartbreaking hug testifies to the humanity of the characters. “It’s very hard to see that there are a lot of deaths, these are things you don’t usually see in a regular inpatient ward. A patient’s death is never easy and there are always people who touch you a little more. Sometimes it can be someone young and after two hours the situation quickly deteriorates.”

“I do not think we are before a collapse,” admits Shmuel. “Three days ago it was very difficult, today a little better, but if we have ten more patients it will be very difficult,” says the head nurse of the ward who at the time of our visit was not fully occupied.

Two hours after we got in, breathing under the protective gear is getting harder and harder, and Dr. Shlomai wants to send one last message to all Corona deniers and vaccine opponents: “I think they should come here, and see what happens here. “There are young people here who overnight became very ill with a serious illness,” he clarifies. “There is light at the end of the tunnel, there are the vaccines and I hope we will start to see a trend of moderation.”