I grew up in Israel to a father who was born prior to Israel’s independence, has fought in 6 wars and has seen things. One of his military roles was being a medic. So when I grew up and got hurt everything was dismissed with a brush of the hand and a saying – “by the time you get married, this will pass”.
My dad was also the ambulance driver in our tiny village and hospitals were only in a matter of extreme emergency.
Like that time when I was around 6 or 7 years old and me and a friend decided to chew and swallow pumpkin seeds. A piece of a cracked pumpkin seed got stuck in my throat, interfering with my breathing. Honestly, I don’t remember feeling bad, but my dad hurried me to the ambulance and rushed me to the hospital. I spent a few days there unable to eat the candy that my grandma brought me (oh, the torture!).
The general notion in our house was – give the body some time, and it’ll take care of itself.
And then I went to a boarding school in Jerusalem and made a few forever friends (yes, we’re still friends to this day), and found out that my friend’s dad died because of a doctor’s mistake.