The Spiritual Roto-Rooter

Last week, I had the privilege to spend a few hours in Hell, less commonly known as the Millard Emergency Room at Shaarei Tzedek Hospital in Jerusalem. It’s true. I saw the flashing sign above the entrance as the paramedics rolled me in on the germ-infested gurney. “Welcome to Gehinnom (otherwise known as the Millard Emergency Room)!” it read.

How was I so fortunate to end up there?

Well, since it was summer, I figured I deserved a little vacation myself. So I invited a horrible, nasty, 30 bathroom runs-per-hour stomach virus for three days of fun in my insides. I figured it was my next best option, since the Ritz Carlton in Herzliya was fully booked. In retrospect, maybe I was a bit too desperate for some time off.

After the first two days of torturous body pain, fever, and nearly suffocating in a bedroom with no ventilation, the third day rolled around ever so leisurely. By then, most of the body pain had gone, but my insides were still screaming in agony. I could literally hear them. My husband pressured me into calling the doctor. I was too weak to protest. I called him and told him the story, with only one agenda in mind: that he would give me something strong for the pain.

He said sure, but I would have to come in. The trap was set, but I just didn’t know it yet. After examining me, and with the understanding that one of my kids also had the same bug (but thank God not as severe as me,) he decided to floor me with: “You need to go to the emergency room for a surgical consult. We need to rule out appendicitis.”

 “Doctor, are you on drugs?” I wanted to ask him. “We doctors have a policy of jumping to the worst conclusion in order to rule it out,” he told me. I thought I detected a slight combination of smugness and “I’d better cover my bases” malpractice-related paranoia. I wanted to respond that I had a policy of not ignoring the elephant in the room, and calling it what it is- a nasty, nasty virus. Again, I was too weak to protest. I let him stick me with an IV and some painkiller that didn’t do a thing. After the IV was finished, he told the nurse to call the ambulance.

I couldn’t believe it. I felt like I had woken up in a nightmare. I had been to that particular emergency room once, and it was horrible. Now I would have to do it again. “Hashem, what are You doing to me?” I wondered, feeling nothing but sorry for myself. Lucky for me, my ambulance escorts were Mario Andretti and two high school teenyboppers that didn’t have a clue what they were doing. That ambulance ride will always be fondly remembered as the rollercoaster from hell.

As soon as they wheeled me in, I got a prime location in a dark, garishly lit hallway, right up against the wall. Emergency rooms here aren’t fancy like the ones in Miami. I would imagine they’re more like the ones in Detroit, but with potentially less gunshot victims. Potentially.

After a few minutes, Mario and the teenyboppers left me. I was all alone in a terribly overcrowded room of people suffering ailments of all types. In the middle of the mass suffering was the Israeli cast of “ER,” a group of young, carefree, overly flirtatious doctors and nurses. As I surveyed the chaos, a heavy feeling of helplessness overcame me. I was stuck, imprisoned, and had nowhere to escape to. It was very scary.

I tried my hardest to thank Hashem during my unrelenting agony, but I barely managed to get in a good “thank You” here and there, in between my bouts of crying, self-pity, and running to the infested bathroom with my IV bag slung over my shoulder. No joke. To be honest, I understood intellectually that Hashem put me here for a good reason. I even found several very good reasons for having required Him to give me the Roto-rooter; a serious deep cleaning. But, nonetheless, I was still in self-pity mode. I was definitely not happy about being in this terrible situation.

The only bright spot during my stay in Hell was that I spotted the same nurse who helped me when I was there the time before. Miraculously, I remembered his name and called him over. “Levy,” I cried, “Hook me up with some morphine, STAT!” He was more than happy to oblige. As I lay back in relief and felt my eyelids closing, I realized that protectzia (having the right connections) is freakin’ awesome.

Fast forward, like, eight hours. I finally got out of The Pit of Hell and was back home, back in my beloved bedroom with its suffocating lack of ventilation (even with the windows open and the fan on.) I knew that it was a severe judgment I was going through, but I wanted more answers. I wanted to know why it wasn’t enough for me to be so terribly sick, and why I had to be stuck in that horrid emergency room.

So, the next day, when I actually started to feel slightly human again, I opened up Rav Arush’s The Garden of Healing and began searching for clues and answers. What I read amazed me. First, he writes that Rebbe Nachman says intestinal pain means a person is being judged severely. Thanks, already got that. Second, he writes that exile serves an atonement for sins. Furthermore, being in a hospital is considered a form of exile. Well, A-MEN to that!

 “Baby girl!” Hashem was trying to tell me, “I’m cleaning you up from all your garbage! And, I’m cleaning your slate as well! The least you can do is say, ‘Thank You!’” “Praise da Lord!” I enthusiastically responded.

If you’re going through a health challenge, I deeply feel for you. There are few more difficult challenges than suffering from ill health. However, you don’t have to suffer in vain. Actually, doing so would defeat the entire purpose of your health issue.

“It’s all good” doesn’t have to be just a superficial and esoteric mantra. Internalizing this understanding makes going through health (and any) challenges much more bearable.

For the sake of your happiness, you sanity, and the feeling that you still have a reason for living, please order yourself The Garden of Healing, STAT. If you have a friend of a loved one that is going through health challenges, give them this book as an invaluable gift. Help them realize that there is good to be found in their suffering. Help them develop a stronger connection with Hashem. And that is something we all so desperately need.