Fifth Pregnancy, Part 2 -- Finding the Hospital

"If I don't deliver at Holy Family Hospital, where will I have this baby?" 

Eric, a Catholic priest friend of ours, also living at the institute, had mentioned a hospital in East Jerusalem (Palestinian, not Israeli). He'd said it was good quality for lower prices than Israeli hospitals. But how to even find it? We lived on the very southern edge of metro Jerusalem, and I had no smartphone, no car. I didn't know the geography of Jerusalem yet. I'd been utterly baffled by my first attempt at taking an Israeli bus, and though I felt more comfortable on the Palestinian buses, I still needed to know what bus to take and where to get off. That information was not available on Google Maps. 

I'm not sure people who have moved overseas with the military or a mission agency have any idea how completely different and overwhelming it is to move to another country without any of that framework and support. Every one of my adult moves abroad has been very stressful (though in different ways) because of the independence of them, and in none of them have I had access to a car. 

While our move to Israel in some ways was one of the easiest, given that housing and food were provided (what a gift!!), it did have huge stressors. The biggest obstacles were language and cost. When I lived in Jordan and Nigeria, places where English was hardly spoken, taxis were a great way to get around. They were extremely affordable and I could say one word and be taken right to my final destination. In Israel, though, taxis were expensive. So I not only had to use public transportation that involved more awareness of my surroundings and more self-sufficiency, but I had to do it with multiple language barriers (Hebrew and Arabic) and without a smartphone. 

Back to the pregnancy... 

I can't remember if we asked, or if Eric offered out of the kindness of his heart, but one morning, he took time out of his own research and writing to escort Steve and me to St. Joseph Hospital. We rode one Palestinian bus together to the bus terminus at Damascus Gate, and then he showed us how to walk across the street and around the corner to another bus terminus where we got on a second bus. This one took us on windy streets I'd never seen before, through neighborhoods I didn't know, and when we disembarked at the hospital, I had no mental image of where we'd just driven and moderate doubt that I would find it again! Instead of just dropping us off, Eric went inside with us and made sure we knew how to get to the maternity ward. He introduced us to the ladies at the front desk and found a midwife to take us around the facility. 

I'm forever grateful to Eric for his kindness to us at that moment. He was the only one in Jerusalem to offer that kind of help to me. I did have neighbors who offered to watch Miriam for me if things got going at night, and I'm grateful to them too. But regarding transportation, I knew no one who offered to drive me to appointments in a car, no one who volunteered to take me to the hospital if labor started at home, no one who offered to bring us home after the birth. To be honest, while taking the buses was an added stress, I did fine with them, and practically speaking, I didn't need access to a car. It was more of the feeling it gave me, to not at least have been offered help with a car in the event I'd need it. (Much later in the year, I finally had better understanding of where the hospital was located and discovered that I could have walked there from Damascus Gate without too much difficulty. I would have gained exercise and lost some stress!)

Prenatal appointments in Jerusalem were funny things. I'd been told that births were attended by midwives, which reassured me greatly (having given birth to 3 of 4 previous babies with midwives). I'd been told that natural birth was encouraged and especially at St. Joseph, interventions were not rushed into as I knew they were in many US hospitals. But my prenatal examinations were all done by doctors. And these doctors weren't very happy to hear that I'd previously given birth to a 12 lb. 10 oz. baby -- with shoulder dystocia. When I went in for my 39-week appointment (with Josiah as a companion), I was monitored for quite a while. They didn't like my baby's heart-rate. Things improved and they let me go home, but at the next check-up they did not. 

On October 17 (my due date), I again took two buses across town, this time with Naomi and a toothbrush. They again didn't like the heart-rate and asked me to stay so they could see if they could get labor going. I called Steve and he began making arrangements. Miriam would go to the neighbor's for the night (she was already asleep when he got my call), and another neighbor would drive him and the boys to the hospital. (Steve's recurring bad back had just flared up days earlier, making him dread the thought of walking and taking buses.) We gathered together in a labor and delivery room, the five of us feeling festive at first. We finished our read-aloud ("A Country Between") and the kids played card games into the wee hours of the night. Sometime after midnight, a midwife realized the kids would appreciate sleeping a bit and brought them some pads to put on the floor. Steve tried to snooze in the only armchair. I had no hope of sleeping... [To be continued.]