My eldest grandson, Dvir, was born in the "Schneider" hospital exactly 20 years ago.
It was Thursday before noon. My daughter was urgently sent to the hospital, after the treating doctor diagnosed "preeclampsia". Five minutes after Shabbat ended, my daughter Liat entered the delivery room (week 26!) for fear of damage to the liver. And so we had a premature baby by caesarean section, weighing 769 grams.
Difficult days have passed for the family and especially for the young parents who have their first born son. In the first days they "ran" prematurely. The doctor's answers obviously did not calm the severity of their concern. "As of this moment, he is fine" said the doctor and continued "what will happen in an hour, I cannot say".
Life went on hour by hour and day by day. Each passing day added a few grams to Peg. Each passing week added to the strength of the tiny little body. After 3-4 weeks the tension started to decrease. The visits were shared between the parents, grandparents.
One day I walk in the hallway leading to the maternity ward and see my daughter. "Liat", I asked, "where are you going?" "Feed him", she replies. "Feed him"? I asked myself. I followed her. She put on a robe and went into labor. I can't see clearly what she is doing and what the nurse next to her is doing. She comes out and I ask "how did you feed him"? "Under the guidance of the nurse, I connected one thin tube to another," she says with a slight smile of happiness on her face, "and that's how I fed him."