Reflections regarding Monday March 24, 2025 in Hoi An, Vietnam
We took our first morning in Hoi An very slowly. For the first time since leaving Israel, we were able to reinstitute the routine we had perfected in Prague and then again in Israel. While the boys slept in, I carefully recreated our sticky note chore chart and schedule and posted it on the living room wall.
As a teacher, I knew that no matter how long it had been, the many weeks and months we’d spent building this routine meant the boys would fall back into it quickly. Sure enough, it only took a day. A perfect reminder of what teachers always say: the routines built in the first six weeks of school truly matter.
After reviewing expectations and easing into a delayed start to schoolwork, we finally left the house around 2:00PM to hang out at the beach. On the way, we bought a ball for less than a dollar so the boys would have something to play with. We aimed for Au Ban Bang Beach but never made it. The boys were too excited to play and stopped in front of a fancy resort instead. The resort happened to have lifeguards on duty who, possibly assuming we were guests, stood by every time the boys went into the water.
The boys had a grand time jumping in the waves, playing soccer, cartwheeling into waves, and throwing mud in the water as if they could fend off the next wave. I pretended to exercise while keeping an eye on them – some arm circles, a few stretches, and then I called it a day.
At one point, I noticed Eitan checking his knee repeatedly. The lifeguard right next to him wasn’t looking at him so I assumed it wasn’t serious. Suddenly, Eitan bolted toward me. He was calm, almost preemptively managing my anxiety.
“Um, Ima. I think I’m fine. I mean, I am fine, but you should look at my knee. It’s fine. But I’m not sure what happened.”
Blood was running down his leg from a deep one-inch laceration across his knee. This was no Band-Aid job. The skin was gaping and blood was pooling fast. The word “stitches” immediately popped into my head.
Calmly, I walked over to the lifeguard and called him to come look at Eitan’s knee while telling the other boys they needed to exit the water. The lifeguard took a quick look and called his colleague to bring a first aid kit. In the meantime, I called my parents (both doctors and who I knew would be awake) for guidance. The lifeguards didn’t speak English, and using the translator app was too slow. I needed to know: Did we really have to go to the hospital? And if so, what questions should I ask?
This was our first hospital visit for an injury – which, frankly, feels miraculous for a family with four energetic boys. Back home in Maryland, we live next door to my sister who is a pediatrician. She’s always my first phone call when I don’t know how to handle something. When she’s not available, there are two other pediatricians on her street who graciously stepped in over the years. Up until now, superglue had fixed everything from chin cuts to head gashes. But this time, my parents and I worried that there might be debris in the wound. Gluing it shut risked infection, especially without much to sterilize the wound and surrounding area properly.
The lifeguards poured on iodine. They wrapped Eitan’s knee in thick gauze and then covered it with an ace bandage for good measure. It did little to keep the blood from soaking through. Then they said the word I’d been dreading: “hospital.” I called Chaim to see if he was on his way home from work or could meet us. I didn’t want to bring three wet, sandy kids into a hospital if I didn’t have to. Eitan was bleeding badly enough that going home first to clean up, wasn’t an option. Thankfully, Chaim was already walking in our directions. We met up with him outside the resort, and he took the other boys home while I took Eitan to the hospital our wonderful Airbnb hostess Chuong had recommended.
Eitan handled it all like a champ—except for one thing. Needles. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, Eitan is terrified of them. He’s grown a lot in terms of pain tolerance over the course of our travels, but the mere mention of stitches sent him trembling.
At the emergency room, the doctor and I communicated through translator apps. He confirmed what I suspected: Eitan would need stitches. Our text-based communication turned out to be a good thing because Eitan was already saying he didn’t care about his cut if it meant he’d need stitches. Unfortunately for him, that was not an option.
Through a silent translated text conversation, the doctor and I agreed that Eitan would need to be sedated with laughing gas before the procedure. Of course, this bumped our bill from from $40 to $2,000. Chaim and I knew it was the right choice for this moment. Eitan overheard and immediately began apologizing for not being able to do it without anesthesia. My heart broke a little. I reminded him that his well-being came before money, and that if this is what he needed to be properly care for, then that’s what we would do.
Ninety minutes later, Eitan was wheeled toward the preparation room, still covered in sand from head to toe. He switched out of his bathing suit and into a hospital gown. As they rolled him in, he took a deep breath and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
While he was in surgery, I called Chaim to ask if he could bring clean clothes. Putting Eitan back into his sandy suit didn’t seem wise. Chaim called Chuong, who immediately offered to stay with the boys—then showed up with her own children to play with ours and make sure they ate. Her support made us feel like we had family nearby. We were so grateful.
Chaim arrived after Eitan was moved into the post-op recovery room. We sat together, watching him sleep. He looked so little. So peaceful. We marveled at how small he still is when he can act so grown up at other times.
Unfortunately, Chaim had to leave before Eitan woke up. When he finally woke up, he noticed he was much cleaner. He asked me how he got so clean, so I explained that the medical team had to clean him up. He looked at me in disbelief.
“Wait! They saw me naked?! That’s so embarrassing.”
I assured him this was completely normal and essential to ensure the wound was clean and could heal properly. He shook his head, unconvinced.
Eventually, Eitan was transferred to a private recovery room. He was adorable. So proud of his stitches and thrilled they were dissolvable stitches (he did not want anyone to remove them). When the nurse came to give him his first dose of medicine, she brought a powdered paracetamol option. I explained that he’s been swallowing pills since he was eight. It took a lot of reassurance to convince her to switch to a pill form. She was totally floored.
As we prepared to leave the hospital, Eitan asked if we could take a scooter home together. He was still a little wobbly, so I ordered a car instead. He was disappointed, but putting a wobbly boy on a scooter was not a wise choice.
We had been at the hospital for four hours. When we walked into our home, his brothers rushed over to him, full of questions and concern. They hovered over him like little mothers, so relieved to have him home.
