Director Tzvika Vloch’s first visit to the hospital ended up on the floor. That was 30 years ago, in the United States, when a friend of his became ill and he volunteered to take her to the emergency room. “The nurse said she needed blood tests and added that if it would be too difficult for me to watch, it would be better if I waited outside. I was really insulted. Me, an ex-armored corps soldier, afraid of the sight of blood?I remained in the room and the minute I saw the first drop of blood, I collapsed and all the medical equipment around me dropped to the floor with me. Who would have thought that 20 years later I would enter an operating room of my own free will, with a camera, and contrary to all expectations, not faint?”
Fact. Ten years ago, when he returned to Israel for a visit, Vloch’s father was hospitalized at the Sheba Medical Center. “I realized that my presence in the hospital was helping my father and was creating a new intimacy between us”, he said. “When I was able to leave his bedside and walk down the halls and peek into the nearby rooms, I felt like a boy who had sneaked inside a huge toy store or candy store. I instantly identified the creative possibilities of this scene. Later, I got up my courage and said out loud that I would like to do a documentary series. It would be a kind of Israeli “E.R.”, but a real one, unscripted, where I would have no idea of what would happen to the patient. Even the doctors can’t predict
if a particular case will have a happy or sad ending.”
Vloch never returned to the States. Over the next eight years, camera on his shoulder, he walked around the different wards, operating rooms, waiting areas and treatment centers in four different hospitals in Israel and Cyprus, documenting seven patients who were fighting for their lives. He was drawn into his heroes’ worlds and devoted all his time to them, weekends and holidays as well, not knowing if he would ever find a buyer for the documentary series, whose name, “True Moments”, already echoed in his head.
A Surprising Change in the Plot
Fifty one year-old Vloch’s story took a surprising turn when he himself developed lymphoma and contrary to the plan, went from being an observer to a case study.He moved from his usual spot behind the camera to facing it. “I couldn’t hold the camera”, he says, almost apologetically. “It was too heavy. While undergoing chemotherapy, I couldn’t even hold a cup of coffee.”
That was four years ago. Vloch began to complain of night sweats and feeling weak during the filming. His family doctor diagnosed mononucleosis and told him he would get better in time. But after some time had passed and he didn’t feel better, Vloch began to worry. When he awoke one morning with a choking feeling in his throat, he thought he just needed antibiotics. After a quick glance, the doctor immediately sent him to the hospital.
“I asked him if it was cancer and he replied, ‘I’m not sure, it may only be an infection’, so I went along with infection”, Vloch recalls. “Why should I think it was cancer?
At Tel Hashomer, they took a biopsy from my neck using a local anesthetic and I could hear the doctors talking. When I asked, they explained that if malignant, the growth would be rigid and sticky. At the end of the procedure the doctor said,“I’m sorry it took so long but it was very sticky.” Then I knew it wasn’t an infection. The next day I was sent to the hematology department and the doctor began with ‘it’s not good news.’ My life changed forever.”
What was your reaction to the diagnosis?
“As if I had been given a death sentence. I heard encouraging sentences like ‘Don’t lose hope’, but on a whole, they didn’t think my chances were too good. I was hit with a very aggressive type of lymphoma and it had metastasized throughout my body. But at a certain point I decided I would give it my all and fight back. I told myself I had never won a lottery and maybe this time I would be lucky. The stories I had captured on film made it clear to me that in order to overcome cancer it wasn’t enough to receive good medical care. I needed luck too, a lot of luck".
“I hadn’t planned on making myself the eighth hero of the film but that’s what happened. After my first treatment when they had explained to me that within two weeks my waist-long hair would fall out, I decided to get a haircut. We made it a family rite and my nephew filmed it.
“Later when I realized I would become a part of the series, thoughts of camera angles made me feel better. On the days when atomic bombs were shot into my body these thoughts helped me maintain my sanity and gave me a reason to live.”
His sister, Zahava Shilon, married to Yigal Shilon, began pressuring to find a bone marrow donor, “but I preferred to wait. What was the rush? I wanted to go with a self- bone marrow transplant treatment. After the chemotherapy, they took three biopsies. The third one was negative so they removed stem cells and after freezing them, returned them to my body. This is thought to be the optimal scenario. I obviously won’t reject myself.”
Did you consider the possibility that you wouldn’t live to see this episode air?
“Of course. I was clear-headed and realistic. I said to myself that if I survive, I will see it and if I see that my condition is deteriorating then I will leave a letter with editing instructions.”
“There is always Hope”
The seventh and final episode of “True Moments” filmed, produced and directed by Tzvika Vloch, will air tonight on Channel One and will answer all questions.Vloch’s father, one of the series eight protagonists, is no longer alive. The Angel of Death has claimed another one of the heroes but Vloch asked that he remain unnamed in order to maintain the suspense. It may not be nice to admit but these episodes win hands down over all reality shows. Even though difficult to watch, they are moving and fascinating and leave the viewer wanting more.
And there is more. Vloch remainsin touch with the patients who recovered and with their families who shared their most painful and frightening moments with him. He also continues to go to the hospital for regular 3-month check ups.
“The anxiety is there”, he says, especially before every examination. Now I asked to reschedule my check-up until after the series is finished. Western medicine has determined a five-year remission period to mean you are healthy, but prior to my bone marrow transplant they told me that my type of cancer has a tendency to come back. I’m not afraid of dying but I don’t want to suffer and I don’t believe in prolonging life when the suffering is terrible and when you know it’s not going anywhere. That is why I try to repress it and to continue editing, filming and creating. That’s my weapon. That’s what helps me survive.
Vloch developed his survival mechanism at an early age. As the son of Holocaust survivors who were sickly, he made a point of steering clear of doctors. “I felt there was no need for me to go there because it made me feel uncomfortable and didn’t suit my character”, he says.
He received an 8 mm. camera when in high school and began making 3-minute films. After completing his army service, unable to fit in at his father’s metalworks plant, he flew to Europe. From there he continued to Los Angeles and New York where he shot promotion films for cattle ranches. In time he made a name for himself as a documentary filmmaker. But when he was allowed to bring his camera into the ShebaMedicalCenter he realized that real life filmed better than any imagined or written script.
Do you remember the first operation you filmed?
“How could I forget it? It was a bypass surgery. I was told I had to keep a certain distance from the sterile areas. They checked where the camera would fall if I passed out. Luckily, an experienced nurse stood next to me and kept an eye on me. She said, ‘Take a deep breath, sit down.’ At first, the smell almost killed me. But I got over it. You get used to it. One can get used to even worse things.
How did you choose your subjects?
“I don’t think I chose them. I would run into someone with whom I connected, I would film and go with the flow. The boy, Mendy, was admitted into the ICU after receiving a serious head injury. His parents were torn between his treatment and caring for his five siblings who were home alone. The girl, Natalie, arrived from Cyprus with serious convulsions and when her father called me in the middle of the Rosh Hashana holiday meal and said he wanted to go to a church in East Jerusalem, I didn’t think twice, and left the dinner table. I was totally committed. I felt I had to do it. What could I say to him after he had let me in his life so deeply?
That I was busy filming an ad or a wedding?
Why in fact did these families open their doors and their hearts to you? Were they looking for a lasting memory?
“No, they saw in me another person who was joining their struggle in the never-ending road to recovery.
You spent eight years in hospitals with a camera on your shoulder. Wasn’t it depressing?
“No. When I, myself, became ill, I didn’t get depressed because there is always hope. But the hardest thing for me, as a creator and a person, was my inability to go home and describe what I was experiencing. It’s different on TV when a drama is presented within a set period of time, accompanied by music. On a daily basis, my environment was unable to listen to what I was doing. Quite a few people said I was crazy.
Did you cry?
“Yes. A lot. When? For example, when Natalie’s brother and sister arrived from Cyprus and saw her hooked up to all the tubes, they were afraid to go near her. I felt their tears and my tears. I couldn’t take my eye away from the viewfinder. I continued shooting. When I cry I realize that the viewers will cry too.
And this was your goal, to make the viewers cry?
“Not at all. I don’t get up in the morning and leave the house with the desire to make people sad, but I do want to move them. There is no greater joy than someone undergoing a successful heart or lung transplant. And when it fails, it is very sad and raises thoughts and questions. It’s not just another film that will be forgotten tomorrow.”
How did you manage financially with such a long-term project?
“I lived frugally. I’ve never started a film with a contract and a budget, just with an inner passion”.
After spending eight years in the field, how do you feel about doctors?
“They’re only human. I don’t need a doctor to be nice and he doesn’t have to wipe my nose. However, I do expect him to take his work very seriously, and I didn’t find this with everyone. I saw doctors who were very sad. After a death, I filmed the medical staff attending two funerals and I was deeply moved.”
And are all the nurses angels in white?
“No. Some only do exactly what is expected of them, which is very important and wonderful. Then there are others who develop a relationship with the patients. My long stay in hospital taught me that the patient’s family can and must help the nurses. Ideally, every patient should have his own nurse. Since we are a long way from that, there is no reason for the patient to have to ring for the nurse to bring him a bedpan. For example, I didn’t merely bring my father a bedpan, I would go into the bathroom with him. I was afraid this would feel awkward, for parents are used to cleaning their children’s poo and the reverse is unpleasant. But I left the bathroom with a positive attitude.
“Family members who sit at the patient’s bedside can also help the nurses and the staff by providing honest and exact information and the patient must make an effort too. It isn’t good for him to lie in bed like a lump and wait for the Angel of Death. Do something, chase him away by not acting ill.”
“I Felt Less Ill”
Vloch tried to adopt this last bit of advice himself. “When they finished my biopsy and admitted me to the internal medicine ward,
there wasn’t an empty room so they put me in the corridor. That way I saw everyone who came and went. I directed traffic and every morning I would give the Department Head my report. This made me feel less ill and helpless.”
And there was black humor too. One macabre moment, Vloch is seen sucking deeply on a cigarette, a vice he has yet to overcome. He cynically says to the camera, “What’s the worst that can happen to me? I’ll get cancer?”
Did your experience as a documentary filmmaker help you?
“Very much. First of all I was familiar with the hospital, all its departments and corridors. It’s a big, frightening place and one can easily get lost. In addition, I learned that it is important to ask questions about possible side effects so as not to panic when they occur. I now know how to get medical information and medical advice.But apart from that, I was like any other patient lying in bed, looking up at the doctor. Dependency and need are horrible feelings.”
Tell the truth, when you entered the hospital to film, were you afraid of catching something?
“No. Now I’m dying to make a film on how to become a millionaire.
Maybe the money will stick to me.”
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