Calmly, I called my son. “Please tell Daddy I’ve broken my leg. You’ll need to call an ambulance”

I

thought the arrangements for our son’s chasunah, scheduled for six weeks after Succos, were all in place. My gown was purchased and hanging regally in the cupboard. The freezer was empty, waiting to be filled with sheva brachos food. Succos we planned to be in Eretz Yisrael.

Then, the day after Yom Kippur, I slipped down two stairs. My leg was askew, at an odd angle. I didn’t have to be told it was broken. Calmly, I called my son. “Please tell Daddy I’ve broken my leg. You’ll need to call an ambulance.”

I remember very little after. Hours later, I woke up in a hospital bed, my leg encased in a huge, heavy white cast. Later I learned that my leg was so badly broken that the X-rays were passed around the hospital department.