That Kind of Person
When my husband Tuli went out to do some shopping about a month after our wedding I did not dream it would be the last time I would see him walking normally.
On his way to the supermarket a car hit him resulting in multiple internal injuries and a permanent limp.
I was a naive young newlywed but my naiveté? was quickly replaced with way too much knowledge about hospitals and surgeries and rehab and trauma therapy.
Much as I would have liked to have a normal life and a family — which the doctors said would be impossible because of the accident — I never seriously considered ending the marriage. I couldn’t in good conscience abandon the person who had stood beside me under the chuppah as he pledged to honor and provide for me. If Hashem had handed me this nisayon I wasn’t going to run away from it. Apparently I told myself my tafkid in this world was to care for my husband not to raise children.
I was in college at the time studying to become an accountant while working as a teacher during the day. But Tuli’s condition made it impossible for me to put in enough hours studying for the arduous CPA exams. I had to do literally everything in the house in addition to accompanying Tuli to various appointments.
It was with no small measure of disappointment that I dropped out of college. But I told myself again that this obviously wasn’t what Hashem had in mind for me. I spoke at length to a few mentors and also went for professional counseling to help me come to terms with my new situation.
I showered my students with extra attention and warmth seeing them as the closest I would ever get to having children. Sometimes as I watched the girls scamper around the yard during recess I would surreptitiously wipe away a tear. I could never share this pain with Tuli though. His own pain was so great that it left no space for mine.
At times when I felt I couldn’t handle my situation I would go speak to a rebbetzin I was close do. “What you’re going through is hard” she would tell me. “Very hard.” Just hearing that made the burden seem a little lighter.
Eventually I discovered that no matter how difficult the situation seemed at any given point there was always a better day on the horizon. Even if nothing changed a new day or a new week somehow had the power to bring with it a new perspective a new set of hopeful thoughts. I could be standing in the grocery feeling doleful that I would always have to be the one to do the shopping when someone would walk by and give me a friendly greeting and suddenly the world would look brighter. Learning to ride the waves of the feelings that came along with my situation instead of being engulfed by them allowed me to keep going day after day regardless of how Tuli was feeling.
The accident left Tuli with chronic pain that came and went. When he wasn’t feeling well he was grumpy and irritable. I tried hard to help him preparing him herbal teas buying him special cushions and bringing him books and magazines to read but his physical symptoms made it impossible to carry on meaningful conversation. Even when he was feeling relatively well he was miserable. “I have no life ” he would cry to me. “No kids no job no hope.”
In any disagreement the deciding factor was always his condition. If I wanted to go somewhere and he didn’t he would say he wasn’t feeling well and then I couldn’t go. If he wanted to go somewhere and I didn’t he would say he wasn’t feeling well and then I had to go with him. How do you argue with a person with a disability?
After the accident Tuli had been prescribed pain medication to take as needed. Strong stuff prescription only. In the beginning he would take it sparingly only when he was in severe pain. If he was in moderate pain he would try Tylenol or Advil first. As time went on however I found myself in the pharmacy picking up the prescription painkillers more and more often. I couldn’t say for sure but it seemed to me that Tuli was taking the meds even when he wasn’t in such terrible pain just to lift his mood.
“You’ve been going through a lot of painkillers lately” I commented one day when he handed me his most recent prescription and asked me to go to the pharmacy for yet another refill.
“That’s because I’m in a lot of pain!” he retorted.
I looked at the date on the prescription. It didn’t make sense to me that he could possibly have gone through so much medication in so little time but I decided not to make an issue about it and went to fill the prescription. But when Tuli asked me to get him another refill just two weeks later I realized that something was wrong.
Excerpted from Mishpacha Magazine. To view full version, SUBSCRIBE FOR FREE or LOG IN.
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