16 stories of gestures small and large, whose warmth lingers long afterward

My Best Medicine

L.S.

MY son was diagnosed with diabetes two months before his bar mitzvah. I’d noticed he looked different, but wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t until my mother came over on a Thursday for my daughter’s graduation and said, “Why does he look so gaunt?” that it hit me that he’d lost a lot of weight.

During the seudah that Friday night, I saw that he was eating a huge amount and drinking everything in sight. Alarm bells started to go off in my head, but they were faint. On Shabbos morning, I went to check on him, and it immediately struck me how skinny he was. There were three empty bottles of vitamin water on his nightstand that he’d drunk in the middle of the night, and he could barely lift his head off the pillow. As I was going down the stairs, he got up and told me he was starving. When I told him to come down and eat something, he answered that he didn’t think he could make it down the stairs. When I heard him say that, everything fell into place. This time I actually heard the alarms going off in my head!

This wasn’t diabetes, was it?

If so, this was a medical emergency.

I ran to a neighbor who’d recently joined Hatzalah, and he gave me a glucose monitor. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the number 391 as long as I live. After becoming hysterical for a few minutes, I calmed down enough to join my son in the ambulance.

We were taken to a hospital not far from our house. By the time we got there, his glucose level was 440! My son was very quickly diagnosed with diabetes. Because of the high levels of certain chemicals in his blood, we were sent to the pediatric intensive care unit. I remember a doctor coming in, asking me if I had any questions. I was feeling immense despair and replied, “About fifty thousand but I’ll ask them as soon as I can talk without crying.” Getting this diagnosis felt like the most terrible thing that could happen to us.

All that changed the next day when a frum doctor walked in and very gently pulled out his insulin pump from his pocket, showing us that he, too, has diabetes. That wasn’t something he needed to do to help my son heal physically. He chose to share something so personal with us because he knew it would give us the boost we so badly needed.

It was at that moment that I realized this wasn’t the beginning of the end. It was the beginning of my family and my son growing into stronger, better people because of his health challenge.

Today, over a year and half later, my son is a healthy, smart 15-year-old with a caring heart and a wonderful sense of humor. And a lot of the credit goes to a doctor who showed me that it’s okay to be vulnerable if it will help another Yid.

Cold and Warm

M.M., Chicago

It was a frigid morning two years ago. With my hair and makeup freshly done in preparation for a day of teaching, the wind fiercely blowing, and my fingers ice cold, I started to scrape snow off my frozen car.

This was the last thing I wanted to be doing at eight o’clock in the morning on a busy street, as men filed past me on their way home from Shacharis. Somehow, it was this job, which feels uniquely masculine, that fiercely reminded me I wasn’t yet at the stage I wanted to be in.

A minute or two into scraping my windshield, a car scooted up right behind me and Rabbi G., a well-known doctor in our community, jumped out. He looked me in the eye, smiled gently, and said, “Here, hand me the stick; you shouldn’t be doing this job.” Then, without taking no for an answer, he took the stick, told me to go into my car so I could stay warm, and got to work. The snow flew in his face like stardust as I watched this angel from around the corner in utter awe.

When he was done, he waved me off, wished me a good day, and jumped back into his car to head to his patients. I sat there for a moment, tearing up, before I, too, drove off to my classroom.

I promised never to let this feeling of being so seen melt away.

And on all versions of icy lonely days, I go back to feel the day of the cold, cold air and a warm, warm heart.