They withdrew our lifeline just when we were drowning

Shifra: I feel terrible to turn you away, but we can’t run an organization without strict policies.

Chayala: My children really deserve to be pampered a bit. They also need to eat supper. Is that too much to ask for?

Chayala

Heshy was on the phone with the doctor again.

“Tomorrow? What time?” He jotted some notes down on the back of a receipt. “Okay. I appreciate that. Thank you.”

I gave him a questioning look. He sighed.

“They’re… some test results weren’t great. They want to do another scan tomorrow. Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry? Ha.

I gave a shadow of a smile. It was nice that he was still trying to protect me.

“What time is the appointment?”

“Morning.” Heshy sighed; I knew what he was thinking. He’d been in for treatment the day before; he wasn’t feeling great today, and now tomorrow he’d be back in the hospital for more scans, more testing, more appointments.

More hours of waiting on hard plastic chairs in cold waiting rooms.

His diagnosis had simply put an end to regular life — a normal schedule, work, learning, family events. “Being sick is a full-time job,” Heshy had quipped to me once. It wasn’t really funny, but if we wouldn’t turn to black humor to make us laugh, I’d be crying.

At least the prognosis was hopeful. And I was busy, far too busy, to sit and worry. But things were hard. Really, really hard. Heshy wouldn’t let me take time off to sit in the hospital with him; I had my job, the kids, the house to take care of. And while my parents and siblings who lived nearby were rallying around, he was right: I didn’t have a spare second to breathe.

And now, much as I just wanted to sit and schmooze, or at least hear more about what the doctor had said, how he was feeling, what we could do… I had to go to work.

I made myself a coffee and put on a jacket. “Can I get you anything on my way home?” I offered.

He looked so down. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Before, Heshy had left the house at the crack of dawn. Shacharis, learning, a quick breakfast, and then off to work. Now, I’d taken on more hours at my job while he was barely working.

We needed the money. But it emphasized the shift in dynamics, and it made a hard situation even harder.

I tried not to complain to Heshy. I knew how badly he wished he was the one going to work, doing all of this, taking care of the money so I could take care of the kids, the house, my part-time job. I knew that however hard it was for me that he was sick, it was much harder to be sick. But it was hard not to complain.

My work hours had doubled, and Heshy didn’t have much energy to help at home, either. The kids were anxious and not acting themselves, and I was stretching myself in a million directions to be there for them, talk to teachers, take care of everything, while running a work-shopping-laundry marathon. I hadn’t touched the stove in weeks; thank goodness my family was stepping in, and yes, we were having far too much takeout.

But quite frankly, I was close to falling apart.