My older brother visited me in September a year after I was discharged. His visit coincided with the celebration of the High Holidays, or the Days of Awe, Yamim Noraim. So, my brother offered to push me to the Synagogue to Yom Kippur services, Kol Nidre. I used to attend every year before my injury because they are meaningful to me: my parents would take my older brother and me when we were young, and the music is beautiful – even more beautiful when sung by Ellen.
When we were getting ready to go, I got upset. My brother asked me why I was upset, and I answered that I wanted to wear nice clothes (just as we would do in Argentina for the Jewish holidays) and I had to wear my pajamas. My brother said he would find nice clothes for me. He brought a nice pair of pants and a silk sweater, and he helped me change. I went to the synagogue wearing them and felt good.
Time went by after September, 2019. Many friends visited; many friends invited us. We went to parties and had parties. We went to dinners and celebrations. I learned that nobody cared about how I looked or what I was wearing: they were happy to see me because they thought they would never see me again. And I slowly got used to wearing the same I wear all the time. I didn’t make myself up. I didn’t wear jewelry – putting it on with one hand is difficult and I would have to take it off before sleeping. Same thing with make-up, with the addition that I would have to take it off on my bed, far away from a sink, which means without water. So, I stopped caring about what I wore or about wearing make-up, or about my hair, or about my wrinkles. I shed all influences of Argentinean culture.
Now that the past is past, I ask myself, in the (very unlikely) event that I could walk and climb the stairs again and could wear skirts and dresses (how I miss wearing sundresses!) and could wear make-up – if I could use the left hand, but somewhat clumsily – and take it off in the bathroom, would I still care about looks? And the answer is, I don’t know. My condition has taught me one thing over the years: that the most important thing in a relationship – whether friendship, companionship, or simply friendliness – is not how we look, but how we feel toward each other – the feeling of affection and gratefulness, and the need to reciprocate. I don’t know if I would go back to caring about how I look, maybe I would – I think I would. But lessons learned stay in our memory.
When we were getting ready to go, I got upset. My brother asked me why I was upset, and I answered that I wanted to wear nice clothes (just as we would do in Argentina for the Jewish holidays) and I had to wear my pajamas. My brother said he would find nice clothes for me. He brought a nice pair of pants and a silk sweater, and he helped me change. I went to the synagogue wearing them and felt good.
Time went by after September, 2019. Many friends visited; many friends invited us. We went to parties and had parties. We went to dinners and celebrations. I learned that nobody cared about how I looked or what I was wearing: they were happy to see me because they thought they would never see me again. And I slowly got used to wearing the same I wear all the time. I didn’t make myself up. I didn’t wear jewelry – putting it on with one hand is difficult and I would have to take it off before sleeping. Same thing with make-up, with the addition that I would have to take it off on my bed, far away from a sink, which means without water. So, I stopped caring about what I wore or about wearing make-up, or about my hair, or about my wrinkles. I shed all influences of Argentinean culture.
Now that the past is past, I ask myself, in the (very unlikely) event that I could walk and climb the stairs again and could wear skirts and dresses (how I miss wearing sundresses!) and could wear make-up – if I could use the left hand, but somewhat clumsily – and take it off in the bathroom, would I still care about looks? And the answer is, I don’t know. My condition has taught me one thing over the years: that the most important thing in a relationship – whether friendship, companionship, or simply friendliness – is not how we look, but how we feel toward each other – the feeling of affection and gratefulness, and the need to reciprocate. I don’t know if I would go back to caring about how I look, maybe I would – I think I would. But lessons learned stay in our memory.
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