“Something is not right here” said Mazal my closest friend.
I wanted to nod but I knew that if I moved my head the slightest bit it would set off another wave of excruciating pain.
“You need major surgery. Tonight.”
My first thought was — my kids. I am a single mother and at the time my eight children were all under the age of 15. It was the night of bedikas chometz and instead of staying at home with them I was driven to the hospital by my sister Ahuva. My children were shepherded off to devoted friends.
Just nine months earlier I’d felt my first stabs of pain — sharp daggers of agony that would hit the side of my face. Since then pain had become my shadow. My only respite was Tegretol an anticonvulsant medication which my doctor instructed me to take three times daily. If I missed even one the vicious pain would return in full force.
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