"Mrs. Bicky", the African nurse assured the young woman on
the hospital bed. "There's nothin' wrong with your child!"
"But look at how he's moving! Why isn't he raising his left
arm as high as his right arm? There's something definitely
odd with my child's body movements and I, as his mother,
insist that you look into the matter!" Her voice was firm,
yet there was hysteria to be read between the lines.
The nurse raised her voice slightly. "Look 'ere lady, your
baby's body's movin' just like any other baby moves 'is
limbs!" And with an obvious look of offense, the nurse
stomped off toward the long, quiet corridor.
Bicky looked at the bare, white hospital walls for some sort
of support, yet, there was no way she would find comfort in
those cold, blank walls. Her gaze then rested on the
telephone next to her bed. She longed to lift that receiver
and dial the number to the place with which she was so
familiar. It all seemed so simple. If only there was someone
on the other end to understand her fears!
In the dimness of the hospital night, she could make out the
tiny figure of her newborn. Bicky had a strange feeling, like
the rumbling of the roof of a house before a shattering
earthquake. Something was definitely amiss. Why was her
child's left knee bent toward his right foot? Was that a
common position held by newborns? That's not what she
remembered from her first child.
She felt the panic rise all over her again. She had to let
someone know about her fears. Her hands reached out to the
red button that held the clear message "emergency use only,"
and without warning, her frightened fingers pressed that
small key to salvation.
Suddenly, lights flashed, alarms went off and many, including
a doctor and nurses came running toward the signaled room.
All the commotion woke the infant from his sleep and thus
began another round of intense noise. The nurses, hearing the
screaming, all came hovering over the baby's bed, expecting
the worst. They checked and tested him, held and soothed him,
yet could find nothing wrong with him.
The doctor on duty turned an annoyed face to the woman on the
hospital bed. "Young lady, we do not use the emergency button
to call for help for a crying baby!"
"Please, please listen to what I have to say."
"Can't you see we're all busy? If you cannot manage your own
child, we'll have a nurse teach you the basics in the
morning!" and with that said, the doctor, annoyance written
all over his face, walked out of the room and the group of
nurses marched right behind him.
There was, however, one nurse who took pity on the hysterical
mother.
"Now, now, my dear", the nurse cleared her throat. "Can I in
any way be of help?"
Bicky's sniffling faded somewhat and she looked longingly at
the nurse. After realizing the nurse's sincerity, Bicky went
on to explain how she sensed something queer going on with
her child which she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The
nurse listened.
When the mother finished expressing her fears, the nurse went
over to the newborn baby. She lifted his right foot, and then
dropped it. She lifted his left foot then dropped it as well.
The nurse then squeezed his right hand and got the results
she wanted. She squeezed his left hand.
Nothing.
She tried again. Squeeze — nothing. It can't be. She
squeezed the baby's hand one more time.
Nothing.
"Oh my!"
"What, what's going on? What's wrong with my baby?!"
The nurse pretended not to hear, and again, without any prior
warning, she pressed that tiny, red button for the second
time that night. The alarm went off. Red was flashing all
over the room. The baby's cries now reached its maximum, but
this time there were no footsteps to go along with it all.
"Where are they when we need them?" and without a minute of
hesitation, the nurse ran out the room with the baby crib.
As soon as a doctor arrived at the scene, everything went by
in a blur. It all happened so fast, the doctor and his
orders, the obeying nurses, the tests and the shocked eyes
that befell the results. The hushed silence and nervous
glances, and at last, the shattering news.
"Nooo! Handicapped? Our child? Our perfect child will be
forever labeled disabled!?" Bicky burst into tears, letting
the small droplets of water fall onto her baby's soft, rosy
cheeks.
The second child born to the Erenfeld's and all of one week
old was diagnosed with cerebral palsy with left
hemiplegea.
Bicky looked lovingly at her little Shlomo lying peacefully
in her arms, wrapped in a fuzzy, blue blanket. His deep
breathing and racing heartbeat felt like the buzzer of an
alarm clock on a crisp, chilly morning. After a long, painful
discussion with her husband, Bicky leaned over her baby, and
in a coarse, shaky voice, whispered the following frightful
words into his ears.
"My dear Shlomo, never shall anyone discover your existence!
If ever someone will know of you and the title that goes
along with you, all thoughts of ever marrying the other
children will be lost. No one wants to marry into a family
with a disabled child, especially if it might be hereditary.
Shlomo, you will forever remain a precious treasure for our
hearts only." With these words, Bicky unknowingly marked the
fateful beginning of Shlomo's life and the life of the rest
of the family.
*
Eight years later:
"Mommy, come quick, you've gotta see this! Shlomo looks soooo
funny when his eyeballs are waaaaay up hidden behind his
eyelids!" Oh no! Not again! Bicky quickly ran toward the
boys' bedroom. One look at Shlomo was enough to confirm her
fear. Seizure! Within a half an hour, the seizure was finally
over.
That night, at the supper table, Yehudis was the one to tell
her father about what happened to Shlomo that day.
"And do you know what else, Tatty? Shlomo's eyes went up like
this." Yehudis looked upwards making her pupils only half
visible behind her upper eyelid.
"That's enough, Yehudis," Mr. Erenfeld warned. "Now I don't
want to hear another word about Shlomo and his 'eyeballs.' "
The children nodded their consent to their father's words.
"Ta, Ma, can Shuly come over to our house tomorrow?" Hadas
looked from one parent to the other, watching their
expression and hoping against all odds that they would not
deny her simple request again.
"No, sweetheart," her parents answered simultaneously. "Not
tomorrow." Bicky and her husband watched their daughter's
face fall and a frown replace her hopeful face.
"But, why?" asked a despaired Hadas.
"You do know why, don't you? Shlomo is staying home tomorrow
and you know the rules of this house, 'No one is to know
about Shlomo.' " With that Mrs. Erenfeld got up and eyebrows
raised inwardly, heaved an angry, despairing sigh and stomped
off to her bedroom.
In bed that night, Hadas had a hard time coming up with a
plan as to what excuse to give to her friend Shuly. "It's not
fair", she thought. "It is so hard for me to keep up a good
relationship with my friends when I can hardly invite them
over to my house! How can I expect to keep my friends when I
always lie to them about my family?!"
She turned over to the other side and faced the wall. She
heard her mother's footsteps and saw her fleeting shadow on
the wall. She closed her eyes and said with empty hope,
"Maybe Mommy is right. Perhaps I'd have a lot less friends if
people knew the truth." And with that thought in mind, Hadas
closed her eyes and fell into a troubled sleep.
*
Six-year-old Yehudis loved going to school. First grade was
so much fun! Her teacher, Morah Denberg, always came up with
such interesting ideas for teaching letters, numbers, shapes
and colors.
"Okay children," said Morah Denberg, "we are going to play a
game called 'family numbers.' The game goes like this: one
girl at a time will come up to the front of the classroom and
say the amount of children that they have in the family and
each of their names and ages."
The teacher's voice droned on continuing the explanation of
the game. Yehudis was in a panic! "What? What will I say
about the number of children in my family? Will someone
notice that I'm lying? Oh no! Maybe I should just make myself
sick or something."
"Yehudis! I see that you are already thinking about what
you're going to say! How about being the first one? Come up
and stand in front of my desk and let's hear all about your
'family numbers.' "
Yehudis dragged her feet to the front of the classroom. She
looked at Morah Denberg, imploring with her eyes to please
save her from humiliation. However, Morah Denberg did not
notice those frightful eyes begging to be heard. Instead, she
smiled kindly, waiting for Yehudis to begin.
"Well," began Yehudis in a trembling voice, "there's Hadas
who's eleven, there's...um...well, there's me who's six, and
then there's Tzvi who's four and a half." Phew! I made it!
"And well, I guess that makes it a family of three! That's
right, we're a family of three!" Yehudis finished off,
feeling her confidence rushing back to her.
"Hmm, that means", her teacher said, raising one finger, "You
have one big sister!"
"No, no! I have another brother, and he's also big! But he's
funny. Just yesterday his eyeballs went up and...," Suddenly,
Yehudis stopped. "Oh no! What have I done?" Yehudis's heart
was pounding, she was able to hear her mother's harsh
warnings, "No one, and I repeat, no one is to know about
Shlomo. We don't tell our Morahs or our friends about Shlomo.
Does everyone understand?" the warning kept repeating itself
in young Yehudis's mind.
So busy was Yehudis moaning over her fateful words that she
failed to notice her teacher's puzzled expression.
*
Morah Denberg set Yoel's supper plate in front of him then
sat down on her own seat.
"Mommy, today in school we learned how everything was created
for a purpose. For what purpose was Benji created?" five-year-
old Yoel asked, his innocent eyes waiting for an answer.
Sitting around the table and being watched by all her little
ones, Esther Denberg had no choice but to accept the question
with grace, although she was a bit surprised to hear such a
serious question coming from the mouth of her five-year-
old.
However, her husband leaned forward to answer, before she had
a chance to formulate a reply.
"My dear, you're right. Everything Hashem created was put on
this world for a reason. Our job is to learn from everything,
just like you learned in school. Hashem created you, Yoel, so
that people can learn from you, too. For example, you are a
very sharing boy. You share your toys and books with the
whole family. That's something all of us can learn from." Mr.
Denberg made eye contact with each of his children. "Hashem
created Benji just like he created you and me. Benji has many
things we can learn from. Maybe you can tell us what they
are, Yoel."
Yoel thought and said with excitement, "Mommy always says
that Benji is always happy!"
"Great, Yoel!" his father complimented. The other children
all piped up with their own idea of what could be learnt from
Benji. Their parents smiled happily. They never regretted
their decision of being open about Benji and treating him
like the rest of the family. But at times like these, they
knew without a doubt that they had done the right thing.
"Speaking of Benji," Mrs. Denberg said to her husband as she
cleared the table, "last week, one of my students revealed to
me a hidden treasure in their family. It seems to me that the
family is hiding one of their children from the public eye. A
child like Benji."
"I don't quite get it," Mr. Denberg said. "Do you mean to say
that these special parents who were chosen to raise a special
child, are now hiding him from the public?"
"Precisely!" exclaimed Mrs. Denberg.
"Well, this sounds like a job for my wife."
"All in due time. First things first." Mrs. Denberg swept her
gaze along all of her children still sitting by the table,
cupped her hands to her mouth and said, "Bedtime! Whoever's
in bed in 15 minutes, gets a treat!"
By 9:05, the house was quiet and clean.
"Perfect," thought Mrs. Denberg, "Let me give Mrs. Erenfeld a
call."
A few blocks away, Bicky had just finished putting eight-year-
old Shlomo to bed. She was having such a hard time with him.
He needed constant supervision; since he was hardly able to
move the left side of his body, everything had to be done for
him, including feeding, dressing and bathing. To make
matters worse, her oldest one, Hadas, seemed just miserable
lately. She hardly had an appetite, and in the past two
months she wasn't invited over to any of her friends house,
which was quite out of the ordinary. Hadas was always the
social one in the family. Thinking back now, Bicky couldn't
remember the last time either Hadas or Yehudis even spoke on
the phone to their friends.
"Oh, Hashem!" she cried, "When will this all end? Why was I
chosen to be the mother of Shlomo? I don't possess the inner
strength needed to raise a child like him. Will I ever have
the trust and will, to accept Shlomo with love? I long to
share the burden with others. I am sure that there are people
who would be willing to help us out, if only we would be
strong and share our secret with them. Please Hashem, help me
and help my children! Give me the strength to get myself out
of this pit I dug. Please! We need You now more than ever."
This prayer drained Bicky and feeling exhausted, she dragged
her feet to the couch and let her head fall onto the armrest.
Within a few short minutes, Bicky was fast asleep.
Rriinnnnng! Rrriiinnng! Bicky almost jumped out of her own
skin. Grumpily she said, "Hello?"
"Hi," was the cheerful response. "Is this Bicky Erenfeld?"
"Speaking."
"This is Morah Denberg, Yehudis's teacher."
No response. "I can see you're busy, so I'll get straight to
the point. I'm calling to confirm some information I heard
from Yehudis about an older brother of hers."
Bicky's heart skipped a beat.
"What older brother are you talking about?"
"Mrs. Erenfeld. You do know that I, myself, have a special
child by the name of Benji, don't you?"
Her heart beat even faster, to the point where it was
racing.
"What has a special child to do with all this?" Bicky
retorted, feeling her blood pressure rise, "Listen, Mrs.
Denberg, I don't know what you're talking about and I
definitely know nothing of a special child. I do appreciate
your concern about my family." With that said, Bicky put the
receiver back into its place, leaving a bewildered teacher
hanging on the other end of the line.
[Final part next week]
