More than Skin Deep

Many years ago, when I was in my twenties, I woke up with one eye swollen shut. Assuming I had been bitten by a mosquito, I carried on as usual, waiting for the swelling to go down. Unfortunately it seemed to get worse as the day wore on and my little kids said I looked scary. I took an antihistamine and didn’t worry about it. I’m allergic to insect bites and was used to strong reactions.

The next day my parents came to visit, took one look at me and demanded I go immediately to the hospital. As soon as I got there I was rushed into a room to be examined. By this time my face was covered with a rash and my lips were twice the size. Plus I was nearly nine months pregnant. People gaped at me and then quickly turned away. I felt like a freak of nature.

It turned out I had severe cellulitis, a potentially dangerous condition. I had been bitten right between the eyes and the allergic reaction was spreading up towards my brain. The doctors hooked me up to intravenous antibiotics and watched me carefully. They were concerned about the effect on the baby.

For more than two weeks I laid in bed with a tube in my arm and a face I never dreamed I would see in the mirror. I worried constantly about my baby’s health.

I was humiliated by the horror of people coming into my room for the first time. One morning, a visiting neighbor entered, glanced around and left, obviously not even recognizing me. I was so embarrassed that I let her go without speaking to her.

Later, my sister came and I had to call her name before she too walked away. The doctors and nurses were conscientious but not very warm or friendly. I noticed that people wouldn’t make eye contact with me. If I walked down the hall for a little exercise I felt like a leper. People moved aside as I made my way along.

This rattled me. I was an attractive and friendly young woman and I wasn’t used to being ignored.

Luckily, I had a fantastic roommate named Mazal. She was a young Sephardi woman who spoke almost no English and although my Hebrew was quite limited, we immediately connected. She was uncommonly funny. Dramatic and uninhibited, she would sing loudly and even break dance on the floor as I laughed hysterically. It was easy to see why all the nurses loved her, she was so fun to be around. My roommate was stick skinny but had a strangely protruding stomach that I never asked her about. I was sensitive about my swollen face and pretended I didn’t notice how odd she also looked.  Sometimes in the evening, after all her guests had gone, she would give me a foot massage. She knew how much I missed my children, although she and her husband had none of their own. I felt as if I had a big sister taking care of me. She was so sweet.

Only once did I see Mazal get upset. Her husband was visiting and they began to quarrel. She was very angry and he looked miserable. I pretended to be asleep so they wouldn’t know I heard them. They spoke so fast and with such passion that I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. After a while it got quiet and I heard Mazal crying. Her husband spoke quietly to her and a few minutes later he left.

The next morning it was like nothing had happened. Mazal was her usual cheerful self and two days later I was released. I hugged and kissed her goodbye with a promise to visit after the baby was born.

Within a week my face was completely back to normal and I gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

After a few weeks, it was time for my final cellulitis checkup. I was happy to get out for a while and planned to do a little shopping after my appointment. I put on something nice, applied a little make-up and tied a new silk scarf around my head. How wonderful to be back to myself! What a pleasure to look normal (to be pretty!)

I walked into the dermatology department and headed for the nurses station. I greeted them and said my name. The two nurses stared at me in shock. “Is that you?” they asked.

“It’s me,” I confirmed. They were suddenly very friendly, whereas before I could have stood there for long minutes until they gave me their attention. I entered the doctor’s office. He was just as surprised at my appearance and was very nice, a little too nice. In a flash I realized just how much our looks determine how people treat us. I was exactly the same person I was a month ago but now I looked good and before I hadn’t.

After seeing the doctor, I went back to my old room. I was hoping Mazal had gotten better and gone home but maybe she hadn’t and I could repay her kindness with a visit and a small gift I had in my bag. She wasn’t there so I found a nurse I recognized. She too was amazed at my appearance and happy to hear that my birth had been normal and the baby just fine. But when I asked her about Mazal she got a sad look on her face.

“She died two weeks after you left.” she told me. “She was very ill.”

I was stunned. I hadn’t an inkling that she had been so sick. She had been so energetic, so funny, so kind to me! And she had been dying?

Unlike everyone else Mazal hadn’t turned away at the sight of me. She had looked right into my bloated, red face and seen a frightened, lonely woman. She had shared her food, her relatives, her time and her heart with someone whose only real problem was an allergic reaction. I was completely humbled. I forgot about shopping and headed home.

I couldn’t stop marveling at the enormity of Mazal’s goodness. And I promised myself that I would never, ever, recoil from someone with a medical condition or physical abnormality. I promised to be less self-absorbed and more giving, no matter what I was going through.

Mazal taught me the true meaning of beauty and I can tell you, it is not only “skin deep.”