Beautifully Me

My wedding day was the first time I looked into the mirror without flinching. “Nechamie, you’re beautiful,” my new husband Pinchas said. I almost believed him. But that night, after the reception, the glamour faded away. I took out the hair pins and the black curls cascading against the shining tiara, fell in haphazard messiness around my narrow face. The beauty melted away in stages, as I washed off each layer of meticulously applied makeup. The smooth clear skin, thick luxuriant eyelashes, gently blushing cheeks, and rich red smile, was torn away. My ordinary face with its bright red spots littering my skin, small deep set brown eyes, scraggly eyebrows and long narrow nose lay exposed.

I turned away from the mirror. I was ugly. I could temporarily hide behind a mask of makeup, pretending that one day I would finally reach a universal standard of beauty. Or I could accept reality and make the best of it. My husband had somehow seen beyond the plainness of my looks into the depths of my soul and I would have to learn to do the same.

Truth be told, I had avoided mirrors since childhood. I wasn’t skinny enough, tall enough, pretty enough. When I went to social events, I would watch all the people standing around, smiles on their beautifully made up faces. Happy couples would stand in all corners of the social hall, joy and love of life radiating from their glowing faces. Only I was alone. Only I was stuck in a body I couldn’t stand, with a face I hated to look at.

Here among the Hassidim where I grew up, the soul received a lot of attention. The body was important only as a setting for the precious diamond of the soul. But the beauty of the soul wasn’t enough for me. Of course I wanted to be respected for intelligence, competence and depth. But I also wanted to be beautiful.

It took an excruciating headache, trip to the emergency room, and anaphylactic allergic reaction to change my worldview.

“You have a urinary tract infection,” the doctor informed me, as I lay prone on the narrow leather table in the emergency room cubicle. “I think that the agonizing headaches you’ve been experiencing, the stiffness in the neck and back, and viral symptoms are all stemming from this infection.”

I sighed with relief. My primary care physician had suspected meningitis and sent me to Beth Israel Hospital for a spinal tap. I could handle an infection though. That was something easily cured.

As the nurse left the room after setting up the flow of antibiotics, she casually added as an afterthought. “Sometimes people have a small reaction to the antibiotics. Just let us know if you do.”

“What kind of reaction?” I asked worriedly.

“Oh, it’s no big deal,” she responded. “Just a little itching.”

I leaned back against the hard leather table and tried to get some rest. The steady drip of the antibiotic reassured me. The pain racking my body for the past 36 hours would soon be gone.

“Everything’s going to be ok,” I whispered to Pinchas. He squeezed my hand tightly. “Thank G-d, it’s not meningitis. I was so worried.”

But then I started to feel a strange sensation in my lower lip. It felt dry and acidic. Seconds later it began to swell.

“Pinchas, notice anything different about my lip?” I turned to him anxiously.

“Looks normal to me,” he said. But a minute later, his eyes widened in shock.

“Your face…it’s blowing up…” he said as he ran out of the room to call a doctor.

The doctor quickly shut off the offending medication.

“Guess you’re allergic to Cipro,” he said. “The nurse will give you Benadryl. I’ll be around if you need me.”

As the nurse gave me Benadryl, I suddenly felt something in my throat close. It was if a valve in my throat had suddenly shut. I bolted upright and began coughing violently trying to get air into my throat. Pinchas jumped when he saw me sit up so suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. I tried to tell him but I could not get the words out. I clutched my throat tightly, and the words screamed in my head, “Help me, I can’t breathe!”

Summoned by the nurse, the doctor came running. I was gasping for breath, and my throat was swelling rapidly, completely cutting off oxygen.

“Hold tight,” the doctor said. “Calm down and try to breathe. I’ll give you epinephrine and oxygen.”

I pushed his arm off from mine, kicking and flailing desperately at the doctor, heaving and gasping for breath.

The epinephrine worked almost immediately. My heart started racing and I shook uncontrollably, but with the oxygen mask on, I could breathe tiny small breaths.

When I stumbled into the bathroom an hour later and saw a mirror for the first time, I was stunned. I bore more resemblance to an alien then a human. My lips protruded out several inches, my narrow nose had thickened and my cheeks ballooned out, pushing against my eyes, making them into slits. My face had a vacant, glazed look to it, with discolored patches of red skin on my cheeks and chin. I turned away from the mirror repulsed.

“Oh honey,” the nurse said when she came by, “you look so much better. Your face was completely mottled before and now it looks worlds better.”

. “Thanks,” I smiled wanly, “that makes me feel real good.”

I turned to my husband weeping. “Pinchas, how can you stand to look at me? I look scary and horribly ugly.”

He gazed seriously into my eyes. “Nechamie, I love you just the way you are. So your face got swollen. It is still the beautiful face of the wife that I love.”

Although the doctor reassured me that my face should return to normal within 24 hours, every time I saw a mirror I anxiously peered inside, looking and hoping for a return to normalcy. I felt guilty for being so concerned about my looks when I had just survived a near fatal allergic reaction. But I couldn’t stop myself from caring. I was afraid of looking like a monster forever.

I wanted only one thing. I wanted my own familiar face back. I didn’t want to see a caricature of my face staring back at me. I wanted to see the face that had been mine for the 25 years of my life. I wanted to see the face that was beautiful in the eyes of my husband and adored by my little son.

Slowly the swelling receded. My small sculpted chin appeared first. The fat lip which extended and puffed out diminished to an evenly shaped lip and my face resumed its oval shape with finely protruding cheekbones. My eyes which had been swelled shut, began to resume their natural almond shape, and lost their squinting bleary look.

I stared at myself in wonder. What a nice face, I thought. Even… could it be…pretty? I had never noticed my small delicately shaped lips, because my teeth weren’t perfect. I had seen only the narrowness of my eyes without ever noticing the rich hazel color, and long thick eyelashes. My focus on my flaccid stomach had not allowed me to appreciate my slender build. But now I stared and stared.

The face and body that was mine wasn’t perfect. But it had appeal. For the first time in my life, I was now able to appreciate both diamond and setting.