Back to back

Back to school.

I never really thought about that phrase before. It was an assumed rite of passage; every year going to get school supplies. Complaining about how many pencils were required to be sharpened and those ridiculous marble notebooks that were never used, or only used twice throughout the year.

While cleaning out Son #2’s “stuff,” I found so many of those notebooks with only a few pages filled out. Was it because Son #2 didn’t listen to the teacher and didn’t do the assignments or was it because the notebooks were only used for special occasions? I will never know.

This year was yet another year without the traditional back to school. Now Strudel and Danish and their sisters and even Matzo Ball go back to school, or gan, or wherever. But in my house, this time of year, the word “back” has taken on a different meaning.

Don’t twist your back, don’t bend your back, don’t lift with your back — all because of Husband #1’s back surgery. Back to school seems way more fun in hindsight at this point. When I started writing this column, I was on Day 2 of being Nurse Fuzzywuzzy, and I was not sure how much more patience I would have for my patient.

Also, since it is all about me, I am not allowed to complain about my middle-age ailments. What if I throw my back out helping Husband #1 recover? My knee has been especially raw because of the weather, or the extra weight, or because I just have a bad knee. But can I complain? No. I can’t even complain when Husband #1 doesn’t have back surgery because nobody cares anyway.

Yes, the life of a boy mom.

Yes, Husband #1 had back surgery. Apparently, it is the “little” surgery they try to see if they can avoid the “big” surgery. None of you really care about the details, so I won’t go into them further. All I will say is that our brother-in-law is a neurosurgeon and I have texted him more in the past week than I have in the past 31-plus years I have been in the family. Poor guy. I even sent him a picture of the part of the bandage that did not come off when I took off the rest of it (as per doctor’s instructions.) Because that is what everyone wants a picture of…Husband #1’s lower back with a little piece of mesh attached to it. Good times.

As I am writing this, we have passed the first week since the procedure. Today was the first day he seemed to feel a little better, but only time will tell if it worked.

I can say, with absolute certainty, that if Husband #1 had not gone into the office every day during covid, we would no longer be together. After a full week of being together 24/7, I am ready to smother him with a pillow and accept the consequences. Enough said about that.

You might think that the most important thing to Husband #1 is his wife and/or children. It is not. It is going to synagogue and praying three times a day. I kid you not. Before he had the surgery, he arranged to have services in our home. Every day. Even on Shabbos.

“Banj, you can make a cholent and we will have kiddush here on Shabbos,” Husband #1 said to me.

“Are you kidding?” I replied. “You don’t even like cholent; why am I making it?”

And because I am such a good wife, we had kiddush here after services were over.

So back to the Sunday before his surgery: Wife #1 set up tables and chairs and transformed our living/dining room into a House of Prayer. One of our neighbors lent us a Torah and read from it when needed. I put out donuts and orange juice every morning, but no one ate them.

I have to say, the men really showed up for him, and it was appreciated beyond words. One of his friends continues to drive him to synagogue since he started going back, and it is a huge mitzvah, because, as I wrote before, I am ready to smother him. (With love, of course.)

Let us hope the new year brings all of us only good health, good backs, and good things.

Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck is looking forward to spending the holiday with Strudel and her sisters and her parents. She also wants you to know that there may or may not be a part 2 to this back saga.