Illustration by Denis Shifrin

“AND don’t move your foot for four days!” said the orthopedist, putting the final touches on the cast immobilizing my broken right fifth metatarsal and extending until my knee. There went my plans for gym classes, three lecture series, promises to children, grandchildren and other members of the family, not to mention the extra work my already very busy husband would have to take upon himself in keeping the house functioning. The cast would be on for six weeks.

The frustration of limited mobility and the disagreeable fact of partial dependency were relatively assuaged by my personal philosophizing. “At least you have a leg to break and a great husband to shoulder many of your responsibilities,” I told myself. “You have a family who cares, calls, cooks, bakes, does your laundry, visits and brings you puzzles and books, cheers you up and drives you around.

For heaven’s sake, it could have been much, much worse!” What I wasn’t prepared for was the contingent of friends who came forward to assist and visit me, bringing with them gifts of books, food, skin creams, a personal tea-infusion cup, and even a 20 centimeter chocolate foot with a getwell wish written in frosting. But most of all they brought hours of friendship.

I had time to read books, write letters, use the computer and listen to music. But I also had time to feel pain, to feel anxious, to feel the world was getting along very well without me and to be stoic, reflecting on the weeks ahead I would need to get my foot back to the way it was.

This became a time for discovery and expediency. I found that instead of flitting from room to room to get things done, I could consolidate my needs in one room before painstakingly leaving for the next one. I became more efficient, trying to conserve my hard-working good foot for necessary perambulations. But I needed to rest.

And then the phone would ring and with the cheerful voice of a member of my family or a friend my muscles relaxed and my soul smiled. My family became my friends, and my friends became part of my family. Acquaintances who heard about my mishap became close friends; close friends became closer and I was touched by their repeated visits. I had always thought of myself as being on the giving and nurturing end, and now I became acutely aware of how my spirits were raised by receiving.

I recalled instances when I had heard of an acquaintance or relative who had broken a bone or was ill. I would call and perhaps visit as a matter of course, not really appreciating the visceral significance of either. No longer. Offering one’s friendship in times of another’s stress cannot be overestimated.