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Long Gone are Sela's Days in the Fast Lane
Looking at Sela, 82, it is hard to imagine the vibrant woman she once was. At the height of her career, Sela was a high-powered executive rising to the top ranks in Soviet Television. She oversaw a staff of hundreds and was in charge of children's programming. Her fast-paced days were full of meetings, phone calls and urgent decisions that needed to be made. Now Sela's life is confined to a rickety wood-framed bed. She spends her time staring out a window — the tops of trees her only view, with an occasional lone bird flying by. Sela's husband, Irving, breaks the monotony by reading the daily newspaper to her and helps turn her over to prevent bed sores from developing. Traces of Sela's former self emerge when she speaks: her voice is still firm, authoritative and no-nonsense, as when she directs her husband to get her a blanket or tells a group of visitors that she is too tired to talk. Yet it seems to Sela that she was so recently on the go, engaged in community affairs and feeling alive. Even after she retired Sela kept active, volunteering at the local JDC-sponsored Hesed social welfare center helping to coordinate social events for her fellow seniors. But a fall two years ago changed Sela's world and marked an end to her independence. Since her accident, Hesed has helped Sela with rehabilitation; medicine; food; and a home care worker named Yelena, who comes five days a week to prepare meals, clean the small apartment, and help Irving to bathe and move his wife. "We can't even begin to tell you how much Hesed is helping us," says Irving. "My wife cannot do anything for herself. Can you imagine how we would be able to live without this help? On our pensions it would be impossible." Both he and his wife have monthly incomes of $115. Still, Sela and Irving live with the constant worry that this essential help from Hesed might one day be gone. Over the last year Sela has seen some of her assistance reduced. Her monthly food package, for example, is now substantially less. "We know about these cuts," says Sela, "and we can only hope that we can continue keeping what we have." Though the gravity of Sela's situation is at least as great as other elderly clients in the FSU whose services are not in jeopardy, she and Irving have no choice but continue to wait, day by day, at the mercy of others' assistance. "There really is nothing that we can do," she says. September 2006 |
