Doctor Sunshine

My dad always wanted to be a doctor. He grew up, the eldest of three brothers, in upstate New York. His father worked in the factories of Rochester, his mother Coletta did her best to provide. She suffered from primary biliary cirrhosis, an autoimmune disease that slowly destroys the liver. My Dad recalled that she was always sick.

Joe delivered newspapers and studied hard in school. He was driven and lucky to be gifted. He received a scholarship to St. John Fisher college. Then, he applied to Harvard Medical School and by some small miracle was accepted. Before he could graduate, Coletta passed away from liver failure. I can only imagine how awful that must have been. It fueled my dad’s passion. He would try to heal what could not be healed.

My dad was the kind of person I think of as a ‘natural doctor’. He cared about his patients beyond ‘professional’ obligations. He was like family to them. He loved them. He wasn’t afraid. Once another doctor warned him that he shouldn’t drive his patients home from the hospital – ‘You might get sued!’ he exclaimed. My dad just smiled, knowing how impossible that was.

His patients, friends and colleges came to know him as ‘Doctor Sunshine’. He always had a ready smile. Everyone was equal – everyone had a name. From the janitor on the 4th floor, to the new radiology tech, to the E.R. nurse’s mom. For almost thirty years my dad took care of people in small town Connecticut. He was their doctor. That was my dad.

Cancer took him too early. I remember I first heard the news while traveling in the Philippines. He didn’t want me to come home, but to finish my work there at San Lazaro hospital. That was typical of my dad, he always put others first.

I had hoped one day to show my dad the Philippines. There was so much work to do, so many to take care of. He would have to see it through my eyes and hear it through my stories. The Philippines was such a far away place.

For some reason, my dad never had pain during the weeks his health declined. That was another miracle. As the cancer spread, he slipped into a long sleep without suffering.

It’s hard to believe it’s been five years already since he left. I know I’ve got big shoes to fill.

RW

Dance, Serena, dance

It all happened so fast. A ball bounced out into the street, the motorcycle lunged to avoid the tethered child. Out of instinct, her leg thrust outward, the whole weight of a collision smashed her leg into the unforgiving pavement. The pain roared.

From the X-rays I could see Serena had a severe tibial plateau fracture. Large and small pieces of bone appeared in a jumbled array. My heart sank, this was a terrible injury. She had been our clinic nurse -fast on her feet, moving patients, answering phones, pushing us onwards. Now, she was the patient.  A quick ride around the block on the back of a shiny new motorcycle ended in catastrophe.

The orthopedic doctors operated and reoperated. Could they save her leg? A framework of black steel and sterile screws, an external fixator, set her up for a long road of recovery ahead. She lay in the bed, her life changed forever. Would she ever dance again?

Every day I visited Serena in the hospital. I read from the Bible, I summoned the nurse, I held her hand, I listened. Rehab, lots of pain medicine, more rehab. She could stand now, although only for few minutes at a time. Serena was tough, but she needed support.

It took a while, a long while, before she could walk again. Her steps were slow and stiff at first. Weeks of immobilization had caused muscle atrophy, her thigh shrinking by half its size. Strength returned slowly. Then, finally, she could walk! It was a miracle!  I was lucky to be there.

Weeks after she left the hospital, I visited Serena at her home. The house was alive - kids rushed up and down stairs, soul music played in the background, the smell of fried chicken wafted through the kitchen. Her face radiated. I could see she was ‘back’. Could she dance? I smiled at the thought - I knew she could.

It is easy to take things for granted:  a walk outside, sunshine, good health, life without pain.  Remember to give thanks - each day is a gift, make the most of it.

RW

Inspiration

I’ve just finished Stephen King’s book, On Writing, which a friend of mine gave me.  It was a brilliant read – inspirational, riveting, and funny - a ‘personal masterpiece’.  Stephen interweaves his life experiences into an encouraging guide of the writer’s craft. It’s a story that’s meant to be told:  From humble beginnings to a troubled youth, through difficult times to success despite severe obstacles, and finally to a wisdom earned.

His stories and dark themes terrify me.  Cujo is based on the terror of a rabid monster of a dog.  Misery describes the psychotic tendencies of a fan who ‘hobbles’ her victim with a bone-crushing whack of a sledgehammer.  Yikes!

Saving the street animals in Bangkok

It was mid-April in Bangkok and I was visiting Thailand to help educate the public there about the dangers of rabies. 

I was thrilled to be going around this city with Mali - a friend of mine who worked in film.  What a far off place this was - exotic temple architecture, huge sky scrapers, amazingly good food, crowds of people everywhere.  Traffic clogged the streets.  The noise from tuk-tuks - small carriages with motorbike engines- buzzed through the air.  It was the hot season, but I didn’t mind, it just added to the mystique of this steaming metropolis, the gateway to beautiful Thailand.

Mali wanted to know all about rabies, since she knew it was a real danger.  There were plenty of street dogs in Bangkok.  You could see them roaming and foraging for scraps of food.  They appeared similar to the street dogs I’d seen elsewhere in Asia - a rather thin mangy breed.  There were of course other animals too, including a small elephant brought along one of the main tourist streets for the farangs to gawk at.

My friend peppered me with questions about rabies.  She was concerned about her sister, Pho, who loved street animals and was always trying to care for them.  Pho had actually taken in six cats.  She was constantly getting scratched and occasionally nipped by the street animals since she was taking care of them whenever she could.  I became somewhat alarmed to realize that Pho was at a real risk for rabies.