Last October 17th I had an appointment with a new doctor to speak with him about my back issues. The office was the home base for a group of orthopedic doctors who specialized in all sorts of body parts: knees, shoulders, legs, arms, backs, hips, etc. I sat next to a guy in the waiting room who had both arms in slings and a brace on one of his legs. As we talked I learned that he had fallen off his roof while replacing the blue tarp that was his current roof. The fact that his current roof, and about to be new roof, were blue tarps told me much about the man and his lot in life. He went on to tell me that as a result of his accident he lost his job and his insurance. I didn’t get the impression that he was complaining. Just reporting. I had made the initial inquiry regarding what appeared to me to be an accident, and he supplied the details.
I looked around the lobby and saw an assortment of braces, walkers, canes, and wraps. I had been here before after my knee replacement but didn’t take the time then to notice who shared the space. I was caught up in my own recovery.
On this day, I was seeking help but wasn’t in as bad of shape as those gathered around me. Their predicaments made mine feel small. And then it struck me. It was October 17th, my father’s birthday. Had he lived, he would have been 98 that day.
My dad lived with Parkinson’s Disease for several years. He and my mother attended Parkinson’s support groups at the local hospital. I attended several meetings over the years. My mom helped organize them. The support groups’ primary function was to provide new information about the disease and advice from those who attended the meeting. There were two “Tonys” in the group. Big Tony and Little Tony (my dad). During one of the meetings Big Tony shared a new development in his home. He had difficulty getting out of bed each morning. (Mobility is a major issue with Parkinson’s patients.) Big Tony’s son had installed a garage door opener on his bedroom ceiling. Each morning Tony grabbed a handle bar that hung down from the door opener and pushed the remote. As the door opener moved down its track, the new system pulled Tony to a sitting position. From there he as able to swing his legs out of bed providing him access to his walker. Big Tony offered his son’s services to the group should anyone else require such assistance.
I marveled at the solution that Big Tony and his son had developed. I admired their resolve to help others.
My dad enjoyed the meetings. He helped the ladies with their coats, flirted a bit, and did his best to make everyone feel welcome. He once told me, “I feel better about myself, and my condition, when I see others worse off than me.”
That observation came washing over me when I realized that it was his birthday. I scanned the room and my back didn’t hurt quite as much. It could have been a mere coincidence that my dad’s birthday and the guy falling off the blue tarped roof merged in my life at the same time, but I had a sense that my dad was there with me and letting me know that my lot in life could have been worse. It’s all a matter of perspective.
I returned to that office earlier this week. Once again it was full of people with an assortment of braces, walkers, canes, and wraps. Although the man with the blue tarped roof wasn’t in the room, his story was. His story, my dad’s story, and my story shared the same space and I decided to share this brief version with you.