Amidst great pain comes momentous joy and a completely unexpected new beginning

Posted in Sandi's blog on 16 March 2010 | 0 Comments

When my dad had his leg amputated and was recovering in hospital, his cries of pain rocked me to my very core.

The combination of the infection not abating, the hallucinations, confusion and frustration that ensued due to the high doses of morphine for the pain and the benzos to help him sleep, and the uncertainty of the long-term prognosis sent me into a sustained period of paralyzed fear fuelled not only by the love for him and the empathy I felt for his situation, but also for the heavy heart I held in my hands and could not put down.

It seemed that I was still filled with the all too fresh emotions that I had experienced coming to terms with my sight loss. And during this time, as I was here in England and he was 3000 miles away in Canada, although my bags were packed and I was ready to go the minute I heard he was about to have the first operation, he said No. Not now. Not yet. And even though he was way too spaced out to explain why, I understood implicitly.

This was the yukky bit, the medical gubbons and, not only did he not want to distress me by having me see him that way, he wanted to wait. He would let me know when he was ready. I may not have liked it, as I was feeling as useful as a chocolate teapot, but I respected his wishes. He deserved that. And whilst I was waiting for the call, my sister-in-law Nancy, whom I believe is possibly the long lost daughter of Mother Teresa, kept it all together with daily visits, food parcels and a laundry service any Chinese woman would be proud of. She provided a constant and consistent stream of love, compassion, encouragement and more food, of course - we are Jewish after all. Even though I was just at the end of the phone, there is no ambiguity in the fact that this underpinning stability and security that Nancy selflessly and effortlessly provided made all the difference. When my dad moved from the hospital to the rehab centre, the call finally came. I boarded the plane with a mix of hope and fear.

Despite a long and tiring journey, we headed straight to see him. A mild panic attack ensued, followed by some inconsolable weeping, hyperventilation and then I was good to go. We walked in and there he was, smiling, relaxed and comfortably sitting in his wheelchair, stump in full view, and crying tears of joy at the sight of me. His embrace was warm and gentle and his resolve was absolute. He was who he was and that hadn't changed. He was fully aware of the long haul that lay ahead, but he wasn't fazed. He did not just have hope, but he had goals and, without a shadow of a doubt, the determination to get there on two legs.

And I watched as he progressed with the adjustments to his prosthetic leg and the process of learning to walk again. Does he feel sorry for himsef? Were there any moments of doubt or self-deprecation? Not a bean. He is far too busy striving towards his goal of independence and couldn't care less about any of the other stuff that would plague most of us mere mortals.

Rock on dude. You will get there sooner than you know and there in the background Nancy will be waiting, corned beef on rye, with a pickle on the side, in hand.

0 comments | Tags: Family, Independence