Chapter IX
In the next few months, I began to gradually improve so far as my body chemistry and mental alertness is concerned. My disease had progressed to the point that I was unable to move from the neck down and required constant nursing care. My wife used a chairbed and slept in my room so that she could attend me during the night. Not being able to read, I began to search for some means to occupy some of my time. With the help of my nurses, I began to collect knives. Gradually my knife collecting became widely known, and I even had one man who came from Florence, Alabama, in his private helicopter to see me about knives. On my son’s twenty- third birthday I gave him about three hundred knives.
For fear that I would not live until my birthday or until Christmas, I celebrated my November the 27th birthday in September by giving gifts to every employee in the hospital and receiving gifts from my family and friends. Needless to say, when the true dates rolled around, I was accused of celebrating twice so that I might receive two sets of gifts.
By this time my son had entered medical school; and during visits home, I enjoyed many conversations with him.
His definition of success was particularly impressive to me. He believed to be successful you must have contributed something to your fellow man that would not have been contributed had you not lived. During the fall vacation of 1974, he met one of the nurses’ aides who was staying with me. She was a first year nursing student at our state university. It didn’t take them long to decide that they wanted to spend their lives together. They were married in March of 1975. When it was decided that one of the receptions was to be held at the hoe of my family doctor, I knew that being my friend, he would not be offended if I had my own reception also. I borrowed a large punch bowl, had a huge wedding cake baked and made arrangements for one of my nurses to act as hostess. Even the wedding party came by and had punch and cake at my reception.
As my general health improved, so did my attitude; and I began to send out to local restaurants for food and invite guests for dinner. The doctors never failed to examine me twice each day and when they would stand up and take their stethoscope out of their ears, “Disgusting, isn’t it?” It seemed unreal that a man that looked as healthy as I and could put away as uch food would be unable to move a muscle. The entire time the nursing staff, routinely, turns me every two hours so that I don’t have a sore spot on my body.
As I began to tire of collecting knives, I tried various other things from porcelain to Indian jewelry. Since I am a compulsive giver, these hobbies didn’t last long because I gave away so much that I couldn’t keep enough money to replace what I gave away. I have managed to keep so busy that I haven’t had time to reflect upon my condition.
When you become a long term patient, you realize how lax you were in going to see your friends when the situations were reversed. I found some of the explanations so ridiculous that they were amusing. One man, whom I had considered a friend, who had not been to visit me in two years, explained that the reason that he had not been here was that he had been to a convention in Atlanta. Another said, after one year and a half, that he had had a cold and was afraid that I might catch it. I wondered if I sounded the same to my friends when I tried to justify not having visited them.
I began to feel that there was a slight possibility that I might live until my son graduated from medical school which at the beginning I thought was an impossible wish. I stopped updating my holidays and began to feel so secure in my status- quo that I began even to make plans involving some future date. Sudeenly my heart began to develop premature ventricular contractions, and they began to feed me intravenously. My fever rose, and I developed pneumonia. Bedside nursing care was provided around the clock. This was as if some unseen power was saying, “Hold it, fellow, you’re getting a little too big, and I must do this to make you understand that by only the grace of God; you are still alive, and you should not become too proud of the results of your own determination and the miracle of medicine.” In a few days my fever subsided, my heart and lungs went back to their regular abnormalities, and once again I became part of the hospital routine but with renewed gratitude for the privilege of living.
I have heard so many dying statements. Most of them seemed to be statements justifying death. “Father, Mother, Sister, Brother Son or Daughter are waiting for me in heaven,” but this is not true. They are happy, they don’t need us. “I’m ready to go today.” This may be true, but this doesn’t matter. When we’re ready doesn’t count. When God’s ready we’ll go. I believe that as long as we have responsibilities to fulfill we are not ready.
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