himtosqueezetheresident’shandsastightlyashecould,
topushagainsthimwithhisfeet,tolifthislegsoffthe
bed. There was no major loss of motor function, the
resident said. When my father heard this, he began
gesturingclumsilyforourattention.Withthebreathing
tubein hismouth,wecouldn’tmake outwhat hewas
saying.Hetriedtospellwhathewantedtosayintheair
withhisfinger.L-I-S...?T-A-P...?Washeinpain?Was
hehavingtrouble? Mysisterwentthroughthealphabet
andaskedhimtolifthisfingerwhenshegottotheright
letter. In this way, she deciphered his message. His
message was “HAPPY.”
AdaylaterhewasoutoftheICU.Twodaysafterthat,he
left the hospital for three weeks in a Cleveland
rehabilitationfacility.Hereturnedhomeonahotsummer
day,feelingstrongasever.Hecouldwalk.Hehadlittle
neckpainatall.Hethoughttrading hisold painfora
stiff,unbendingneckandamonthenduringthehardships
ofrecovery had beenamore thanacceptabledeal.By
everymeasurehe’dmadetherightchoicesateachstep
along theway—to put off immediatesurgery, to wait
evenafter he’d had toleave his surgicalcareer, to go
aheadwiththerisksonlyafteralmostfouryears,when
troublewalkingthreatenedtotakeawaythecapabilities
hewaslivingfor.Soon,hefelt,he’devenbeabletodrive
again.
He’d made all the right choices.
THECHOICESDON’Tstop,however.Lifeischoices,and
theyarerelentless.Nosoonerhaveyoumadeonechoice
than another is upon you.