bathroom,shesaid, but whenhewent tostand up,his
legswouldn’tholdhim,andhewentdown.Thefloorwas
carpeted.Hedidn’thithisheadanddidn’tseemhurt.But
hecouldn’tgethimselfup.Hisarmsandlegsweretoo
weak.Shetriedtolifthimbackintobed,buthewastoo
heavy.He didn’twant to call anambulance again.So
theydecidedto waituntilmorningforhelp.Shepulled
blanketsandpillowsoffthebedforhimandlaydown
besidehim,notwantinghimtobealone.Butwithherbad
arthritic knees—she was seventy-five years old
herself—she found she now couldn’t get up either.
Around 8:00 a.m., the housekeeper arrived and found
thembothonthefloor.Shehelpedmymothertoherfeet
andmyfatherintobed.Thatwaswhenmymothercalled.
Shesoundedfrightened.Iaskedhertoputmydadonthe
line. He was crying, frantic, sputtering, hard to
understand.
“I’m so scared,” he said. “I’m becoming paralyzed. I
can’tdothis.Idon’twantthis.Idon’twanttogothrough
this. I want to die rather than go through this.”
Tearswetmyeyes.I’masurgeon.Ilikesolvingthings.
ButhowdoIsolvethis?Fortwominutes,Itriedtojust
listenasherepeatedoverand overthathecouldn’tdo
this. He asked me if I could come.
“Yes,” I said.
“Canyoubringthekids?”Hethoughthewasdying.But
thehardthingwasthathewasnot.Hecouldbethisway
for a long while, I realized.
“Let me come first,” I told him.