ALL GROWN UP?

When I was a kid my dad decided that to toughen me up he would take me with him to funeral homes for the viewing of friends parents, family members, etc, most of whom I had never heard of.

Most times the other visitors consisted of people who knew Dad when he was younger. They would revel in telling stories about his athletic prowess - particularly as a basketball player. At that point Dad would say, "Barry also plays basketball.", thus resulting in the familiar question, "Are you as good or as tough as your Dad was?".

Not sure I ever came up with the right answer, but, back to the point of my story.

The Funeral home trips were similar in nature to other "therapies" he devised: removing the rats from the traps he had set in our basements, sticking my finger down my throat to induce vomiting when I was sick, and insisting that I end a hot shower with a cold one, to supposedly, "close the pores".

Actually, I didn't much care about the status of my pores; however, I feared if I told him so, he might start throwing me out in the Pittsburgh snow at the conclusion of a shower. Yeah, that would have toughened me up for sure, Dad.

I'm sure the worst "man-up" exercise was the funeral home visits wherein Dad insisted I had to touch the hand of the corpse. Those were some cold dudes, but I admit, it was the last thing I did at more than a few viewings, particularly of those folks with whom I was particularly close.

Now, I'm not sure any of these routines really toughened me up but somehow, I knew better than to ask for a doll at Christmas.

Like most people I know, I am not a fan of attending funeral homes. Nor, do I find solace in knowing a hospital is a needed part of life. Having watched my Dad, a former father-in-law, and a grandson spend their last moments in a hospital has done little to enhance my attraction to them. In the first two instances I was the last one to see these folks alive.

One old memory of attempting to visit my Dad in a hospital rehab facility, not being able to find him, and finally discovering him in a narrow hallway, slumped over in a undersized wheelchair, facing a wall, left me with more than a few emotional scars.

I should note that both my wife and I have gone through a couple of back operations so I'm not ignorant of the improving quality of care one receives in hospitals nowadays. However, going to visit someone in a hospital has always been a little bit of a challenge. I guess one doesn't have to be Sigmund Freud to understand why.

That is, until recently, when God decided it was time for me to venture forth in "the world of tough guys."

A neighbor friend of ours, Hank - in his mid 80's - called me for some assistance one morning a month ago. He said he was having trouble walking and asked if I could come down to assist him in getting out of the house and climbing into his daughter's van when she picked him up to go to the ER. He refused to have an ambulance pick him up in front of his home.

I was happy to assist and decided due to his frailty to accompany them to the hospital. I stayed until the x-rays came back and revealed he would become an in-patient as he needed a hip replacement. His hip gave out that morning for reasons that were unclear.

When they operated on him they discovered his natural hip had disintegrated, the result of extreme arthritis. As it turned out, Hank needed two operations on the same hip in 12 days, as the first one didn't take.

We were all concerned and, my wife and I, along with all of his friends, neighbors, and family members, threw up a lot of prayers due to his extreme breathing difficulties that required him to be on oxygen constantly. There was a question whether or not he could survive a ventilator post-surgery.

He's a tough old goat and pulled through well. We might not have been so surprised at the results, including his tolerance for rehab, had we possessed some prior information.

We learned that the pain he had before the operations was constant and severe. He never complained to anybody. After the revelation as to the condition of the hip we were all amazed as to the resilience and high pain threshold of this old farm boy.

On the way home, today, we asked him about this and he responded by saying, "I guess I was just too dumb to know how bad the pain was."

At those times I was there with him at the hospital, I was impressed by the type of care he was receiving and the many acts of kindness extended to him by the employees, physical therapists, breathing coordinators, etc. I loved the good communication skills demonstrated by everyone as well as their honest concern for Hank's well being.

From everything we experience in life we gain wisdom. I now have a better feeling about hospitals and the quality of treatment administered to the aging.

It almost wipes out the memory of visiting my Dad in that hospital way back when.

Maybe I'm tougher now.

Sometime, I'll have to ask Hank what his Dad's toughening exercises were like.

Probably didn't need them.