The BackhandLed ComplEment — An Allegoric Anecdote

My ‘career’ (if you can call it that) got off to a rather inauspicious start. The first office they gave me was a broom closet. Not a figurative broom closet…a LITERAL broom closet! Having said that though, the brooms weren’t all that bad. The big drawback was those disgusting mops and their fetid buckets which smelled like the sewers of Rangoon or a prison bathroom in New Jersey! I suppose this just served as an early indication that the whole facility where I landed would prove to be a pretty weird place: The weather forecast was exactly the same EVERY DAY: 68 degrees and fluorescent. Everything was covered with either tile or linoleum and everything beyond the mops in my office reeked of Lysol, formaldehyde and colostomy bag leakage! [wide eyed cringe]

The location of my ‘career’ assignment was NOT a place where you were going to be greeted with the sound of lilting voices, joyful laughter or an acoustic wave audio system which was streaming in the soft-rock melodies of adult contemporary top-40. Nope. Instead, this was the kind of place that greeted you with anguished moaning, tortured howls, and a raspy PA system which was belting out Muzak versions of ‘Margaritaville’ and ‘Muskrat Love’.

You will also be greeted by a lot of people yelling ‘STAT!’

The place where I found myself ‘working’ is a place where some people arrive in a van with the fanfare of sirens and flashing lights. Some people arrive here with the urgency of a helicopter. Some people arrive here with the unceremonious grandeur of a police escort. Other people are carried in (sometimes quite literally) by friends, family members or maybe even a Good Samaritan.

Others simply fall through the front door.

Furthermore, this is a place where some people arrive on crutches with an air of defeat. Others LEAVE this place on crutches with a renewed sense of victory. Some people are vaguely aware they arrive here on a stretcher. Other people are completely oblivious to the fact that they LEAVE here on a gurney.

Like I said: This is a pretty weird place. I mean seriously, where else on earth are you going to find a cafeteria, a gift shop and a morgue ALL UNDER THE SAME ROOF?!?!

Of note: The morgue guy is kind of a creepy fellow. He can often be heard saying things like: “Put a fork in ‘em…they’re done’ along with “Tag ’em and bag ‘em!” He also liked to see people’s reaction to his favorite phrase: “Today might be the LAST day of the rest of your life!”

Yup.

[sigh]

I’m not sure if this is bragging or complaining, but I’ve been roaming around these nondescript, institutionally bland hallways for a lot longer than I’d otherwise care to admit. My first day here (all those many years ago in that broom closet) I was minding my own business, when a frazzled looking attendant rushed in. Evidently this attendant was going to be needing some help with (what the attendant called) a ‘patient’. Since there were seemingly no other options available, the attendant grabbed me. I was then directed towards a room in our facility’s rehab wing.

Once we got there I discovered this particular room was occupied by a young married couple and their little girl. The wife/(slash) mom was standing. The husband/(slash) dad was sitting up in a bed. Their little girl (who I later found out was named Erin) bounced around blissfully unaware. All Erin wanted to do was talk about horsies.

“Horsies are pretty! Horsies like to whinny and they neigh and they snort and horsies live in a stable and horsies like to play their little horsie games…that’s why I want a horsie!”

Evidently the husband/(slash) dad had been in this room for quite some time. Weeks? Months? Who knows. I certainly didn’t. Anyway, through various bits of overheard conversation I was able to gather that the staff at this place had quote/unquote “done all they could do” and it was now time for this fellow to be leaving. At the moment I was still not sure why I was there. More drips and drabs of overheard conversation revealed that this man had been involved in some sort of accident. Then a harsh reality set in: ‘Leaving’ was an activity this fellow was NOT going to be doing unless he had some help…and well…that’s when it became painfully obvious as to why I had been brought in.

There are a lot of things about this place that seem kind of backwards. It’s a place were older folks will sometimes have to learn to walk all over again. On a more sobering flip side, it’s also a place where younger folks are sometimes told they will NEVER walk again.

Such was the case on this particular day.

My first official duty was to get this young husband/(slash) dad through our nondescript, intuitionally bland hallways and out to their family car. An otherwise ordinary task which would normally be no-big-deal but, for this family, that simple act was going to mark the beginning of a very profound, if not arduous, life-long journey.

The wife/(slash) mom was apprehensive. The husband/(slash) dad was weary. Erin was just overjoyed because horsies are cute and her daddy was coming back home.

I was in no position to say anything. However, through more bits of additional conversation between this couple and their attendant, I was able to learn a bit more about this young family.

The wife/(slash) mom had been working as some sort of home healthcare provider before parenthood gave her the privilege of being a stay-at-home mom. The husband/(slash) dad evidently owned some sort of small metalworking company. Beyond that he seemed to enjoy spending a lot of his spare time restoring old cars.

At least he used to.

I didn’t know how much of their old life that this particular family would be seeing again. I had a feeling (as much as I can have feelings) that the husband/(slash) dad was going to have to reinvent himself…but then again…I guess that was going to be true for the whole family. It seemed to me that the wife/(slash) mom would soon need to be returning to the workforce. Erin’s horsie aspirations would, no doubt, have to be put back in the proverbial barn (so to speak).

After some finagling we had finally wrestled this man and his family into their car (which turned out to be a van). I felt bad. There was nothing more I could do…at least for that particular husband/(slash) dad and his family…but alas…my first day was still young!

As the attendant and I were returning to our building we rolled up on yet another young family…at least it appeared to be a young family. Back in those days you could never be too sure. For all I knew, it could have been a weirdo, a tranny and a midget! At any rate, since the (maybe) son was walking with a pretty heavy limp, the (maybe) family accepted my attendant’s offer of assistance. With that, the attendant situated the (probably) son in-between my arms. This gave me another opportunity to listen and learn.

First, this ‘maybe’ family was indeed an ACTUAL family, albeit not the prettiest one. Nevertheless, the attendant and I were able to learn that the son had sustained a ‘sports’ related injury. I have the word ‘sports’ in quotes because apparently this kid had somehow managed to [fudge] up his knee while playing table tennis. Yes. Table tennis. Look. I’m not making up this crap. I’m just telling you what happened.¹ In any event, while the attendant and I escorted this family into our facility the dad was on his cell phone trying to contact a lawyer. It was a sign of the times I suppose. If that wasn’t bad enough, the mom was yelling: “My baby’s been hurt! Somebody do something!” I think her arms were flailing too. Honestly, it was kind of embarrassing. Don’t get me wrong, this kid needed some urgent care, but he wasn’t going to die…at least not yet.

I didn’t know it at the time, but the first few moments of that first full day on assignment were just a small sampling of what I would be dealing with on a regular basis during the course of my long and sometimes LESS than illustrious ‘career’. Over the decades I would see a lot of hope, optimism and life. Unfortunately, I would also see a lot of trauma, hardship and death.

Every once in a while I would find myself thinking back to those families I encountered on that very first day of my assignment. The parents of that kid with the table tennis injury probably could have done well to spend a bit of time in our pediatric cancer ward. Not everybody is ‘lucky’ enough to be a kid who just gets an owie while playing ping pong. For that matter, not everybody is ‘lucky’ enough to be a young husband/(slash) dad who has just been told he’s never going to walk again.

I’ve spent my entire commission in-between the walls of this brightly lit, nondescript, bland-looking institution. During the course of those years I’ve spent time wheeling-and-dealing with surgeons and internists. I have run into (sometime quite literally) MORE gynecologists and urologists than you could ever hope to shake a stick at. I have been pushed around by the likes of ‘Doctor Phil Goode’ and the not-so-lovely ‘Nurse Ratched’. I’ve been taken for a ride by orderlies who operate under the premise: ‘What’s-the-point? We’re-all-going-to-die-anyway.’ I’ve been backed into corners by that creepy morgue guy who was always insisting that our establishment should have an ‘inventory reduction sale.’ I’ve rode through the entire career of Mary-Ann from Radiology. Mary-Ann’s the one who would never stop saying “Oh!…there’s my thermometer…so where did I leave my pen?!?!” [eye roll]

Mary-Ann from Radiology and The Creepy Morgue Guy were quite a pair. I’m happy to report that both of them were only joking around…

…I think.

I eventually came to realize this place where I found myself was a bit of an enigma. It’s a place that’s central to so many of life’s watershed moments: The miracle of birth, the inevitability of trauma, the treatment of disease and the tragedy of death. Aside from all the people who actually work full-time at this facility…nobody else really wants to be here. It’s kind of like prison. Everybody is just trying to go home.

As for me? I’m kind of an enigma too. I’ve encountered an assortment of determined individuals who will cover a great amount of distance just to keep a great amount of distance in-between myself and their own selves. A lot of times people will bite, scratch and claw their way in the EXACT opposite direction in order to avoid me like the plague. On the flip side I’ve also dealt with a variety of disheartened individuals who are ALL TOO eager to rely on me for FAR TOO long. I’m not affected by it one way or the other. It is what it is. Many times I can help in the short run but, truth be told, being stuck with me for longer periods of time is (generally speaking) not a place that anyone really wants to find themselves.

Every once in a while, during my tour-of-duty I would find myself idle in various locations like the cafeteria, the loading dock or the gift shop. Other times I might find myself ‘abandoned’ (for lack of a better word) in places like the records department, the boiler room or that seemingly godforsaken morgue! One time I was stuck (for a day and a half I might add) on the freight elevator. Another time I was locked all alone on the roof! Then, of course, there was that one particular time I found myself idle in our facility’s hospice wing.

To the casual observer it may have appeared as though I had been randomly abandoned. Others might say that my being in THAT particular hallway at THAT particular time had been some sort of coincidence. However, I don’t believe in randomness…OR coincidences for that matter. I believe that everything happens for a reason.² That particular evening I had been ‘parked’ (again…for lack of a better word) in a hallway just outside of a room where an elderly lady was being cared for.

This lady had evidently been nonresponsive for some time. Maybe several days. Maybe a week or two. Nobody ever told me these things but, then again, I didn’t really need to know. Nevertheless, this lady’s husband had remained steadfast by her bedside. As I lingered in the hallway I could (sort of) hear the sounds of this lady’s heart monitor and respirator. Those sounds mixed with the whisper of hushed conversations and a low cacophony created by a myriad of different televisions tuned to a myriad of different channels. The combination of those gentle sounds managed to camouflage (to some degree) the otherwise jarring moment in which the steady chime of this lady’s heart monitor became one long, unrelenting tone.

In due time a resigned looking attendant walked toward the lady’s room. Before she went in she stopped to collect herself by taking a deep breath and wiping back a tear. Moments later, without any fanfare, the heart monitor and respirator were silenced. The only sounds to be heard now were a blend of some baseball play-by-play, excited contestants on Wheel-of-Fortune, a garish car commercial, the laugh track of a sitcom and the nightly news with ‘Grimm Carnage’ talking about another tragedy happening to someone else in some other part of town.

With that, the husband slowly walked out of the room and saw me. Thankfully, the husband didn’t need me…at least not in a literal sense. As usual, I had no words. In another life perhaps I would have hugged the man. But not now. Truth be told my arms aren’t really the kind of arms which have been made for hugging. All I could really do was offer up a place to rest. After a deep sigh the husband put on his hat and took me up on this offer. He sat.

Some amount of time passed. Maybe a few minutes. Maybe a half hour. Every once-in-a-while the clock has no meaning. This was one of those times. Eventually the attendant walked out. She greeted the elderly husband with some comforting words:

“Your wife was a sweet soul. One of the best gals I ever got to meet. She is going to be missed.”

The elderly husband responded with a philosophical air:

“You know? Ever since my wife’s diagnosis, I’ve been praying for her. I’ve prayed for healing. I’ve prayed for wisdom. I’ve prayed for her comfort. I’ve prayed for my own resolve…and wouldn’t you know it…just a few moments ago I was praying for a miracle.”

The husband concluded with a weary chuckle.

The attendant was sympathetic but clearly she did not understand where the husband was coming from. She responded by saying:

“I wish there was more I could have done. I’m sorry your prayer for a miracle wasn’t answered.”

The husband stood up, tipped his hat and replied:

“Oh…but it was! The Lord has sent us the miracle of mercy.”

…And such is the way of God….

Over the years, I’ve been described a lot of different ways by a lot of different people. Overly appreciative people will call me a ‘godsend.’ Less appreciative people may describe me as ‘utilitarian.’ I think they mean this in the nicest way possible but sometimes I’m not so sure. Those people who straight-up don’t like my presence will call me ‘cold and lifeless.’ People that are mechanically inclined might describe me as ‘serviceable’…which kind of makes me feel like an aging left-handed relief pitcher.

One fellow used to call me ‘The Backhandled Complement.’ He would always go on to explain that it was ‘handled’ (with and ‘l’)…it was NOT ‘compliment’ with an ‘i’…as in: a word of affirmation…it was ‘complement’ with and ‘e’…as in something that ‘goes-well-with’ or ‘completes’ something else. This one fellow thought it was kind of witty. Of course, this guy also thought nerd-girls were cute, he based his entire philosophical worldview on the television show ‘Night Court’ and he had also done a substantial amount of time in prison. In that regard it was probably wise to take anything this guy had to offer with a grain of salt.

I suppose it really didn’t matter what people thought of me OR what people called me. I was just perpetually on-call to make sure people didn’t fall down on their way to a gall bladder transplant or a sponge bath or a ‘rhoid surgery or a whatever-ectomy. Don’t ever let anyone tell you this mission isn’t glamorous! [eye roll] Beyond that, I knew full well I was never around this place to be anyone’s friend. I haven’t been around here to help people with their ‘issues’ or help them feel better about themselves. I’m ALSO not here to cheer people up.

Cheering people up is someone else’s job.

Maybe it’s the Candy Striper’s job to cheer people up with excessive cuteness? Maybe it’s the Chaplain’s job to cheer people up with spiritual guidance? Maybe it’s the job of Mary-Ann from Radiology to cheer people up by telling them that her family dog and brand new kitten will be in the office tomorrow conducting ‘lab’ work and ‘cat’ scans! [hard rim shot]

Maybe it’s YOUR job to cheer people up? Sometimes I just don’t know. [reflective pause]

Life has a way of wearing people down. Perhaps life has caused friends and family to grow apart. Perhaps life has caused spouses to take each other for granted. Maybe life has caused someone to forget how thankful they are for just being able to walk…then…somehow…someday…something happens to bring them through the doors of this place.

As I said earlier, this nondescript, institutionally bland edifice where I have found myself is central to a lot of life’s watershed moments. Sometimes, not always, but SOMETIMES, these watershed moments will cause an individual to realize exactly what’s really important in their life.

I’ve been around long enough to witness people receive help from people they would have never expected to receive help from. I’ve been around long enough to see people reconnect with people they thought they would never reconnect with. I’ve seen sibling reunions. I’ve seen parent/child relationships restored. I’ve seen estranged friends reunited. I’ve also been around long enough to see more than one married couple gain a new-found appreciation for one another. These ‘connubial re-fusions’ (as I like to call them) will, more often than not, lead to a second-first-date of sorts. Many of these second-first-dates will end up taking place before the incapacitated-better-half has been discharged. That being the case, many of these second-first-dates will have to be ‘enjoyed’ within the walls of my nondescript, institutionally bland facility. FURTHERMORE, since the incapacitated-better-half is probably still relying on me for assistance, they will be FORCED to take me along with them.

Yeah. I know. Kind of awkward. Oh well. It is what it is. [devious smile]

Regardless, there aren’t too many places around here that these couples can go for their second-first-date. Perhaps they can roll on over to the chapel. That’s certainly a good place to go for a new beginning. Maybe couples can ‘go out’ on their second-first-date to our charming cafeteria. Nothing says ‘I love you’ quite like a pastrami on rye, a bag of outdated, off-brand potato chips and a room temperature diet soda! Maybe couples can head down to the outpatient waiting area to catch Mary-Ann from Radiology’s stand-up routine. (The creepy morgue guy is now opening for her with a bit about how the first three letters in ‘funeral’ are F-U-N.) Anyway, it’s a pretty sure bet that any second-first-date at this place will eventually find its way to our gift shop. The way I see it, no second-first-date would ever be complete without a souvenir coffee mug that states: ‘My Doctor Heals Dogs and Cures Hams!’ Or how about an overpriced Mylar balloon that says: ‘I’m Not Dead Yet!’³

[sigh]

Generally speaking, I spend a good deal of my existence waiting around until someone needs help. In the meantime, I get kicked around, knocked around and pushed around. I get folded up, broken down and banged into walls. I’ve gotten wet, I’ve gotten soiled and I’ve gotten traipsed through puddles of who-knows-what. Sometimes people treat me like a coat rack. Sometimes kids will slap stickers on me when they think no one is looking…and HOLY SMOKE! I have spent exactly WAY too much time on the EXACT wrong end of those ridiculous institutional robes which open on the EXACT WRONG SIDE! Oy vey!

Maybe people took me for granted? Maybe they didn’t? Either way, it was ok. Lending assistance wherever I could is what I was created to do. It was my lot in life. I will say this though: It has been an honor to carry out my call-of-duty. However, time moves on. Seasons change. The days are now getting short. My feet have been broken down. My legs are bent. My arms are about to fall off…quite literally. The shine on my chrome has long since worn off. The faux-leather, plastic-like Naugahyde which make up my lap and back are tattered, stained and cracked. My tires have worn down and dry-rot is starting to set in.

If that’s not bad enough, one of the rubber grips from my handlebars is missing. I don’t know. Maybe that’s not such a big deal. Truth be told I think it’s been missing for years. [shoulder shrug] One way or the other, the inevitable signs of growing old have made one thing abundantly clear:

The time is near for me to be retired…but I’m troubled because I don’t know exactly what my ‘retirement’ is going to look like.

I’ll admit it: All of the trauma, grief and death I saw over the years was something I could have done without. However, all of the hope, optimism and new life I saw seemed to make this job all the more worthwhile. On top of that, there was one aspect of my commission that certainly NEVER got old. This was the privilege of being called to duty in our facility’s maternity wing.

Inevitably, any new mom I rolled up on would be sitting in her room, new baby in hand, surrounded by friends and family. It’s a pretty sure bet that this lady’s family included an anxious looking fellow standing with her. This anxious looking fellow was, of course, ‘Mr. New Dad.’

The attendant who grabbed me, on this particular day, greeted Mr. and Mrs. New-Mom-and-Dad with a level of excitement which hid the fact my attendant had already been through this routine just short of one hundred and fifty-six thousand times.

She began:

“Well congratulations there Mrs. New Mom and Mr. New Dad! It looks like the two of you have got yourselves a brand new blubbering bundle of joy!”

Mrs. New Mom, either just plain exhausted or perhaps still woozy from a cartload of happy pills, responded:

“Yeah…it sure looks that way.” [hiccup]⁵

Undaunted, the attendant continued on with her spiel:

“I guess we should get you guys up and out of here! It’s time to start your brand new life as a brand new family…plus one!”

This is about the time Mr. New Dad nervously chuckled and lamented:

“Uh…yeah…I guess. I don’t know if we’re quite ready for this though.”

With that, the attendant handed Mr. New Dad a large bag of goodies. Mr. New Dad, being horrendously preoccupied, absentmindedly took hold of the bag. The attendant, being well prepared for the task at hand, offered up some reassurance:

“Oh…don’t worry about a thing. Your instincts will kick in just as fast as you can say “I’ve got spit-up on my brand new power tie!”

Mrs. New Mom, obviously a bit overwhelmed by the entirety of what was happening, timidly asked:

“Where do you suppose we should start?

“Well Honey, it’s just like getting up and walking out of here! All you have to do is put one foot in front of the other…but…uh…yeah…there’s just one thing: I can’t let you quote/unquote ‘put one foot in front of the other’ and walk out of here…at least not yet.”

Mrs. New Mom’s face betrayed a bit of dejected frustration.

“What’s the matter? Do you want to yank something else out of my hoo-haa? Have I been sentenced to do more ‘hard labor’ after just going through hard labor? Wait! Don’t tell me! You need me to fill out MORE paperwork?!?!”

“Well, we DO have some more paperwork for you to fill out…but I’ll just drop that in the mail for you…([loud whisper] postage due). Right now though, because of insurance regulations, I can’t let you put one foot in front of the other and start walking until I get you OFF of our property…that’s why I’ve got this-here handy-dandy wheelchair!

As soon as Mr. New Dad saw me he cringed and did the stereotypical sharp-inhale-through-clenched-teeth.

“I don’t know. Are you sure that thing is safe? I mean look at it! It looks like it’s been attacked by a band of rock-throwing Pakistani warlords!”

The attendant agreed.

“Yeah…I know….but all of the new wheelchairs have been highjacked by a guy in the wacko-ward who thinks he’s a reincarnation of Lee Iacocca.”

For a moment there was an awkward silence. Mrs. New Mom didn’t understand the reference and Mr. New Dad wasn’t sure if the attendant was serious or not. Anyway, the attendant looked at me while continuing to chat with the young family. In doing so she not only confirmed my lot-in-life (such as it may have been) but she also (perhaps unwittingly) disclosed the generalized plans for my upcoming retirement party (such as it was going to be).

“This is it for the old Med-Line-Vista-Cruiser-1500-XLT. After I use it to push you-all out to all-your-all’s car, I’m going to push this thing across the parking lot and chuck it in the dumpster.”

[long reflective pause]

You know? After spending my entire career in a place where death and dying were, more or less, ever-present, I had never really stopped to consider my own eternal fate: What would it look like…where would I go…and what kind of legacy will I have left behind? Another thing I realized in this moment was that, no matter how useful I may have thought I was OR how much ‘good’ I may (or may not) have done, the impending assurance of my own mortality provided an unwanted illustration of how insignificant I really am. I had also never stopped to think about the fact that when the last day of the rest of my life does indeed come (maybe even TODAY!) the rest of the world will simply keep on moving forward…seemingly unaffected…but that’s just the way it is I suppose…

[deep sigh]

With that our little group made its way through the hallways of my nondescript, institutionally bland facility towards, what P.T. Barnum used to call, ‘The Great Egress.’ On our way across the parking lot this small group of people (plus one and seemingly soon to be MINUS one) made some more of that oh-so-famous small talk. Again I listened…perhaps for no other reason than to once again experience the gift-of-life…at least in some small way…for perhaps one very last time.

Mr. New Dad clamored on about some accounting work he had to catch up with. He also talked about having to child-proof the house as he fumbled for his keys. Mrs. New Mom talked about being able to take her new baby out to some stable. Apparently, she looked forward to, one day, being able to do some horseback riding with the newest member of her family.

As our little entourage approached the couple’s car (which turned out to be another van) Mrs. New Mom looked back at our nondescript, institutionally bland building and, perhaps a bit wistfully, observed:

“This is the first time I’ve been back to this place since I was a little girl.”

The attendant, only half paying attention, said:

“That’s real nice Honey. Now, if you need anything be sure and give us a call.”

The attendant then took that large bag of goodies she had earlier placed in Mr. New Dad’s hand saying:

“I’ve put together a little care-package/(slash) starter-kit for you guys. You’ve got a teddy bear, some diapers, a blanket, some bibs, some formula, MORE diapers and some baby wipes…good heavens…you’re gonna need those baby wipes!

The attendant then stuck her head in the bag and said:

“I think there are some earplugs in here somewhere too!”

The attendant then pulled her head out of the bag and noted:

“By the way, my name is Darleen.”

Mrs. New Mom answered:

“Well…you’ve obviously met our new baby…and…’Mr. New Dad’ here (as you like to call him) is my ever-loving, tried-and-true husband Bob.”

Then Mrs. New Mom turned to the attendant with a smile and said: “It’s nice to meet you Darleen. My name is Erin.”

Erin then paused for a quasi dramatic moment before saying something that seemed to be concerning her.

“You’re not really going to chuck this wheelchair in the dumpster, are you?”

I probably don’t need to tell you this, but Erin’s question certainly piqued my interest as well. Did I still have some sort of hope? Did somebody actually care about me? Was someone seriously going to intervene on my behalf? Regardless, the attendant carried on:

“Oh…this thing’s going to the dumpster alright! STRAIGHT to the dumpster!…AND it ain’t passin’ ‘Go’ and it sure as heck ain’t collecting no 200 dollars either!”

Erin paused for another reflective moment before continuing:

“Do me a favor. Instead of tossing it in the dumpster, toss it in the back of our van…would you?”

The attendant, surprised or maybe even appalled by the request, replied:

“Good heavens! Why on earth would you want this old piece of junk?!?”

At this point Mr. New Dad, (or Bob) knowing exactly what was going on, chimed in with a defense of sorts for his wife:

“It’s not for her. She’s going to take it home for her dad.”

“Honey! If your dad needs a wheelchair, he can sure do a lot better than this old piece of crap!”

“Well, my dad DOES need a wheelchair…but he doesn’t exactly need THIS one wheelchair in particular…”

With that, Erin went on to explain: When she was a little girl her dad had been, quite literally, hit by a bus. This accident, in a somewhat ‘lucky’ manner, had ‘only’ left him paralyzed from the waist down. The accident was, of course, one of those life-changing, watershed moments for her and her family. Erin continued to explain how her mom had to go back to work. In doing so she ended up returning to her old line-of-work as a physical rehabilitation specialist…which was kind of serendipitous when you think about it. Erin also explained that her dad had been a metal worker who used to enjoy restoring old cars. Nowadays he was using his metalworking skills to do custom modification work on vans for disabled people.

Erin continued to explain (or perhaps boast) that her dad still enjoyed restoring old cars too but, these days, he also enjoys doing restoration work on old bicycles and old sports gear and old exercise equipment….

“My dad also likes to spend a good deal of time restoring old wheelchairs too.”

Then Erin concluded:

“My father has discovered the beauty of gathering in things that other people are planning to throw away. He finds joy in breathing new life into things that other people have given up on. When my dad restores an old wheelchair he kind of feels like he’s restoring an old friend.”

“Wow Honey! Your father sounds like one of those miracle-working Good Samaritan types.”

Erin sighed: “Yeah. It’s something along those lines.”

So, with a worldview that may have just been slightly tweaked, the attendant opened up the back of this young couple’s van and stuck me inside.

I was being blessed with a second chance. Erin’s father was going to restore me. In turn, I would be able to forever enjoy the precious gift-of-new-life⁶…and such is the way of God…

---

¹ The author of this ridiculous piece (me) had two knee surgeries, eleven years apart, for a single ping-pong injury. No joke.

² Ps 33:11

³ Quasi mandatory Monty Python reference⁴

⁴ I’m not even really a Monty Python fan. [shoulder shrug]

⁵ Not sure why Mrs. New Mom hiccupped here. Has she been drinking? I certainly hope not!

⁶ 2 Cor 5:17