Read Online Imperfect: An Improbable Life by Jim Abbott, Tim Brown - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jim Abbott, Tim Brown
Ads: Link
the backseat of the family car, headed west on Interstate 69, bound for Grand Rapids and Mary Free Bed Hospital, Mom and Dad not too sure about it but earnestly honoring the opinions of the experts. I was five. I’d spend a month there, most of it by myself. I think it was harder on Mom than me. She cried most of the two-hour drive back to Flint. They’d come to visit on the weekends, but otherwise I’d trudge along with the program, which seemed to have as much to do with the doctors and nurses learning about me as it did with me learning to live with one good arm and one not-so-good arm.
The experience was somewhat frightening. While the staff did wonderful work and was quite kind, for a five-year-old on his own the hospital was cold and sterile and not at all like my room and bed back in Flint. These beds had nets over them. I couldn’t decide whether they were there to keep me in or other people out. I spent alot of time on that conundrum. I’d not considered myself before to be at any great disadvantage, since I managed to get most things done with some effort. Here, I saw children near my age with no legs, or no arms and no legs, or various combinations thereof. A decade had passed since doctors discovered the effects of thalidomide on women and their unborn children and withdrawn the drug, yet the consequences remained evident at Mary Free Bed. I was lonely and shy, but made a friend in a little girl with a big, friendly smile. She had remarkable spirit. At the hospital to master the daily tasks that everyone outside the hospital thought nothing of, that little girl had learned to open a tube of toothpaste, squeeze the toothpaste onto a toothbrush, and brush her teeth on her own. This was considered a great victory, and she happily shared it with visitors. She had no arms, but she had two legs and two feet, and she used those.
While my friend the little girl learned the mechanics of dental hygiene, I was measured for a new right arm and educated in its many clunky benefits. It was bulky and heavy and had two steel pincers at the end, all of which was strapped to my tiny body by a harness. The clamps, operated by a cable, opened when the arm was extended and closed when the arm was drawn back. Despite the stump sock—they really called it that—even short periods wearing the artificial limb left my arm raw and sweaty and, right away, left me wondering if it was worth the effort. Even at five, going on six, I admired the kids in the hospital for their determination and encouraging outlook. They were nice to me. Their challenges were beyond anything I could have imagined. I wasn’t sure I belonged there with them. I mean, I was practically whole. My parents, it turned out, were sure I did not belong there.
Unable to stay in Grand Rapids because of work, school, my baby brother, and the fact that they could not have afforded the hotelroom, Mom and Dad visited on weekends. What they saw convinced them they’d made a mistake. There were children at Mary Free Bed—strong and brave children—who would always need the good people at Mary Free Bed. Their little Jimmy wasn’t one of them.
One Saturday afternoon, a woman pushed her wheelchair-bound son into the hospital lobby. She was dressed in expensive furs. Jewelry shone from her ears, fingers, and wrists. An orderly approached from behind the reception desk. She gave the wheelchair one more gentle push and before it stopped rolling, she had pivoted on her high heels and was on her way back through the front doors. The aide caught the wheelchair on the glide. She had not said good-bye to the boy, had not given him one last hug, had not told him she loved him and would see him next weekend. She’d simply dropped him off, like he’d been a line on her to-do list. Deposit alimony check, get nails done, dump kid . Watching from a chair in the lobby, Dad was appalled. He filled out some paperwork and we walked out that same front door. On the drive back to Flint,
The experience was somewhat frightening. While the staff did wonderful work and was quite kind, for a five-year-old on his own the hospital was cold and sterile and not at all like my room and bed back in Flint. These beds had nets over them. I couldn’t decide whether they were there to keep me in or other people out. I spent alot of time on that conundrum. I’d not considered myself before to be at any great disadvantage, since I managed to get most things done with some effort. Here, I saw children near my age with no legs, or no arms and no legs, or various combinations thereof. A decade had passed since doctors discovered the effects of thalidomide on women and their unborn children and withdrawn the drug, yet the consequences remained evident at Mary Free Bed. I was lonely and shy, but made a friend in a little girl with a big, friendly smile. She had remarkable spirit. At the hospital to master the daily tasks that everyone outside the hospital thought nothing of, that little girl had learned to open a tube of toothpaste, squeeze the toothpaste onto a toothbrush, and brush her teeth on her own. This was considered a great victory, and she happily shared it with visitors. She had no arms, but she had two legs and two feet, and she used those.
While my friend the little girl learned the mechanics of dental hygiene, I was measured for a new right arm and educated in its many clunky benefits. It was bulky and heavy and had two steel pincers at the end, all of which was strapped to my tiny body by a harness. The clamps, operated by a cable, opened when the arm was extended and closed when the arm was drawn back. Despite the stump sock—they really called it that—even short periods wearing the artificial limb left my arm raw and sweaty and, right away, left me wondering if it was worth the effort. Even at five, going on six, I admired the kids in the hospital for their determination and encouraging outlook. They were nice to me. Their challenges were beyond anything I could have imagined. I wasn’t sure I belonged there with them. I mean, I was practically whole. My parents, it turned out, were sure I did not belong there.
Unable to stay in Grand Rapids because of work, school, my baby brother, and the fact that they could not have afforded the hotelroom, Mom and Dad visited on weekends. What they saw convinced them they’d made a mistake. There were children at Mary Free Bed—strong and brave children—who would always need the good people at Mary Free Bed. Their little Jimmy wasn’t one of them.
One Saturday afternoon, a woman pushed her wheelchair-bound son into the hospital lobby. She was dressed in expensive furs. Jewelry shone from her ears, fingers, and wrists. An orderly approached from behind the reception desk. She gave the wheelchair one more gentle push and before it stopped rolling, she had pivoted on her high heels and was on her way back through the front doors. The aide caught the wheelchair on the glide. She had not said good-bye to the boy, had not given him one last hug, had not told him she loved him and would see him next weekend. She’d simply dropped him off, like he’d been a line on her to-do list. Deposit alimony check, get nails done, dump kid . Watching from a chair in the lobby, Dad was appalled. He filled out some paperwork and we walked out that same front door. On the drive back to Flint,
Similar Books
