GRATITUDE
After finishing a six year residency in surgery at the University of Clncinnati, I stayed on there as an Assistant professor of surgery, and as the Chief of surgery at the Veteran’s Administration Hospital. It was a great job. I loved it. I continued to learn and develop skills, do research, have insights, because I had to teach. I should have stayed there. It was my calling in life, and I should have ridden it as far as it wanted to take me.
It was a time of great change, however. The street riots were going on in downtown Cincinnati, extending out to the University of Cincinnati area, and encompassing the apartment where we lived. The city authorities put out a map of the riot area, and told our citizenry to stay out of these areas, for fear of injury or death. We couldn’t do that, because that area was where we lived. We had one child and another on the way. We wanted to buy a house, and move out of the downtown, but did not have a whole lot extra to pay a mortgage and the other bills. My salary at the VA was $30,000 per year. So it was that, when my friend and former colleague in residency, Malcom Lentz called, asking me to join him in practice in Chillicothe, Ohio, I succumbed to the lure of more money, in order to do more things with our lives. That began a remarkably different chapter of our lives.
At the time we moved to Chillicothe, the city hospital was a small old building, cramped for space, sitting in a landlocked area near downtown, with no room to expand. The hospital imposed upon the city officials to support a bond issue, which would allow them to build a new hospital at the edge of town. That bond issue eventually passed, and the city constructed a new hospital at the north edge of town, at or near the junction of Ohio highways 35, 50, 23, and 159. It was a smash hit. We rapidly became inundated with emergencies and auto accident victims, of all severity. We became a regional medial center, drawing a patient population for acute and chronic care from a broad swath of southeastern Ohio, extending down to Portsmouth, Ohio in the south, and as far east as McArthur, Ohio. We were a trauma center before that was even considered for designation in the health care system. It was the best designed hospital I have ever worked in, during all my years of practice. The emergency room, radiology, laboratory, operating room and intensive care unit were all grouped together in one block, all on the same floor, with nursing units attached on the east side. It was ideal –but there were plans for expansion within a few years of our settling in.
The main entry for employees was through a back door, which sat on the south side of the building, just in back of the emergency room. From that point, a long hall extended, which connected to all those vital areas: the ER, lab, Xray, OR and ICU, and then the nursing units. One morning I happened to walk in that back entrance with Ted Stryker, who was director of the laboratory. As we headed down that hall, each of us was lost in thought, not speaking much, thinking of our obligations for the day, each of us going to our respective places of work, he to the laboratory, me to surgery. But before we got to our destinations, there was Henry, swinging a mop in the hallway. He was cleaning the floor for the day, and smiling broadly. When he looked up and saw us, his face lit up, and he said, “Hello, Mr. Stryker. Sure is a wonderful day, isn’t it!” Then he beamed ear to ear, and went on swinging his mop. We both said “Hello”, and then went our respective ways.
When I got to the locker room for surgery, I had to sit down for a minute, because I was so struck by this man and this scene that I had to reflect on it. You see, Henry was a young adult with cerebral palsy, who had limits to his physical ability. I had seen him before for ER visits, and all of knew about Henry. He had never seemed happy before. He had never been employed up to this time. But now he was very happy, because he had a job. He would be able to pay his bills. He would not be confined to his home, would have a place to see other people, to be a part of life, to have a responsibility. Henry had, in one brief moment, limited as he was, taught me two very important lessons in life. I hoped that I would never forget them, for the rest of my life.
Ever since that time, I have been grateful for every day that our creator has given me and given all of us. Every night, before supper, I earnestly send my thanks to that creator. I give my intense thanks for my life and the life of all the rest of you. Our creator has allowed us to see, hear, touch, taste, smell, sense position, move, learn, grow, love, and achieve thrilling moments of epiphany. It is impossible to say thanks strongly enough for these immense gifts. It is impossible to give back enough to this life to repay our creator for this magnanimity. Even though I believe that our creator is simply a force of unimaginable power, which lives by chance, and does not give a fig about what happens to any of us, I am deeply, in my soul, humbly thankful for every day of my life. I hope that lesson never leaves me. It is something that Henry taught me.
I am also grateful, every day of my existence, to have a job. I can’t imagine being happy in life without a job. This guy, who walked funny and talked funny, who had disabilities, taught me that. I do not want to live without a job. It allows me to have a responsibility to contribute to the betterment of society. It allows me to, in some way, pay back for these immense gifts of life given me, and given you. It is a pleasure to socialize, and tease, and commiserate with those others who work with me to make this a better society. It is our pleasure to help everyone else who comes to us have the opportunity to achieve their life, liberty, and happiness – their fulfillment. I don’t like the moments of drudgery. I chafe at some of the long tiring hours. I am frustrated by being presented with problems that have no good answer. I grumble when the alarm goes off in the morning. I have trepidation on some days, knowing that there will problems that will stump me, and stretch my ability. Nevertheless, I treasure my job every day. It is something that Henry taught me.
Thanks, Henry. I owe you a big one.
April 7, 2017