My Next Step Read Free

return home to be examined by my own physicians. I was unable to walk on my own. It took several people to carry me from the wheelchair to the car and then onto the waiting plane. I don’t remember much except for the pain. Although I initially thought I’d find comfort on one of the aircrafts I was used to traveling on, there was no comfort to be had. I tried lying down on the floor, reclining in a chair and even leaning over the top of one of the seats. There was no relief—just unrelenting anguish.

CHAPTER 1
    Unforeseen Horizons
    W hen we landed in Denver, Junior was at the airport to meet us. He’s the eldest of my four children: Dave, Mary, Chuck and John. Chuck lives in St. Augustine, Florida, so we don’t get to see him as often as we see the others, who live near Gail and me in Denver.
    I think Junior knew I was in a lot of pain because I usually refuse to get into one of his cars. There’s no good reason for that insolence other than we are both car enthusiasts and I like my vehicles more than his. But on this particular day I wasn’t picky about how I was getting home as long as I was getting there quickly. Despite my fast deteriorating condition, I told my son I didn’t want to go straight to the hospital—I preferred being in the comfort of my own bed.
    “We’ll go tomorrow,” I said, agreeing to let him take me first thing in the morning after breakfast… if I was still in pain. Somehow I was still hoping that this would pass—or at the very least, subside to a somewhat more manageable level of pain.
    Everyone was pleading with me to go to Sky Ridge Medical Center, because it’s such a great facility and very close to home, but I didn’t want to be there overnight. Besides, the hospital in Galveston had already given me large doses of pain medication. Maybe I would just sleep this off, I reasoned . My reluctance was nothing more than sheer stubbornness and, looking back, stupidity.
    Junior accompanied me to the house to make sure I was safe before heading back to his own home.
    Sleep that night was completely out of the question. I couldn’t move, turn over or lift my legs half an inch off the ground without assistance. The only way I could make myself comfortable was to lay flat or to pull my knees straight to my chest and prop three or four pillows underneath my calves. When I was in that position, the pain went away but the paralysis persisted. I tried not to think too much about what that meant in the long term. I was simply focused on finding a comfortable position.
    JUNIOR
    The first inclination I had that something was off with my dad was during a boys’ golf trip to Phoenix that we’d taken a week before he fell ill. Dad likes to be warm all of the time so even though it was a pleasant sixty degrees outside, he was wearing a sweater. By the second hole though, he was complaining that he was hot. I’d never heard him say he was hot—ever. When we finished our round of golf, I took a photo of him to commemorate our day. When I saw the picture, I could tell that he didn’t look right. He was struggling to stand up straight and his body was crooked. The signs of something going wrong are usually present, but they don’t mean much until you reflect back on them.
    When Dad texted me from Texas that night, I didn’t think he was in real trouble. I knew that most of his back problems were triggered from being on a plane or even from twisting his body while playing golf. Still, I texted Margaret as soon as I heard the news because I wanted to make sure he was really ok. About an hour later, she texted back saying Dad was heading to the hospital.
    When they arrived back in Denver, I could see that Dad was in terrible shape. I begged him to go to the hospital that night, but he wouldn’t do it. I was relieved when he agreed to go the following morning. I really thought he’d put up a fight because my dad could usually tough out whatever pain he had. This time was different, though. Of