My Next Step Read Free Page A

course, looking back, I couldn’t possibly know that he’d be up against the biggest battle of his life
    By four o’clock that Sunday morning, less than forty-eight very long hours after I first discovered my paralysis, I finally caved in to the agony. I sent Ted, our house manager who lives with us, a text to come get me out of bed. It was apparent that I needed help, but I wasn’t ready to acknowledge that it was time to go to the emergency room.
    Ted immediately contacted Junior to let him know what was happening, with the hope that he could talk some sense into his old man.
    Junior showed up in record time looking like he’d just rolled out of bed—which he had. When he arrived, I was sitting in a chair in our family room, wincing and groaning. He sat down next to me and said, “You’re hurting bad, aren’t you, Dad?”
    “Yes.” Frankly, there was no point in hiding the suffering. I finally admitted how bad I felt.
    “You know, Dad, you’ve got health insurance you’ve been paying for years and you’ve hardly ever used it. Let’s go down to the emergency room to let them check you out. They’ll probably just give you a shot for the pain and send you home.” Junior was doing his best to convince me to do the right thing—and it worked. “It’s time. Let’s go.” There was zero reluctance in my voice.
    When we got to the emergency room, I was put in a staging area where I told the attending physicians that I was having severe back pain and needed medication for it. The team there was very attentive and kind. The first doctor I saw noticed that the color of my skin was a little off and that I was having trouble breathing. He gave me the same sedatives I’d been given in Galveston to take the edge off. The doctor felt it would be better for me to be transported from the ER to a regular hospital room that morning so they could run some additional tests.
    Knowing I’d likely put up a fight, Junior took my doctor aside and asked whether it would be better for me to spend the night there or go home to rest. The doctor felt it would be much better for me to stay there until they were certain about what we were dealing with.
    Although I wanted to keep my condition under the radar, several friends, colleagues and family members had gathered at the hospital within hours of my arrival to keep Gail, Junior and me company while the doctors ran a battery of tests. Chuck, Mary and John were told I was going to the hospital for back pain, which wasn’t anything to be alarmed about. Junior remained in constant touch with his brothers and sister, providing updates throughout the day.
    They had me in a very nice room on the sixth floor—one that resembled a suite at the Four Seasons more than a hospital room. Those rooms are a little more expensive than the other rooms in the hospital, but for me, they’re worth the extra price. Sky Ridge is a first-class modern facility with every comfort and amenity a patient could wish for to make a stay pleasant—even enjoyable, as strange as that may sound. The section of the hospital I was in gives new meaning to “hospital food,” offering filet mignon instead of the usual I’m-not-sure-this-is-really-steak surprise you find at many places, and other fine meals cooked to order. If you want someone to stay the night with you, they will fold out a bed from the sofa in your room and make it up for your guest. It’s first class all the way. If you’re going to be sick, this is the place to be.
    When I first got to Sky Ridge, the doctors weren’t totally convinced that my paralysis and pain was exclusive to my pre-existing back problems. The doctors and nurses on duty came in and out of my room, drawing blood and running a battery of tests. I remember being told they wanted to do an MRI, but I have no recollection of it taking place because they had administered heavy-duty sedatives to keep me comfortable and still. There were several times when I felt as if I was falling