The stress of my health problems had to be incredible for my parents. I truly don't know how they did it. They must've loved me so much. I guess you have to deal with the cards you are dealt in life? Or maybe not. It would've been so easy to put me in a home for handicapped children and let someone else deal with the situation. But they were fighters too and would never send me away, even though I later learned that even Dr. Nicholson advised my admission into the Seashore House in Atlantic City, New Jersey.
Mom was always by my side. She was the Rock of the family. A former practical nurse, she quit her job to take care of me when my O.I. developed. Often she would spend the night in the hospital with me, or sit by my bedside all night at home. Alone while Dad worked, she drove the Schuylkill Expressway each day to visit me in the hospital. Someone also needed to stay with my siblings.
Mom always brought me a toy when I was in the hospital, often a stuffed animal. Often she would walk around the corner of the hospital to a little store. One time a cop stopped her and warned her about the dangerous neighborhood. He walked her back to the hospital that evening. At times she still went alone, determined to get that toy.
At home, she bathed me and fed me. She helped with my bathroom duties and gave me countless sponge baths when I was stuck in a cast. She held my hand when I was in pain, read to me or prayed with me. She was always there.
I just can't say enough about her. She was Catholic and very religious. She always had faith that a miracle would happen and I would someday be cured. She was a saint.
Otherwise she was a typical mother. Maybe a little over-protective at times, but what mother isn't? She was a great cook ( we ate well between her Italian cooking for Dad and her Slovak dishes from my grand mom). She was always so kind to otters, sending get-well cards to the sick, visiting friends in local hospitals, making a cake or a pot of soup for a family that was grieving the loss of a loved one.
Those nights in the hospital I would hear kids cry, out of pain or loneliness, crying to go home. Heartbreaking ,as I was missing my family too. The next morning I would keep my eyes peeled down the hospital corridor, and when I saw Mom emerge from the elevator I would yell out "Here comes my Mommy!"
I loved my folks so much for loving me. They never gave up on me and wouldn't allow me to give up on myself. That life lesson would follow me forever. Whenever I had bad times in my life, even after they were gone, I remembered their love and devotion.
It also had to be tough on my brothers and sister too. They had to deal with the unexpected chaos a sudden fracture could bring at any moment. My siblings got used to having to fend for themselves, like making dinner or cleaning the house. Many times they kept me company at home, playing a game or reading to me, even though they could've been out playing with friends.
Instead of being bitter about all the attention I needed, they seemed OK with their fate. I know there was a certain stigma of having a brother who was "different." What would their friends think? My siblings didn't care. They always tried to involve me in their lives, even if it was something as simple as a backyard whiffle ball game.
Speaking of friends, they were a big part of my early childhood. Visitors brightened my spirits. Get well cards were appreciated and hung on my bulletin board near my bed. Many people prayed for me and I truly believe their thoughts, prayers and visits helped to get me through some of these tough days.
It would be impossible to mention all my friends and family who were special to me. But there was one person who touched me so much during that time.
Her name was Monica and she lived around the block. She went to the same church as my family (Sacred Heart), so her family knew mine well. She was older ( what was it with me and older woman?). Moni would stop by after school and always bring me a bag of candy to share from the local mom n' pop store around the corner . She made me cards for every occasion and we often colored together on my bedroom floor or read books together. She baby-sat for me too.
She was my first "crush" if you want to call it that.She was pretty and would eventually be the May Queen at our church one spring.
On the days she didn't stop by I would look out the front window for her. Once during a snowstorm I watched her in a a snowball fight with a group of kids across the street, wishing I could join in. "Monica needs time with her other friends too," Mom would say. I wished I could be one of her "normal" friends, but I knew she thought of me as special. She cared, and for a teenager,who may be totally into themselves and boys, that was unusual.
The things she bought me- the toys and candy and small gifts- Moni bought out of her own allowance. She was a big inspiration to me, a shining example I would never forget, even later in life as a social worker.
Moni got married and had kids and I saw less of her as the years went by. She moved away and became a nurse. Ironically we would end up working together at the same nursing home down the road.
Having O.I. did have some advantages. My early life wasn't all sadness and pain. I had my share of happy times too. Several special times stand out.
Bobby Rydell was a popular singer from South Philadelphia. He was a teen idol in the late 50s and early 60s. I remember at four-years-old watching Bobby on American Bandstand, my coal black hair slicked back in a pompadour like his, as I collected all of his records, singing all his songs, spending hours listening to old 45s on my portable record player as I rehabbed from another fracture.
I always wanted to be a singer, and I even had my first gig at the age of four. Mom used to haul the record player and a stack of 45s to the local convent so that I could perform all of my Bobby Rydell hits before the Sacred Heart nuns on Sunday afternoons. I even had the body gestures down pat, dressed in my butterscotch jacket and stupid bow tie. The good sisters got a kick out of it. They had to be hard up for entertainment. I didn't know any better, and Mom thought I would get an extra pass into Heaven for making the nuns happy.
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