OneMansCourage

I suppose you think the story ended here, with Pop having lived
a miraculous life and the true, heartwarming story of his
realization of lifelong wishes granted.

On the contrary, Pop had more living to do, which reminded me
of that Dylan Thomas poem, "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good
Night . . . rage, rage against the dying of the light."

Paraphrasing, Dylan Thomas wrote this poem to his own father
who was approaching blindness and death and urged him to defy
death, fight to the end, and not to go silently or gently,
which is exactly what Pop continued to do!

Unfortunately, many things come uninvited as we grow older and,
in particular, when our eyesight fails us, the results can be
devastating. For Pop, it was the loss of his independence. He
could no longer drive or walk long distances, but he did make
it to the bench every day.

Pop had for some time been having miscellaneous mishaps that
were causing him to fall, and because of his advanced age, he
ended up in the emergency room of St. Mary's Hospital getting a
complete check up and, thankfully, released.

The last time Pop fell, he ended up hitting his head on the
hard ground and again went by ambulance to St. Mary's Hospital
where he underwent a series of CT scans. It had been determined
that Pop had a fist-size, benign brain tumor that encompassed
the left half of his brain and wrapped around the optic nerve
of his left eye. The ugly truth disclosed . . . Ed's dad hadn't
been simply falling all of this time; he'd been blacking out.

Because of the tremendous trauma to Pop's left eye from his
WWII injury, doctors had previously believed they were viewing
shrapnel and scar tissue at the optic nerve, which explained
why the tumor had gone undetected for fifteen +/- years.

Once doctors discovered the tumor, they decided to transfer Pop
to the Brain Injury Unit at Columbia Hospital in Manhattan
closer, more specialized care. Pop chose to have the tumor
removed, and frankly, he wouldn't consider any other
alternative.

His mood was mellow, yet Pop was obviously anxious and
sometimes emotional because he wasn't ready or willing to
consider that he'd probably never see again. Pop was truly
convinced that if doctors removed the tumor from his optic
nerve, he'd regain his sight, regardless of what the medical
staff or family told him.

The first step before removing the tumor was to tie off the
blood flow to it. This procedure helped shrink the tumor before
surgery, which doctors scheduled for the following week.

The day of surgery, they wheeled Pop into the operating room
and proceeded to make an L-shaped incision from the top of his
head to behind his ear. Doctors were able to remove most of the
tumor, leaving only the part that wrapped around the optic
nerve of his left eye. For almost a week doctors kept Pop
comfortably sedated in Neuro-ICU, giving his brain time to
heal.

Ed flew to Hoboken on September 29, 2004, the day before his
dad's 84th birthday, because doctors at that point didn't
expect Pop to recover, especially since he had developed
pneumonia and a fever from a urinary tract infection.

When Ed arrived at the hospital, Pop was almost unrecognizable
because of his weight loss and poor color. Needless to say,
things were looking grim, especially since doctors told all of
them that it would be a miracle if Pop recovered and an even
greater miracle if he left the hospital at all.

This was devastating news for everyone. As for Ed and his
brothers, in some ways, it seemed incredibly unfair that these
men were robbed of a lifetime with their father simply because
of someone else's hatred for this fine man; unfair that Pop
should be taken from them this soon, since they had only found
one another a few short years ago. At the same time, Ed was
glad to be there with his dad and wanted to see him improve and
beat this thing. Nonetheless, in his heart he knew their time
together was limited.

As soon as Pop became aware of his surroundings, the only thing
he could or would mumble was 'cig-et', and at the same time,
took two fingers, put them to his lips, giving the
international hand sign for cigarette. This didn't come as a
surprise since Pop had been a smoker for seventy-four of his
eighty-four years of life. Everyone agreed this was a good sign
and believed Pop was on the road to recovery.

Pop mumbled the word cigarette clearer by the day, and he
became more agitated with each passing hour. It was difficult
for Ed to see his dad in this troubled state, and he wasn't
sure whether the agitation was part of Pop's recovery or his
need for a cigarette, or perhaps a combination of both.

Since smoking isn't permitted in the hospital, and Pop was in
no condition to be wheeled outside for a cigarette, Ed
concocted a way for his dad to smoke, sort of.

Ed took a drinking straw, the code word for straw was now
cigarette, cut it the length of a Marlboro Light 100, and put
it between Pop's smoking fingers, telling him, "Here you go,
Pop. A Marlboro Light 100 just for you."

Pop mumbled, "Light it for me, Eddie."

Thinking quickly, Ed made a clicking sound with his mouth,
simulating a lighter, and told his dad to smoke all he wanted.
Ed would remind his dad when it was time to flick the ashes, at
which point Pop did just that.

Ed even told his dad, "Hey, you just flicked your ashes on the
bed. Here, use the ash tray," then handed Pop a dish from the
breakfast tray.

When Pop thought he had smoked the entire cigarette, he handed
it to Ed to put out. Ed told him a couple times, "Watch it,
Pop. You almost burned me."

Pop soon held celebrity status in Neuro-ICU, with nurses and
doctors from other floors stopping by to see him 'smoke.'

While some might think this to be cruel and unusual punishment
for a blind man, the fact is, as soon as Pop took that first
drag, his blood pressure, heart rate, and agitation went down.
The pulmonary doctor thought it was a great idea since Pop was
having a difficult time doing the breathing exercises that were
supposed to help clear his lungs.

Pop's infection soon cleared up, so did his pneumonia, and his
speech was getting clearer by the day. Doctors told Ed and
Zoraida to keep stimulating Pop's brain by talking to him and
making him talk back, noting this stimulation was good because
it required him to use his brain.

If Pop asked for a drink of water or a cigarette, Ed pretended
he couldn't hear his dad, knowing Pop would have to repeat his
request, which in turn stimulated his brain.

"Eddie, would you pour me a glass of water?"

"What, Pop? I can't hear you. Speak up."

"Water, Eddie. Water."

"Speak up, Pop. I can't hear you."

"Water."

"Louder, Pop."

By this time, Pop had enough of repeating himself and said loud
enough for most to hear and understand, "Who do you think I am,
Gunga Din?"

With an ear-to-ear smile, Ed realized instantly that Pop's
reaction meant he was well on his way to recovery, and there
would be at least a bit more time to spend with this war-worn,
yet vibrant man he called Pop.

Ed and his brothers had five and one half glorious years with
their dad, and although they couldn't make up for the forty
years lost, the memories they've since shared have been
priceless.