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This is a tale of presumption, which I tell so the young can hear what older doctors know: that the human spirit will always find a way to astonish. It is, for the most part, a true story.
He was a retired union leader, tough and blunt and charming. She was bright, small, agile. Both were golfers, and when he retired he built his wife her dream home in a golfing community near Sacramento. She was 80 and he was 84 when my story starts.
They'd been married over 60 years and were one person: they moved together with practiced grace, sharing dozens of small physical gestures of endearment. He called her "the Boss." She called him "He," as if there were no other men.
I learned early in our 15 years together to see them both at once, no matter who had the appointment, for they answered for each other better than they did for themselves.
"How are you doing?" I'd ask her. "She's getting clumsy," he'd say. "Any problems with you?" I'd ask him. "He's going deaf," she'd reply.
If I called their home, they'd both be on the speakerphone, each telling me their concerns about the other.
He'd had a childhood osteomyelitis that left him with a limp; he also had asthma and had had a coronary bypass at age 76. She'd had some arthritis. But they were mostly robust, golfing every day.
Then her game got worse—and worse. Her left hand grew weak, her speech soft and slurred. She began to fall. Her animated face stilled, became masklike— except for her frightened eyes. Within a year of her first symptoms, she was in a wheelchair. Her body stiffened and was racked by cramps, which he would try to massage away through endless painful nights. Swallowing became deranged, and she was repeatedly hospitalized for pneumonias.
Her neurologist was not sure but guessed she had an odd form of Parkinson disease. Multiple therapies gave no pause to her inexorable decline, and we finally resorted to botulinum toxin injections when she ripped her hip from its socket in one great spasmodic contraction of the muscles of her upper leg.
Each time she was admitted, her husband came in with her. He sat and slept in a big chair by her bed, never leaving her side. He fed her, bathed her, turned her, talked to her. The busy nurses loved him for his love of her and nonintrusive helpfulness to them. When I told him how much the staff admired him, he was nonplussed:
"Isn't this what husbands are supposed to do?" he asked.
He modified their house for her: ramps, grab bars, stair lift, bed sling. And when even this was not enough, he reluctantly persuaded her to leave the home they had built together ("Just until you're better," he told her—and she, seeing his despair, pretended to believe him).
They moved into a single story house near their granddaughter, who checked on them each day. Home nurses visited, did what they could. Yet he still himself would lift her, bathe her, help her to the toilet.
Often now they fell together, each taking the other down. His arthritis worsened, and his heart began to fail. Over his prideful protest that he could take care of his own wife, the family hired a full-time live-in helper, a strong Tongan woman. She was deeply sympathetic, as sometimes is the gift of those themselves oppressed.
She was the sole parent of a 6-year-old girl, and finding a job that allowed them to stay together had been hard. However, the old couple welcomed the active child, who brought joy to them both with her radiant vivacity and affection.
Still, the old man continued to lift and turn his wife at night, though the live-in helper slept near them.
"The helper needed her sleep," he said. He refused hospice when the nurse told him that he'd have to promise not to rush his wife to the hospital in an emergency, but call the hospice nurse instead. Neither he nor his wife wanted to be in the ICU or to have CPR, but he'd too often seen her pulled back from the brink by intravenous antibiotics and pulmonary toilet in hospital to surrender these options yet.
The call finally came as I knew it must: She looked bad, he said. Should we get the paramedics?
"If you want to," I told him, "or you can wait for me; I'll come now."
"It's hard to know what's right," he said.
"Yes, it is. Call your family. I'll be right there."
"It's really bad this time," he said, and hung up. I drove like a fury, but when I arrived, the ambulance, siren screaming, was pulling away. He and his granddaughter were in the driveway.
"She had trouble breathing," he said, "so I called 911. I thought maybe they could just give her some oxygen here, but they said they couldn't do that, that they had to take her to the nearest hospital."
He and his granddaughter got into her car to follow the ambulance.
I had no privileges at the hospital to which she'd been taken, but the triage nurse knew me from a lecture I had given and let me into the emergency room to see my patient.
She'd had massive aspiration, was febrile, pale, and obtunded. The pulmonologist was an older man who—once he'd heard the story and spoken to the family—readily agreed to palliative care and antibiotics only.
She died 3 days later, her husband holding her hand.
Although there were many family with him in that hospital room, at that moment he was truly alone: it was in his face as he stroked her hair. I knew then that he would die soon, and that it would not be his heart but his aloneness that would kill him.
Half of him—her—was already dead. For 60 years the other half had been, above all other things, her husband, her protector. It was his role in life, and it lay dead with her. What was left?
A week after the funeral I phoned him.
"How are you?" I asked, and was unexpectedly startled to hear his voice reply—not hers, as had always been the case before.
"Okay," he said.
"Just okay?" I asked.
"Well . . . my arthritis is better." No surprise. He no longer lifted her.
"Good."
"And the swelling in my ankles is gone."
"Fine."
"My breathing's better, too." His heart was being less stressed by exertion now.
"Doctor?" he said.
"Yes?"
"Do you think I could try that Viagra that everybody's talking about?" I was stunned.
"Viagra?"
"Yeah. Will my heart take it?" I thought perhaps he was confusing Viagra with some new anti-inflammatory.
"Viagra—you want it for . . . ?"
"What else? Performance! You know . . . it's been a long time, what with the Boss so sick and all. Now a lady's asked me out to dinner, and I don't want to embarrass myself."
"Do I know this lady?"
"Don't think you ever met her. She came up to me at the Boss's funeral. The Boss and I used to play golf with her and her husband a long time ago. She told me she'd decided way back then that if her David died—he keeled over last year—and the Boss died, that she'd come after me."
He laughed. "Isn't that something?"
"That's something!" I said. Then I just had to ask, "How old is this lady?"
"About my age," he said.
I prescribed the Viagra. A week later, I called again. He answered.
"How are you doing?" I asked.
An unfamiliar female voice came loudly over the speakerphone: "Great!" she said. "He's doing great!"
You have reached the automated answering service of your school. In order to assist you in connecting to the right staff member, please listen to all the options before making a selection:
- To lie about why your child is absent - Press 1
- To make excuses for why your child did not do his work - Press 2
- To complain about what we do - Press 3
- To swear at staff members - Press 4
- To ask why you didn't get information that was already enclosed in your newsletter and several flyers mailed to you - Press 5
- If you want us to raise your child - Press 6
- If you want to reach out and touch, slap or hit someone - Press 7
- To request another teacher, for the third time this year - Press 8
- To complain about bus transportation - Press 9
- To complain about school lunches - Press 0
- If you realize this is the real world and your child must be accountable and responsible for his/her own behavior, class work, homework and that it's not all the teachers' fault for your child's lack of effort: Hang up and have a nice day!
A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make it and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling. It seemed as one problem was solved, a new one arose.
Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire. Soon the pots came to boil. In the first she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she placed ground coffee beans. She let them sit and boil, without saying a word.
In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl.
Turning to her daughter, she asked, "Tell me what you see. "Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied.
Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots.
She did and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the daughter to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard boiled egg. Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee. The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma.
The daughter then asked, "What does it mean, mother?"
Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity -- boiling water. Each reacted differently.
The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting.
However, after being subjected to the boiling water, it softened and became weak.
The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened.
The ground coffee beans were unique, however.
After they were in the boiling water, they had changed the water.
"Which are you?" she asked her daughter. "When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?"
Think of this: Which am I?
Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength?
Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a financial hardship or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff?
Does my shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and tough with a stiff spirit and hardened heart?
Or am I like the coffee bean?
The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavor. If you are like the bean, when things are at their worst, you get better and change the situation around you.
When the hour is the darkest and trials are their greatest, do you elevate yourself to another level?
How do you handle adversity? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?
May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human and enough hope to make you happy.
The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the most of everything that comes along their way.
The brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past; you can't go forward in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches.
That we don't have to change friends if we understand that friends change.
I believe-
That no matter how good a friend is, they're going to hurt you every once in a
while and, you must forgive them for that.
I believe-
That true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance.
Same goes for true love.
I believe- That you can do something in an instant that will give you heartache for life.
I believe-
That it's taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.
I believe-
That you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you see them
I believe-
That you can keep going long after you can't.
I believe-
That we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.
I believe-
That either you control your attitude or it controls you.
I believe-
That regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there
had better be something else to take its place.
I believe-
That heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done,
regardless of the consequences.
I believe-
That money is a lousy way of keeping score.
I believe-
That my best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have the best time!
I believe-
That sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you're down, will be the ones to help you get back up.
I believe-
That sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn't give me the right to be cruel.
I believe-
That just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.
I believe-
That maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you've had and what you've
learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you've celebrated.
I believe-
That it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others.
Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.
I believe-
That no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't stop for your grief.
I believe-
That our background and circumstances may have influenced
who we are, but we are responsible for who we become.
I believe-
That just because two people argue, it doesn't mean they don't love each other, And just
because they don't argue, it doesn't mean they do.
I believe-
That you shouldn't be so eager to find out a secret. It could change your life forever.
I believe-
That two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different.
I believe-
That your life can be changed in a matter of hours by people who don't even know you.
I believe-
That even when you think you have no more to give, when a
friend cries out to you - you will find the strength to help.
I believe-
That credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being.
I believe-
That the people you care about most in life are the essence of life.
Tell them today how much you love them and what they mean to you.
At the age of 21, Todd Rose was a high-school dropout struggling to support his wife and two small children. He was on state benefits and had worked his way through ten minimum wage jobs in two years.
Todd remembers his report cards at school which had a common thread and read, “He’s a little hyperactive and finds it difficult to fit in.”
One day when he was at a very low ebb, blaming his school and teachers for his misfortune, Todd’s father – who had worked his way up from tea boy and floor cleaner to mechanical engineer – gave him some life changing advice:
“I’ve lived with you for 21 years Todd. You’re not lazy or stupid. You’re just fine the way you are, you don’t need fixing . You just need to find something that really interests you and someone to teach it to you.” His dad’s words hit home so he enrolled in a series of human biology classes at his local college.
Todd found the psychology classes gripping, not least because he realized that school had not worked out because he was outside the range of the average, normal student and as such, not catered for.
The reality is that no one is actually completely average and has at least one skill or talent, be that as yet undeveloped, which is well above average.
In a world that has perpetuated the cult of the average and valued sameness, conformity is losing its grip on the reins as authenticity and exceptions rule.
There’s one thing that you’re a world champion at. No one does it better than you. You’re the best at being you. And when you’re being your best self, your world will transform from a round hole to the shape of your square peg.
P.S. Todd is now 42 years old and Professor of Education at Harvard.
Have you ever received a gift out of the blue, at a moment in time when you needed a dash of hope?
I have.
One that stands out in my mind was Christmas Day, 2003.
My kids were at fun ages for Christmas - 7, 4, 3, and 8 months.
Thankfully they were young and hadn’t discovered TV commercials or shopping malls yet, because Christmas was going to be a little lean that year.
I was in between a good sales career I had left the previous year and the copywriting business I hadn’t discovered yet.
The bills were coming in faster than the income, and I was struggling to keep my head above water.
We were still dealing with hospital expenses from having three kids in four years.
And if it wasn’t a big car repair, there was always something we needed for the house, or the December property tax bill which seemed to go up every year.
Emida was staying home with the kids, which I was happy about.
So I was juggling three jobs to try to keep it all going: managing a third shift call center for a large regional bank, substitute teaching at the local high school during the day, and putting in about 10 hours a week at a nearby retail store.
Still, not quite enough to make ends meet.
The morning of December 25, I heard the door bell ring early, before any of us were up.
I knew it couldn’t be a solicitor on Christmas Day, so I threw on some clothes and went to the door.
There, on our door step, were four bags of wrapped gifts, one for each of our kids. No one in sight, either, so whoever dropped them off rang the bell and got out of there quickly.
Emida and I brought them in, without the kids seeing, and the new gifts more than doubled the bounty.
What amazed me was that every gift was labeled by name, and spot-on for that person.
Whoever it was obviously knew us well. They had spent a lot of time picking things out and wrapping them. And they had carefully planned their clandestine Christmas morning giveaway.
Needless to say, the kids had a blast opening all the Christmas presents. With each present opened, I was blown away by the thoughtfulness and generosity of our Secret Santa.
In fact, to this day, it remains a true Secret Santa. I never did find out who blessed us this way.
I have my suspicions. It might have been our next-door neighbors, Al and Lou Ann, though they never let on. It might have been someone from our church. Or someone I worked with.
In any case, it still stands as the most emotional gift I’ve ever received. Ever.
The memory conjures up the song lyrics…
I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play
And mild and sweet their songs repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men
Good will, indeed.
I tell you this story for a few reasons:
If you need some hope going into the new year, hang on. It gets better.
If I can help you with anything - an encouraging word, some advice for building your business and making money, new ideas for a fresh start in 2019 - let me know.
If you see someone else who needs a lift like I did 15 years ago, I can tell you this. A small act of kindness will be something they will probably never forget. You won’t either.
I've learned that you cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved. The rest is up to them.
I've learned that no matter how much I care, some people just don't care back
I've learned that it takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it.
I've learned that it's not what you have in your life, but who you have in your life that counts.
I've learned that you can get by on charm for about 15 minutes. After that, you'd better know something.
I've learned that you shouldn't compare yourself to the best others can do, but to the best you can do.
I've learned that it's not what happens to people that's important. It's what they do about it.
I've learned that no matter how thin you slice it, there are always two sides.
I've learned that it's taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.
I've learned that it's a lot easier to react than it is to think.
I've learned that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you see them.
I've learned that you can keep going long after you think you can't.
I've learned that we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.
I've learned that either you control your attitude or it controls you.
I've learned that regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there had better be something else to take its place. (Amen to that!)
I've learned that heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.
I've learned that learning to forgive takes practice.
I've learned that there are people who love you dearly, but just don't know how to show it.
I've learned that money is a lousy way of keeping score.
I've learned that my best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have the best time.
I've learned that sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you're down will be the ones to help you get back up.
I've learned that I'm getting more and more like my grandma, and I'm kinda happy about it.
I've learned that sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn't give me the right to be cruel.
I've learned that true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance. Same goes for true love.
I've learned that just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.
I've learned that maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you've had and what you've learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you've celebrated.
I've learned that you should never tell a child her dreams are unlikely or outlandish. Few things are more humiliating, and what a tragedy it would be if she believed it
I've learned that your family won't always be there for you. It may seem funny, but people you aren't related to can take care of you and love you and teach you to trust people again. Families aren't biological.
I've learned that no matter how good a friend someone is, they're going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.
I've learned that it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others. Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.
I've learned that no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't stop for your grief.
I've learned that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become.
I've learned that sometimes when my friends fight, I'm forced to choose sides even when I don't want to.
I've learned that just because two people argue, it doesn't mean they don't love each other. And just because they don't argue, it doesn't mean they do.
I've learned that sometimes you have to put the individual ahead of their actions.
I've learned that we don't have to change friends if we understand that friends change.
I've learned that if you don't want to forget something, stick it in your underwear drawer.
I've learned that you shouldn't be so eager to find out a secret. It could change your life forever.
I've learned that the clothes I like best are the ones with the most holes in them.
I've learned that two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different.
I've learned that no matter how you try to protect your children, they will eventually get hurt and you will hurt in the process.
I've learned that there are many ways of falling and staying in love.
I've learned that no matter the consequences, those who are honest with themselves, get farther in life.
I've learned that many things can be powered by the mind, the trick is self-control.
I've learned that no matter how many friends you have, if you are their pillar, you will feel lonely and lost at the times you need them most.
I've learned that your life can be changed in a matter of hours by people who don't even know you.
I've learned that even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out to you, you will find the strength to help.
I've learned that writing, as well as talking, can ease emotional pains.
I've learned that the paradigm we live in is not all that is offered to us.
I've learned that credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being.
I've learned that the people you care most about in life are taken from you too soon.
I've learned that although the word "love" can have many different meaning, it loses value when overly used.
I've learned that it's hard to determine where to draw the line between being nice and not hurting people's feelings and standing up for what you believe.
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