The Operation
The Operation
Tim and I each weighed four pounds at birth, and because of our premature birth weight were placed in incubators. We were confined inside these devices for the first 30 days of life, and it was during this period that I had my first "operation". As mom related many years earlier, Dr. Van Demark walked through the children's ward, took one look at me and said, "there's something wrong with this one." He informed mom and dad that I had a club foot, and watch how well my foot developed.
I don't recall problems with walking until I was four years old. I recall walking along the brick lined sidewalk in front of our grandparents' house in Kimball, and I kept stumbling every few yards. I went in and told mom that I kept "falling over", and mom's response was, "we will be taking you to see a doctor soon..." Of course that didn't excite me much, as the only experience I had with a doctor was to "get a shot."
It has been said that very dramatic events stay with you throughout your life, and the events surrounding my operation are still as clear now as they were then. I recall leaving the house for Sioux Falls, and later driving through the "big city" making our way to McKenna Hospital. I remember having my own hospital room in the children's ward. I recollect the nurses wrapping my feet in towels, in the event I decided to walk around. I recollect talking with the little girl in the next room through a window that separated our bedrooms. I remember walking next door to talk with the little girl, but honestly, I was more interested with all the wires and gadgets that were inside her darkened room. As I talked with her, a nurse passed by and told me "don't go inside, you might disconnect something." Later, I recall sitting on my bed and peering through the glass window at the little girl, who by now was joined by her parents.
The next morning my great adventure continued. I didn't know what to expect, and I became frightened when several nurses entered my room with masks over their noses and mouths. Mom also had a mask on, and continued to stay with me until we reached the operating room door. As the door opened, she told me that she couldn't go any farther, but that "everything would be OK." They placed me onto the operating table, and all I could see were bright lights and new people with masks around the table. The last thing I remember was this round device coming "straight-down" onto my face, and all I remember was screaming until I blacked out. The next thing I recall was awakening in a new bed, and the first person I saw was dad. He was talking with with a man I'd never seen before. I was so groggy, but when I looked down the bed towards my toes, I saw something new. There were plaster casts on both of my legs.
I wore full leg casts for a long time, and later were cut below the kneecaps. At some point I received green rubber attachments that were glued to the bottom of my cast. They were designed to help me walk again, as I had been crawling on my hands and knees for months. I remember trying to walk, and the frustration I experienced because my legs were in such a weakened state. Over those next few days I attempted to stand erect, try taking a few steps, falling to the ground, and of course...cry. This cycle was repeated many times over the next few weeks, but I did eventually learn how to walk with the green rubber devices attached to the bottom of my casts..
The last time I saw Dr. Van Demark was just before taking my army physical. In 1972 everybody sought out their doctors to obtain letters stating they were unfit for military duty. I was no exception. When the doctor entered the examination room, he didn't recognize me. He said "hello", picked up my file, and this huge smile stretched across his face. He asked me to walk around the room, and before he left the room said, "stay here, I will be right back." In a few minutes, there were three other doctors accompanying him. He then said, "what do you think he has?" Each one of them responded with a diagnosis, and each time he would say, "no." Finally, he told them what I had, and a look of surprise came across their faces. He proceeded to tell them about my medical history, and noted that this was one of his better successes. They all agreed.
It was at that point I realized what a miracle he had performed on my legs many years earlier. The second miracle was getting a letter that kept me out of military service, and eventually spending time in Vietnam.