Humor, wit and mobility of the cornmudgeon

Jan and I went to visit Walt last night, in the rehab facility. It’s a new building on the campus of the Summa hospital system that is one third of the near south side of Akron. His room had one reclining chair and one folding chair. Perfect for two guests.

Walt was asleep, but Jan knocked and he was awake and ready for visiting. He said he had no idea of how he got home last Saturday, except it frightened him and he was grateful there were no repercussions. For my ears, a totally unexpected confession.

We chatted a bit; Jan excused herself to use his washroom. When she returned, “Why is your wheel chair in the shower?” The old sly grin. “I used it to get in there and set off the alarm. They found me using the facility and confiscated my wheels. I have to ask for help now.”

Two days later he knows all the staff by name and tells stories about them. A doctor asked why he was there and he said because his kid sister sent him. I laughed and remarked he would not have gone had I suggested it and I got the “What do you think?” stare.

I asked what he’d done for therapy and got “Walk, walk, walk.” I was stunned. “Between two rails?” which I considered preposterous as he left arm lies useless. “No, up and down the hall.” I went into the hall and demonstrated on the rail on the left side. Back in the room the dummy grin again. “No, the right side.” He has enough function in his left leg and enough upper body strength to slowly navigate the hall.

“How did you get past open doors?” I was still dumbfounded. Two fingers walked, 
s-l-o-w-l-y through the air. “Across the hall to return?” Same two fingers, in front of the dummy grin. I guess he intends to perambulate through the front door.

Twenty more minutes of idle chat, and I asked “So, what else are you thinking about?”

“Electrophoretic separation.”

I howled, Walt grinned, Jan demanded to know what was so funny.

The beautiful science fair project he and dad built when I was in the eleventh grade. Dad drilled me on the answers and was not pleased when I was booted in the second round. He thought I should win a scholarship; I barely rose to an inkling of what was happening in that device and why. I told the judges at the second level that it was my dad’s project, which was my out. Years later it is among the good stories Walt and I share. I never felt a moment’s remorse, though it took my dad a few years to get over it.

There’s no discharge date written on Walt’s wall chart yet, but he intends to walk the left wall frontwards in two or three weeks. Oh, and will I bring him a 42 ounce coffee from BP next time. As he is committed to recovery, I will return to my regular programming next week.

Dad, my youngest brother Mel on the left, Walt on the right. I guess Mel was around five, so the picture is 1952ish.