TESTS OF STRENGTH

Toward the end of our second semester things seemed to be falling apart. Things became so intense, students were dropping like flies. Some weren’t cutting it in clinical, others were failing the tests, some couldn’t take the pressure and still others decided to try different programs. My group of friends was not untouched by the falling flies.

Getting ready to study one Saturday morning I decided that some vanilla ice cream would give me an extra boost of brain power. So with my spoon and bowl in hand, I headed down the basement stairs to the freezer chest. I was in good spirits and when I got to the third step from the bottom, I decided to take a leap. My knees bent, and as they straightened my ankles sprung lifting my heels from the step and giving my body lift-off. I should have soared through the air like a bird with wings and I started to. My feet no longer touched the steps and my body moved forward in the air, until suddenly I heard a loud crack and felt the pain at the top of my head. At the end of the stairs, the basement ceiling hangs about six inches lower than the ceiling above. My head hitting the low ceiling threw my weight off center when I landed. Landing on one leg I thought I would recover beautifully but like a clown wobbling on stilts bending to a fro, my knee lost its stability. I felt something tear and then I felt my bone come out of socket and as if attached by a rubber band spring back into place and out of socket the other away. Again it sprang back and out of socket again and this last time when it sprung back it sat in its place while I fell with an ‘Uumph’ onto the cold concrete basement floor. The sound of my bowl spinning on its ridge before it settled upside down and the clanking of my spoon as it hit and bounced on the concrete floor rang in my ears. Then off in the distance I heard laughing. I thought I was dreaming but my vision, initially blurred, began to clear. There was my mother, hovering over me in a fit of laughter. “Mom! Don’t laugh. It’s not funny!”

“I’m sorry, honey. Are you okay?” she asked between laughter. She was downstairs doing laundry when I made my grand entrance.

“I’m in pain.” Looking up at her I saw the hilarity of the situation and in a cross between laughing and crying managed to say, “Please stop laughing and help me up.” Getting up, the pain in my leg was excruciating. My mom was still laughing and her laugh continued to make me laugh. Between sharp, stabbing, shooting pains running from my knee to my ankle I laughed and cried. Putting any weight on it sent the pain shooting to my hip. When we finally got a hold of ourselves we made it upstairs to the couch where my entire leg swelled despite icepacks and elevation.

Saturday night, destined to be couch ridden, I canceled my plans to go dancing with Lisa and Tracy. When they went without me I called my boyfriend. No answer. My sisters were all out and my Dad was asleep. No one was there to join me in my pity party. Just when I thought my weekend couldn’t be any worse, I went to the orthopedic surgeon’s office. When he told me that surgery was necessary with a minimum of six weeks recovery, my heart sank as I had a flash forward of what my summer would be like.

On the couch or not I was relieved to see summer coming. In fact, we were all relieved that this semester was ending. The end of the semester left us all burned out. We were all on eggshells, sleep deprived and stressed-out about our final exam. Tracy had barely made it through her clinical as her instructor had chosen her to be the one to pick on every day. It seemed like each instructor picked one or two students in each rotation to pick on. They would hound that student, ask them endless questions and knit pick everything they did. It was almost like an experiment. How much pressure would it take to crack the student? Some cracked right away with the least amount of pressure while others endured with the most intense pressure. Tracy toughed it out and she passed but that was enough for her. She applied to a four year program.

June 7, 1994, the day I had my surgery turned out to be one of the saddest days that my friends and I would know. My surgery went without a hitch and I recovered quickly. Before I knew it I was swiftly wheeled out with my paperwork in hand.

I hobbled to my room and there were three messages on my answering machine. I hit the play button and listened as the electronic voice of the machine announced:

“June-Se-venth-Se-ven-O-Nine-A-M.”

Beep.

“Hi Hope, It’s Page. I know you are in surgery this morning but call me as soon as you can. It’s about Sherry.”

Beep.

“June-Seventh-Nine-Twen-ty-Three-A-M.”

Beep.

“Hope, its Tracy . I know Page called you earlier but Sherry’s younger brother died this morning. I don’t have specifics yet but call us as soon as you get this.”

Beep.

“June-Se-venth-Twelve-For-ty-Nine-P-M.”

Beep.

“Hope. It’s Lisa. I don’t know if anyone has called you yet but something terrible has happened to Sherry’s brother. Give me a call when you get home. I hope your surgery went well.”

I sat down on my bed. My hairs on my arm stood up like soldiers ready to battle. I thought of my sisters. I couldn’t even think of something happening to one of them without a tear coming to my eye. I wasn’t sure whom to phone first but since Page was the closest with Sherry, I dialed her number. Page didn’t answer so I left a message, lay down on my bed with my leg elevated and waited for her call. My mom came home with my prescriptions and my ice cooler device which wrapped around my knee and pumped ice water around it. With my knee chilled and a couple of Percocet on board I was about to fall asleep when my phone rang. It was Page calling me back.

It normally wasn’t too hot in Chicago in early June but this year we had an early heat wave. Sherry’s brother was 26 years old and worked in heating and cooling. Chicago communities are very tight knit and being a Good Samaritan he decided to check on some of the elder neighbors early in the day before the heat and humidity had a chance to blaze the community. Mrs. Poverelli lived at the end of the block. She was the third and last house that he wanted to check on that morning. He knocked on her door and waited. Mrs. Poverelli came to the door wiping her hands on her apron. Smears of white flour covered her apron and a dab of white sat on the tip of her nose. When she saw Joe through the screen she smiled. She opened the door and greeted him in the normal Italian fashion giving him a kiss on the right cheek and then the left and then the right again, leaving a small print of flour on the back of his neck.

“Oh Joe! It is so nice to see you. Why don’t you come in and have a cannoli. I got up early to make them before it got too hot outside.”

“Oh. Thank you so much, Mrs. Poverelli, but maybe I will take one to go. I just wanted to stop by and make sure your air conditioner is working okay.”

“Yes, it’s working. I only use it in the early afternoon and then off again when I sleep. I guess it is a bit loud, although I think I have grown used to the sound.”

“Well, let me take a look at it for you. You go on ahead and continue what you were doing.”

Mrs. Poverelli headed to the kitchen while Joe headed to the bedroom where the window air-conditioning unit was. Mrs. Poverelli listened to the clanking and hummed while she stuffed her cannolis with filling. One by one she filled them, then dipped them in chocolate chips, and then lined them up in her dish. She was just about to dip another cannoli in chocolate chips when she heard a loud pop that startled her so much that she dropped the cannoli. Almost simultaneously the lights went out and the cannoli rolled to the floor.

“Joe? Are you okay?” She quickly ran toward the room not even noticing the squish of the cannoli as she stepped on it. As Mrs. Poverelli got toward the room, the smell of something burning filled her nose and became stronger and stronger as she got closer to the room. When she entered, Joe laid in a heap, unconscious on the floor. Mrs. Poverelli screamed. In a daze she ran to the phone and dialed 911.

The sound of the ambulance brought neighbors to their windows and those that were still asleep woke up out of their slumber. Everyone thought something had happened to Mrs. Poverelli. Neighbors came out of their houses and walked down the street. They were surprised to see her sitting on her stairs talking with a Chicago Police Officer. They saw the paramedics roll their cart out of the house and that a body lay on the cart but they couldn’t see who it was. When the police and the ambulance drove off with their sirens ablare the neighbors finally walked over to Mrs. Poverelli who sat in disbelief and shock on the bottom step of her porch.

Joe did not make it alive to the hospital. He was what they call DOA – Dead on Arrival. The paramedics tried to resuscitate him but were not successful. At the hospital, the emergency room staff also tried to revive him but were not successful.

Sherry got the call from her mother who was so distraught that she could barely even talk. Sherry rushed over to be with her family. She immediately got started on calling family and friends and working on funeral arrangements. That evening after dinner her father retired on the couch. Sherry could tell her mother was exhausted from the days events so she helped her Mom to bed and exhausted herself decided to stay over and sleep in her old room.

Morning came and for a moment Sherry thought that yesterday was really just a nightmare but then seeing the familiar surroundings of her old bedroom, she realized that it wasn’t. She rolled out of bed and went to the kitchen. Surprised that her parents were still asleep, she made a pot of coffee and headed to the front door to get the newspaper. She opened the front door and was smothered by the warm humidity that had already begun to take over the summer air. She turned to go back to the kitchen but the light from the open door shined upon her father, who still lay on the couch. Sherry paused to look at her father who lay motionless and peaceful after just loosing his son. She wished that he could stay like that forever, that she could take his pain away, until she realized that he was truly motionless. His chest did not rise and fall with each breath and suddenly she realized the silence in the house was abnormal as it was usually filled with the sound of his snoring. The newspaper dropped from her hand and she ran to her father’s side. Shaking and screaming for him to wake up, his body lay like a bag of heavy sand, barely moving under the grip of her fingers. Her mother awake from the sound of Sherry’s screams had just walked into the room. Seeing her husband, dead in her daughter’s arms, she fainted.

Sherry’s father died sometime that night. His doctor believed that he had a massive heart attack in his sleep, most likely caused by the stress of loosing his son. Sherry started her phone calls all over again and changed the funeral arrangements for her brother to include her father.

The funeral arrangements were made quickly. My mom went with me and pushed me around in Grandpa’s wheelchair as I could not yet bare weight on my leg. Mom wheeled me down the aisle with my surgical leg wrapped and out in front of me. I could see Sherry in the distance. She was dressed in black and stood so strong and proud. I handed Sherry some flowers that I brought for her and gave her a hug. I whispered, “I’m so sorry,” in her ear. In a moments time she was rushed off by other family members that just arrived. Mom and I sat in the back so the wheel chair would not be in the way. Tracy , Lisa, and Page were there too and sat in one of the middle aisles. We were all worried about Sherry as we knew that she had not broken down yet but we were all waiting for the moment. I stayed for the memorial service and when Mom wheeled me out of the funeral parlor, half of Sherry’s family and friends from the neighborhood were out in the parking lot drinking in celebration to the two lives that had been so close to them but were now gone forever. Two Kegs of beer stood in the parking lot, one for each of them.

God must instill incredible strength into the individuals closest to the people that he takes for every time I go to a funeral I am always astounded by the strength of those who would feel the loss the most. I suppose throughout life God instills little tests of strength to prepare us for the ultimate test. I believe Sherry met her ultimate test of strength early and I was amazed that she had the strength to endure it. She remained strong throughout the wake, the memorial service, and the funeral. She got up there at the service and talked about her brother and her father. I never saw her breakdown, nor did Page or Lisa or Tracy . We offered our continued support but never once saw her breakdown and cry. We worried about her a lot that summer and we feared that she held too much inside. We knew that how ever strong she appeared to be that she was broken inside.

When our third semester started Sherry decided to take a semester off. We were all a bit relieved as this showed to us that she was coping in her own way. Tracy wouldn’t be joining us either, as she was accepted into the baccalaureate program and moved downtown to start her new program. Our third semester would start with 39 students. In addition to Sherry and Tracy, seven other students dropped out of the program, like nine flies struck by a strong pesticide called nursing school.