First Experiences

 

The courage of chronically sick people is frequently a cause for wonder and deep admiration.

 

Joe was a victim of four or five strokes.  He used to joke about this and declare that it was his hobby.  As well as some general weakness in the muscles of his limbs, Joe suffered some inhibition in his speech.  He often took a long time before the words would materialise and then, as suddenly as a tap turned on full, his chatter would spill out so rapidly that it was almost unintelligible in its turmoil.

 

This block in his articulation led him into some difficulties because, should he find himself unable to express a request, listeners received the impression that he had forgotten what he wanted to say or had decided not to voice his comment.  By the time his ability to speak returned, the opportunity had disappeared.

 

He was sitting all alone in the corner of the ballroom awaiting his turn to be pushed back to be among his companions.  Tears were streaming down the creases in his face, his eyes, red-rimmed and watery, looked up in desperate appeal for patience.  At last, he managed to voice the cause of his distress; the outings organiser had been taking names of people who would like to have a short plane flight from the local air strip.  There was nothing Joe wanted more than that.  His money was clutched in his hand; he had struggled desperately to make himself heard, but the more his tangled nerves had been under pressure the less able he had been to speak.  At last, there had been no-one left to listen, and they had all gone off leaving him desolate and bitterly disappointed.

 

Something had to be done.  During the next meal a further announcement was made; were there two other people who had not already booked for a plane flight and would like to join with one another to make up the passenger load to the required three?  After some discussion and prompting, it appeared that two other ‘strokes’ would have liked to book but had not considered that the treat was practicable for them.  With our usual principle in mind, we assured them that what was possible for the able-bodied holidaymakers would be made possible for them.  So the last three names were added to the list.

 

The next afternoon, the coach arrived and took all the potential fliers half-a-mile along the road to the small airport.  All the afternoon, the passengers were lifted into the small cabin and stowed into the three seats and taken for their seven minute flight across the beach and over the sea and back.  As each trio returned, they recounted what they had seen – the light-house, the buff line of the sandbank under the white breakers, the waving crowds edging the water line, and the traffic on the busy road like the models they bought for their grandchildren.

 

Joe and his two companions, sitting in their wheelchairs, sat alert and listening hungrily to these enthusiastic reports.  As each group was lifted in the tiny machine, they would watch until all they could see was the glint of sun on a silver wing.  Then, from the opposite direction, would appear a rapidly growing back dot which would meet the ground on the horizon and chase rapidly over the bumpy grass towards the waiting audience.  At last, only the three were left, and then the fun began.  Two of the three had right-hand paralysis, and Joe’s weaker side was his left.  It was decided he would be better in the front seat so the two companions were pushed in first.  The little cabin was six feet off the ground and they all had to be lifted, since they could not climb.  Hoisting them up to the cabin door was no problem, just hard work but easing them over the edge and turning them round in the confined space of the small cabin was much more difficult.  Joe watched anxiously; he was plainly wondering whether he might have to forgo his turn because of the increasing congestion of the limited space but we were determined.  If Joe was made of stern stuff, then we had to emulate him.  We made a lift on two broad shoulders and pushed him up.  Then, with one person reaching behind his two burley platforms and pushing,  and another balanced between the knees of the passengers already seated, Joe was lugged up into the cabin like a sack of potatoes.  With some twisting and squirming, he was seated and his helpers, having disentangled themselves, dropped off the plane and stood watching.  Joe was staring with fixed intensity over the field; his gaze emphasised the fierce concentration with which he was going to make the next seven minutes the most momentous of the few months left to him.  As the little wheels began to move, the watching crowd gave a cheer and Joe, his absorption momentarily diverted, turned and gave a small, surprised smile; then, anxious not to miss a second of this long-awaited experience, he turned his attention to the job in hand.

 

For seven brief minutes they were gone.  As the plane taxied in again, Joe was grinning delightedly.  It took another ten minutes to disembark the three passengers.  They were moved over from the floor of the cabin onto the two hefty shoulders and then lowered gradually until the people waiting around were able to slide them over into the seats of their chairs.  The whole operation had taken about forty minutes.

 

“What was it like, Joe?”, we queried.  Joe’s speech muscles were rigid with excitement, so we had to wait patiently until he could burst into articulation.  “Lovely”, he commented.  “I’ve wanted to do that for years”.  His eyes sparkled in the red sunset as his gaze followed the retreating aircraft over the grass to the low galvanised hanger.  “Not long enough, though”, he added.

 

We were glad we had insisted on his wish being implemented.  It was his last holiday.  Another stroke two months later was too much for his courageous will-power.