Throwing It All into the Wind

Chapter 1

At the edge of Chesapeake Bay, stands a proud stone hospital by the surging sea. This hospital has witnessed its share of, shall we say, colorful characters tangled in adversity. Many more were born into the world there, while dozens more passed on into eternity from this particular place on the globe. In truth, one so described event or the other occurs there virtually with each passing day.

This specific day, however, was a Saturday in late May, in the year of Artemis, during the age of the second great deception and extortion of proletarian liberty, following the great War for Independence. The hospital was already in existence for 52 years. This day was indeed a cheerful day, like no other before it, nor any other destined to follow afterward. There were many new babies born into the world on that merry day, but inside this particular hospital, on that specific day at 0900 hours, there was this one very special baby who was born into the world.

While this new man-child is only a babe, as were so many others on that same hour and day, there was no other on earth exactly like him. He is born with a nearly white, fine hair on his head, hair possessing a passing glint of untarnished gold. The child’s eyes are a wild ice blue, like those of a frozen tundra wolf. The child’s skin is of an immaculately clear fairness, to a point seeming to capture the very light of the sun itself, as it passes through the window of this hospital room way up on the seventh floor; reflecting this glitter back in cheerful delight, toward all who were gathered around inside to visit.

His mother is half sitting up and wide awake, clutching this child which wrapped snugly inside a brand new elegant soft cotton emerald blanket, pressing it tightly upon her left breast. The child sleeps soundly as his mother smiles, weeps then beams some more. When she speaks the child feels warmly secure, being so near to her soft bosom. His mother glances around the room, then gazes back down toward the child with loving eyes, weeping some more, then glances upward toward all of those gathered about inside the room where the twain lay so comfortably in bed.

“Now, now, Linza, isn’t he so beautiful?” exclaims the child’s smiling grandmother as she stands so patiently beside the bed, warmly grasping the clutching forearm of her daughter. “What on earth could be more beautiful than a new born babe wrapped in such highly decorated swaddling clothes? Surely you must be feeling the same sensations holy Virgin Mary did for her new babe on that very first Christmas day.”

The baby’s mother never makes a reply. She only continues glancing down upon the child wrapped inside a new blanket, weeping as she does so, then glancing back up into the faces of those standing inside the hospital room surrounding the bed. She forces herself to smile in strength, but her emotions always get the best of her, and she begins weeping all over again.

An aging, deeply sun browned man, bearing vivid creases across his face reading their own tales into a rough and tumble life outdoors he had lived, gently walked up to the woman’s bedside. He places his roughened firm right hand upon the young mother’s forearm, as she so adoringly clutches her new born child. He speaks in a soothing, low pitched tone, as he glances down into the face of this sleeping child.

“He is indeed such a beautiful child, Linza. I am so proud. I am proud to be his grandfather, and your father. What shocks me most is the fact of this tender babe being born to a woman who is not much more than a child herself! At times, I have to grip myself, only to comprehend this simple fact of being.”

Another woman standing by the bedside is not saying anything as she also gazes into the face of this babe. She is a few years older than the baby’s mother. She is already married with a five year old child of her own. Her dark hair is piled into a tall beehive, upon a pale slender face. Her pursed lips are virtually always red as flowing blood. She swallows hard occasionally, while glancing around the room, almost as if she is nervous for some unfathomable reason. She suddenly draws a deep breath, swallowing hard.

“Has the doctor said anything else? What do we know at this point?”

“They are deliberating at this point, Elisabeth. They don’t really know what to make of anything yet,” replies the mother’s brother, a large, darker complected man, with the face of a boy appearing in similarity to the hardened face of the old man, who is the father of the child’s mother.

Her father gently strides up again, placing his strong sinewy right hand upon the mother’s forearm, as she grips the child.

“Allow me to unwrap him once more again, Lindza, and have another look for myself.”

The mother allows the blanket to fall from around the newborn baby. The baby lays there motionless, with his feet turned inside, to a point where the soles are almost twisted completely around, and upward.

“I don’t see much wrong with him,” says the old man as he grabs the child’s feet. “Watch this,” he says as he grabs both of the child’s feet, turning them around until they are in a normal position, appearing perfectly commonplace for the time period he holds them. When he releases them, both feet draw back up into their previous abnormal position.

“See? As I was saying earlier, I honestly don’t think it will take much to hold this baby’s feet until they set. That’s all. Just something to hold them out for two or three months, then he will be perfectly normal,” the old man smiles warmly as he speaks.

The stainless steel double door to the room suddenly burst open. In walks a professionally cut elderly man with clean, well groomed, shoulder length snow colored hair, wearing an immaculately white suit and jet black tie. This gent speaks with the faint hint of a Germanic accent.

“Good evening ladies and gentleman. I am doctor Roldoge’. I am the man who birthed this baby, and I will also be the man who is going to arrange for this child to be cared for.”

“How is he?,” whispers his mother, in a tone as if she is afraid to ask.

“He is severely club footed. In the medical field club foot of this nature is called severe compounded,” spouts the doctor as he directs a hard steely gaze upon the child. His rigid aged face cracks suddenly, betraying a warm, caring smile.

“Well sir, are there any positive hopes?” firmly inquires the child’s sun-weathered grandfather.

“Sir!” snaps the doctor, while maintaining his professionalism, speaking with confident affirmation. "As I have already stated, this child has a severely compounded club foot, in both feet. The condition can be corrected, but never expunged. He will always have club feet. He can function and enjoy life, but these feet will always be his, and with him for a lifelong duration.”

“But you leave us in waiting, and this is my newborn grandson,” the grandfather snaps in a flash of anger as he points. “We have been waiting for your reply for two bloody days already!”

“Tom!,” abruptly spouts a very plump, well dressed lady, who is his wife, and also the babe’s grandmother. “You know better than to speak in such a manner to the doctor here. He is only doing his job.”

She calmly turns toward the doctor.

“Doctor, you just pay him no never mind, now. Sometimes he gets excited like this when he can’t have what he wants, when he wants it.”

The grandfather only backs, sitting in a corner chair, staring at the wall above them with a hard look on his face, without speaking another word.

“I cordially understand, believe me everyone, please! I have children and grandchildren. But nonetheless, let’s get right down to business here with this specific concern. The situation for this child is going to go like this. We are going to take him in and operate immediately. He will get a pin through both feet, with wires going from the pin to each bone inside the very structure of his feet. Each month he will come in to have these wires tightened by twisting a nut on this pin. These gradually tightening wires will pull his bones back into proper place, where they will grow solid over a course of time. He will be able to at least live a quasi-normal life.”

The faces on the gathered family suddenly drop.

“Just look at it this way,” continues the doctor, “this situation could be much worse than clubfoot. Many parents would gleefully trade the sickness of their child for clubfoot. There have been many famous people with clubfoot,” the doctor’s eyes suddenly brightened with another growing smile. “ The famous author, Lord Scott, suffered from club foot. The Roman emperor, Claudius, was another. Lord Byron, the great Scottish poet, for example, had a club foot, God bless his confused soul, but so it goes.”

“Will this operation be his last one, doctor?,” timidly inquires his grandmother.

“I doubt it. These situations usually come in a series. He will more than likely need two, or even three more operations over the course of time. In the meantime, however, we will just see how well he accommodates this operation. I want him to come into our satellite clinic.., uh., where was it you said you lived at, now?”

“We live in the apartments over on Sailor’s Wharf right now. We are planning to move in four or five years, maybe. We might move back to the family farm in Hog Waller, I don’t know. The schools there were very good in the past, but with all of these new social changes being thrust upon everybody, I simply don’t know what it will come to.”

“Well, for your information,” informs the doctor, “the world these days is getting smaller. In Scuffle Town, a relatively simple driving distance of Hog Waller there, we have a satellite clinic. I want you to bring him in for observations monthly, until we give you further notice.

“In the meantime, until the day this move comes about, you will go to the clinic nearby here. Inside this clinic is where the wires on these pins will be tightened. If you have any further questions, I will be glad to hear them out at this time. If there are no further questions, we are going to wheel this child out for this process to initiate.”

The eyes of the child’s mother commence to swell as her face frowns. Soon the tears begin to fall as she reluctantly hands her newly born child still wrapped in swaddling clothes, over to the elderly doctor; who gently receives him, lays him upon a small movable bed, then wheels him out of the room into an obscure rear chamber of the hospital facility. When the door closes automatically with a thump, the mother of the child commences weeping bitterly.

The young woman’s very plump mother, Nannie, arising from her seat, gently approaches, laying her soft, warm, soothing right hand upon that of the weeping mother, who nervously twirls her rather thin rose colored hospital gown into a knot with her right hand.

“My dearest, Lindza, the now grown woman who was once my own youngest child, never fear. These operations are done for the child’s best future possibilities. I mean,” she sighs, “what on earth could a cripple ever accomplish in life, for crying out loud here? Life is tough enough for us normal people these days, much less for a handicapped person. This government keeps on complicating life for us average people.

“Look at these ridiculous social changes being forced upon us all, for heaven’s sake. What on earth is happening? Are the communists taking us over, as they are in the rest of the world? Look at these atrocious taxes being commanded from us. We are working more, seemingly to receive less, although on paper we appear to be doing much better than ever before these days. You see here, now dear, us normal people are struggling; so how on earth shall those who are crippled ever make it out there in this cruel, cold world?”

“I know,” the child’s mother sobs and sighs as she weeps. “I know having these operations is for his best interests. I can’t help it. I can’t stand to think he will suffer so greatly., and I know inside he will. To even think about it just tears away at my heart.”

“I know,” replies the elder mother, Nannie, in a calm soothing voice. “All we can do is just pray that somehow all things will be for the best. The good Lord has this entire matter in his hands, daughter. The end will work out as he decides it.”

As the child who was once slumbering is rushed into the operating room, he opens his ice blue eyes as his small movable bed is positioned beneath a large rectangle of brilliant blinding light. At his feet stands two females donned in gowns of absolute white, their faces covered by masks resembling some sort of giant band-aide. On either side stands two males donned in an identical dress. He blinks his eyes as he struggles to view his surroundings in the brilliance of the light.

At his head stands doctor Roldoge’, his mouth now covered by the same type of cloth mask. The white hair of the elder doctor looms like a crown of omniscient wisdom, even to the newly born child as he lay, continuing to gaze upward into the faces of those standing all around him. The two much younger men and the two women of the same age, appear humbly subservient to the elder doctor, Roldoge’.

“Now ladies and gentlemen, we have much to accomplish here. All of you are to follow my exact commands, and nothing less. This operation is a complicated procedure. While not being life threatening, as far as this child’s physical life is concerned; the outcome of this operation may in fact be considered life threatening, concerning the overall quality level of the child’s future life. In other words here, ladies and gentlemen, there lies no margin for era, and consequently, no excuse on any of our parts, should era occur. Do I make myself perfectly clear on this matter?”

“Yes doctor,” reply both ladies as they continue smiling down upon the child. “This child sure is adorable,” they both warmly announce.

The faces of both ladies seemingly light up when the child smiles following their statement.

“Yes doctor,” say both of the men. “We both hear and comprehend, loud and clear,” they speak in meek humble unison.

“Very well,” the doctor says in direct reply, as he turns toward the stainless sink to wash both hands, “let us be on with it.”

The doctor reaches down with his right hand, pulling away the blanket and gown of the child, exposing his entire body to the coolness of the operating room. His rough, heavy right hand seized the left leg of the child. The child feels the doctor’s right index finger move across the top of his foot, from side to side, and around the back side of his ankle from the heel, upward, as he speaks to the four who were present in the room with him.

As the elder doctor speaks words the child fails to comprehend, the child turns his head to the right side, beholding an assortment of metal tools laid out on a somewhat small wooden table. Some of these tools have saw blades, others have drill points, even more appear as wicked pliers of some sort. The sight of these instruments gives the young child a heavy negative feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knows almost instinctively somehow, that these evil appearing devices are meant for use on him. The child begins crying as this possibility is silently pondered.

“Notice the Anterior Tibial here,” speaks the doctor as he rubs his index finger across the top of the child’s right foot from side to side. “We must make an incision along this line,” he says as a cold, sharp felt tipped marker runs across the top of the child’s foot. The child feels this sensation on the other foot afterward, while the doctor continues speaking in this chatter he somehow fails to comprehend.

“This situation also demands that we make an incision along the Peroneal Tibial,” he continues, as he runs his index finger along from the side of the heel, upward along the rear of the child’s ankle, and lower shin. The sensation tickles, causing the child to jerk his foot backward, but this cold tickle is almost its own sensation of pain at the same time. The child begins to cry again.

“Today this task will consist of our duties for this operating period, but by no means will it be the last. This child will be compelled to endure at least four more servings of the same. The Posterior Tibial will need lengthening at a later date, as will all of the Extensors. For this child to walk properly, the situation shall require that the Flexors be lengthened in addition. To manage this process of lengthening will demand that these tendons be split, then one half slid upward against the other. Sutures on either end will serve to prevent slippage, until the healing process can take charge. Do all of you understand what is about to occur here in these proceedings?”

“Yes doctor, your wishes are our commands,” the four speak in humble submissive unison.

“Very well,” replies the doctor, “allow the procedures described to commence. Jason, please step outside the door and signal the anesthesiologist. When the anesthesiologist arrives, we will commence with our usual prayer for divine guidance, then allow this labor of love to proceed.”

“Yes doctor, I am on my way,” Jason replies, as his gaunt figure wearing a mask turns and walks. His brown eyes appear bead-like as they beam from above the whiteness of the mask looming from a somewhat swarthy face. To the child, Jason’s mannerisms appear to reveal the presence of a concealed secret. The doctor glances in Jason’s direction with a hard glare of inquisitive perception, revealing to the child that his thoughts are potentially the same.

“Is everything clear? Do you understand your duties, your stations, and the task assignment at hand?” inquires the elderly, much more experienced doctor.

“Yes doctor, all is perfectly clear,” replies the staff surrounding the child’s small bed.

The child begins crying as the anesthesiologist somewhat hurriedly enters the operating chamber. The anesthesiologist is a mid-sized middle-aged man, with what appears to be long brown hair wrapped up in a tight hair net. In his right hand he carries a silver tank. In his left hand he carries a hand sized rubber mask, with a rubber hose connected to the mask. The doctor continues speaking to the four assistants as the anesthesiologist leans toward the face of the child. He smiles as he speaks quietly.

“All right, little one, all is going to be well,” he warmly whispers. “You have nothing to fear. I am going to cover your face with this mask, and you will shut your eyes. When you open them, you will be back in the room with your parents and grandparents. Will that not be nice.? So here we go now,” he speaks as he places the mask over the face of the child.

When the child opens his eyes, he glances around. He can sense that an enduring span of time has passed, but he knows not how much. Contrary to the words of the anesthesiologist, he is not back in the room with his parents and grandparents, he is still there inside this operating room! The doctor and his assistants are away from the table on the other side of the room, toward the foot of the table where the child lay.

He is no longer covered by a gown or blanket, but lies completely naked, and totally exposed to the ice-cold air of the operating chamber. He glances down to witness where the flesh of his feet has been peeled away, exposing a redness of the muscle, with an occasional glint of pallid coloring from the bones of his own feet. Dark colored thin wires on a rack above his feet connect to the bones of both feet. Solidly anchored straps hold his legs and feet firmly to the table. The pain inside his feet abruptly migrates upward from the horrid sight before him. He begins crying loudly as his body is overcome by this horrible excruciating sensation.

“Oh, my gosh!” screams one of the nurses as she races over toward the child’s table-side, “he came to!”

“How did that ever happen?” screams the other nurse, as herself and the other two move toward the operating table where the crying child lay.

“I am sure such a thing has never happened before,” replies one of the male assistants present, the child recognizes to be Jason, as he commences rushing about in a haphazard, uncoordinated fashion. “What must we do?”

“Grab that mask, Jason, and give him another quick jolt of chloroform, while I step outside and fetch the anesthesiologist,” replies Doctor Roldoge’. “It’s not that great of a catastrophe when such situations occur,” the doctor calmly speaks as he heads toward the door. “These things sometimes materialize. We are only required by circumstance to take command when they do.”

Jason seizes the mask, placing it directly and firmly across the face of the child. He turns a metal knob on the right-hand side of the mask, releasing a wisp of what feels like heavy, slightly warm air to the child. The air hisses as it blows across the child’s face. Soon he imagines he is back inside the room with his parents and grandparents, as the operating room with its cold temperature, uncomfortable surroundings, and its rather ghastly metal gadgets with motors and terrible blades on them, simply vanish from sight before him.