Tuesday's Promise by Luis Carlos Montalvan

Author:Luis Carlos Montalvan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography / Military, Psychology / Psychopathology / Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (Ptsd), Pets / Dogs / General
Publisher: Hachette Books
Published: 2017-05-08T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

Going In

May the stars carry your sadness away,

May the flowers fill your heart with beauty,

May hope forever wipe away your tears,

And, above all, may silence make you strong.

CHIEF DAN GEORGE

I TOOK ONE LAST WALK ON MY OWN TWO FEET. TUESDAY AND I WERE both hungry. There was no telling when we’d get another meal not served on a hospital tray!

We had come to San Antonio after I completed my own due diligence and Dr. Patrick O’Shaughnessy completed his. I really did believe what I had argued so passionately to my father, that I had fully explored all other options and that the potential upside of amputation was worth the undeniable risks.

I had chosen San Antonio because that’s where Dr. O’Shaughnessy was. I had chosen him because of his national reputation as a talented surgeon who had treated many military amputees. Part of his practice was at San Antonio’s Brooke Army Medical Center, one of the top military hospitals in the world. He would, however, be performing my “elective” procedure at a small private hospital nearby. Before he would agree to proceed, he carefully reviewed my medical records, making sure he concurred with the assessments made by other medical professionals and that I was a strong candidate for amputation. At his insistence, I had also undergone a thorough psychological review—including a lengthy, in-person interview, to make sure I knew what I was agreeing to and that I was prepared for the intense recovery. Only after I met all his stringent requirements had he agreed to operate.

Tuesday and I were due at the hospital at 2 P.M. on February 26, a sunny, 70-degree, Friday afternoon. That gave us just enough time to eat and pack a bag for what the doctors had said would likely be a two-night stay—one night pre-op, one night post-op, then back to my favorite San Antonio hotel. That was far less “bedpan” time than I’d guess most people would have expected for cutting off a limb.

Since Tuesday and I would always rather eat than pack, we left the hotel a little before noon and walked around the corner for an early lunch. Tuesday was frisky. I was stiff and slow. I was really feeling the busy week we’d had—three public appearances, the surgery prep, the nerves I was trying to hide, and the nagging pangs of impending loss.

I’d thought this through from a thousand different angles. I’d gotten the best advice I could find. I had a top-flight hospital, a highly respected surgeon, and an experienced medical team. Though I was confident I was making the right decision, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was still haunted by introspection. Not that I had doubts. No part of me wanted to back out, even though I knew the rehab would be grueling. I had high hopes for the long-term improvements I expected to get in return. I was excited—euphoric, almost. I could hardly wait for improved mobility and far less pain.

But still. There was no reason to kid myself.

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