I wrote this reminiscence a couple of years ago and have re-posted it -- and re-written it -- several times since. I wanted then, as I do now, to mark my son Grady's birthday, a time he can't remember but one I'll never forget. He means more to me than even the most carefully chosen, most compulsively re-written words can say:…Continue
No one goes to a hospital to heal. We go there for the same reason we take our cars to the repair shop – because we must. We’re in need of repair.
I found myself unwillingly wandering the dismal halls of the place I’ve come to call HospitalWorld nearly four years ago, when a one-hour colonoscopy turned into a four-day surgical sleepover.
My grandfather had warned me long ago against hospitals. "You don't want to go there, Jerry," he told me. "That's where…
I wish no words
No SCREAMING CAPITALS
No calls to action
No sad songs
This is not the time for words
Let silence speak
The silence of death
Because there are no words
It was sometime in the fall of 1976, I’d guess, the day I stepped into an ornate elevator in Buffalo’s old federal court building. I was a cub reporter, roughly dispatched to report a story about which I knew next to nothing.
An older man wearing a tan trench coat got into the elevator behind me. I noticed his trench coat because I was wearing one too. Mine was…Continue