Magnificat

Magnificat

By
Leo de Natale

          Can miracles occur?  Does a Supreme Being, aka God, exist?  Is there hope for the future?  These metaphysical questions have been posed through the millennia.  We are living in an age of cynicism, an epoch when the bad news outweighs the good.  Mankind has always considered our life on Earth as an existential experience.  To us no point in time has more relevance than the now. Wars, environmental disasters and  all life’s vicissitudes are regarded as the most important and relevant compared to any other point in history. It is the conceit of every era.

          Our history can be split between the believers and non-believers.  Religion is the opiate of the masses, Karl Marx wrote.   Atheism and agnosticism are common especially in days of worldwide annihilation.  Armageddon is always around the corner.

          But there can be hope as witnessed by two men whose friend and colleague experienced a legitimate miracle.  Here is their friend’s miraculous story:

The Alexa tunes player was blaring singer John Fogerty’s famous song, Centerfield.

          “Oh, put me in coach, I’m ready to play today,” yelled  Stratos “Stratty” Liakos as he sang along. ”Put me in coach, I’m ready to play today, Look at me, I can be centerfield.”

Stratty was in a long term care facility in Boston.  He was wearing an UnderArmor tee shirt and warmup pants.  He was smiling and laughing with his two optometry school classmates, Augustus “Gus” Bianco and Ledario “Led” Del Torto.  His friends were slack-jawed by the joyous behavior  they were witnessing.

          It was the Sunday before Thanksgiving.  Eleven months earlier, Stratty was bedridden.  The right side of his body didn’t move.  His attempt at speech was gibberish.  His friends were saddened because Stratty was, in their minds, approaching the abyss.  His brown eyes were glazed and his stubbly beard was a wizened gray.  He recognized his friends and they made him laugh from mimicking various quirky optometry school professors.  They saw a glimmer of Stratty but not much else.  They visited for about twenty minutes that day and left with nary a word between them.  Sadness enveloped them as they approached the facility’s parking lot.

          Stratty’s odyssey –  fitting because he is Greek American- actually started  the previous June.  At age 68 he had been remarkably fit and trim. He exercised at a local gym at least three times per week.   He was semi-retired and spent the majority of time working with his passion:  artisanal designer woodworking, a craft that earned him a national reputation.  He was that good.

Stratos  Liakos’ family emigrated from Greece.  He was second generation American and was steeped in the culture of his grandparents’ homeland.  As a child he attended Greek School where he learned of his heritage.  He was also taught the language and was fluent in his native tongue.  His family was middle class and lived in New York’s Astoria Queens section. The area was known as “Little Athens.”

          Stratty was also an exceptional student and through elementary and high school was the proverbial straight A student.  Learning, especially mathematics  and science, came easily to him.  He had an intense personality and often displayed a mercurial temper that vanished as quickly as it arrived.  He was smart and he knew it and many times bordered on arrogance.   His high school classmates sometimes joked about the image of him as a whacked out crazy.

          Physically, he was a wiry five foot eleven .  In high school he was superb in soccer, cross country track and tennis.  His eyes and hair were dark brown. His nose was bony, the result of many soccer balls bouncing off his face.  He was not overly handsome but many of the high school girls were attracted to his personality.  He possessed charisma.

          He received a soccer scholarship from Colgate University, a school located in upstate New York.  In college he divided his studies between classic literature and the sciences.  He was especially adept at mathematics – with pride he’d say, “That’s yet another Greek word!”.  As his college career progressed, Stratty became increasingly interested in the health sciences.  A college guidance counselor encouraged him to consider medicine or some allied health field.  By his junior year he decided to pursue a medical degree.

Initially, he was drawn to medicine because it combined mathematics, physics and biology.  He researched medical careers and discovered several glitches.  After graduating from medical school,  most physicians choose a specialty and follow the protocol of internship, then residency.  A physician amasses large financial debt and doesn’t earn a salary until his mid-thirties.  It’s a long haul for medical students and places them in a huge financial hole.  The ultimate question is it worth it?  These were considerations Stratty forced himself to ponder.

During his junior year, Stratty experienced double vision after working on homework and late night reading.  A classmate suggested an eye examination. Stratty’s eyesight had always been 20/20.  The visual problem was bothering him and  his classmate recommended a local optometrist, Dr. Hyman Klein.

“Your vision is fine, Stratty,” said the bald, avuncular Dr. Klein as he finished the examination. “It’s your eye muscles that are the problem.  They’re misaligned and that’s the reason for the double vision, clinically known as diplopia.”

Klein prescribed reading glasses containing prisms that bent the images entering the eye, a physical change of the light projections.   The prism eyeglasses allowed Stratty’s eyes to see singly.  Stratty was amazed at such a simple yet scientific solution solved an important problem.   He began to consider optometry as a professional option.  On his follow up appointment he asked about a possible career.

“Well, Stratty, optometry would be a wonderful choice, “ Dr. Klein said on a follow up appointment. “You won’t get super rich but it’s a rewarding profession.  Think of it.  You use math and physics plus observational skills to help people see better – just like I did for you.  You can even save someone’s life  when  diseases affect the eyes.  I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my career.”

Stratty’s girlfriend Ginny was accepted to a master’s program at Boston University.  The couple were romantically involved and wanted to continue their relationship.  Stratty had interviewed with several optometry schools in Manhattan, Ohio and Texas.  One school, Massachusetts College of Optometry, was located in Boston.  The decision was easy.  He followed his girlfriend there.

The love affair unfortunately didn’t last.  After one academic year Stratty and Ginny went their separate ways.  Their programs were demanding in time and homework.  They drifted apart without rancor and each crowded new romances between school classes.

There’s an old saying time accelerates exponentially.   The four years at optometry were over within the proverbial blink of an eye.   Stratty graduated second in his class and obtained a good position at Harvard University’s student/faculty health center.  He quickly became ensconced in his new position, one that would allow him to combine clinical work with visual science research.  Professionally and personally things were unfolding as if by blueprint.

His optometric career was on cruise control.  Stratty honed his clinical skills and was promoted to chief optometrist.  He wrote research  papers in various optometric and medical journals. It had become a well paying and   satisfying career.  He eventually married Angie, a computer programmer, and they were blessed with two children.  They purchased a house in suburban Boston. 

 His grandfather had been a carpenter in Greece and continued woodworking after immigrating to New York. He had loved watching Gramps working with wood.  The old man was a wunderkind at designing and building furniture.  He taught Stratty how to identify and choose various woods – maple, oak, walnut,  and pine.  Stratty loved the smell of a woodworking  shop and the feel of the materials and the tools that used in creating beautiful furniture.  He developed a reverence for wood.

After settling down in his new middle class life, he decided to revisit his past and created a basement workshop.  He purchased vast numbers of carpentry tools and eqiupment required for fine woodworking.  At home during the evening, Stratty would spend hours designing desks, chairs, side and coffee tables.  His two young sons  would watch Daddy and sometimes helped him create his next piece.  He traveled to regional shows and developed a reputation for sleek, modern furniture designs.  His hobby was turning into a profitable and satisfying avocation.

Stratty expanded his knowledge of exotic woods.  He used various  species – Brazilian rosewood, Japanese bamboo,  Bavarian oak.  He would spend hours at the computer, using the latest software to design the furniture.  He became more avant garde with his designs.  A staff member of New York’s Guggenheim Museum discovered his work and purchased several pieces including an ultra-modern coffee table.  Sratty’s reputation as an artisan continued to grow.  He had hired an agent and was now exporting his sleek masterpieces to Europe, especially Scandanavia.

On his 67^th birthday, he decided to scale down his optometric career.  He would work only two days per week.  The remainder of his time would be divided between his studio and the local Planet Fitness gym.  On  a warm June day Stratty was exercising with his gym rat cronies.   He attempted to squat thrust 300 pounds.  He was successful but seconds after standing erect, he dropped the barbell with an earsplitting crash.  His eyes tilted upwards and he fell backwards, unconscious.  His friends rushed to him.  It was pandemonium with gym staff at his side after calling 911.  Twenty minutes later Stratty was in an  emergency room where hospital staff were frantically stabilizing his condition.

          His wife Annie arrived at the hospital and met with the on call neurosurgeon.

          “I’ll be completely candid with you, Ms. Liakos,” the neurosurgeon said. “Your husband has sustained a significant cerebral hemorrhage.  In fact, the fall he suffered compounded the problem because he also fractured his skull.  Unfortunately, it’s a double whammy.”

          “Oh my poor Stratty!,” a crying Annie screamed when she saw her husband in the hospital intensive care room. “I can’t believe what’s happening!”

Stratty underwent a six hour surgery.  The surgeon and his team staunched the bleeding but there was a significant amount of blood creating pressure on his brain.  The medical team was forced to perform a craniotomy to relieve this pressure.  During this procedure, the surgeon used a saw to remove the entire left side of the skull.  His head was left with a gaping grotesque depression.  He was intubated and underwent an induced coma where he would remain unconscious for more than a month.

          The surgeon was beside her and tried to comfort and reassure her.

          “Ms. Liakos, this is going to be a long and difficult period for Stratty and you,” he counseled.  “I can’t absolutely predict what’ll happen but I can reassure you we’ll be trying to save him.  Please have faith.”

          “But what about his head, Doctor,” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m frightened.  I don’t want him to die.”

          “We had to remove part of his skull in order to save his life,” he explained in a soothing bedside manner voice. “Once he regains consciousness and is stabilized we can talk about cosmetic surgery.  We’ll attach a prosthesis and afterwards he’ll be looking like his old self.  Please trust me.”

          Two months later Stratty’s condition had indeed improved.  He was conscious but had slurred speech.  His leg muscles had atrophied but he was able to use a walker.  Muscle wasting had rendered his legs useless.

          In October, friends Gus and Led visited him at home.  They were excited to see Stratty, his physical drawbacks notwithstanding.  He and his wife greeted them and they sat in the living room.  Stratty’s hair was beginning to regrow and helped to camouflage his concave skull.  It was difficult to avoid staring at the crater.  Despite what had happened, he appeared in good spirits and was able to give the friends a tour of his impressive workshop.  Stratty had surrounded himself with lathes, drill presses and a constellation of hand tools.  A wave of sadness enveloped him.

          “I won’t ever be able to do this again,” he slurred as tears welled up in his eyes.”I can’t tell you what the various woods are.  I don’t what all these tools do.  My memory is shot”.

          His friends left the house and felt upbeat about Stratty’s recovery.  

          “My impression is that with time and physical therapy, he’ll recover well,” Gus said as they drove away. “I remember our neuro professor Dr. Sam Marty saying the brain has ways of rewiring itself if certain regions remain in tact.”

          For his part, Led was writing email updates to  classmates.  Through the school’s alumni association, he’d been able to contact many and kept them abreast of Stratty’s condition.  Their hopes for a recovery were unfortunately dashed.

          About one month after their visit,  Annie frantically telephoned Gus.

          “Oh, Gus, Stratty’s had a relapse,” she said despondently.  “He had what they called a ‘vascular accident’.  It wasn’t another stroke but he’s in a bad way.”

          Stratty’s condition had deteriorated and Annie was forced to place him a long term rehabilitation center, The Harold House, that was located near the major Boston hospitals.  The relapse  occurred in early December.  It would not be a joyous Christmas season and the new year did not bode well because he still required the cranial surgery attaching the prosthetic skull.

          Later in January the two friends visited him at the facility.  It was officially a rehabilitation center but most of the residents on Stratty’s floor were there long term .  Some of the patients, Stratty included, were confined to wheelchairs.  Others walking about were zombies that had a faraway look in their eyes.  The facility was clean and windows provided much sunlight.  The “residents” were well cared for.

A nurse led them to Stratty’s room. He was bedridden and the friends gasped when they first saw him.  He recognized them but his speech was limited to jibberish.  The right side of his body was paralyzed, his arm and leg  limp and motionless.  He was unshaven and looked tough. The window shelf was filled with greeting cards and Stratty’s “shrine” contained photos of his wife, children and grandchildren.  The optometry school’s alumni association had recently sent him yellow roses that were prominently displayed.

          Gus and Led stayed about twenty minutes.

          “We’ll be back Stratty,” Gus said. “Just hang in there.”

          They left in silence.  The visit was perhaps the saddest experience either had known.   They were sullen and disconsolate.

          “This is unbelievable,” Led said as they drove back home. “Doesn’t look good.  He might never leave that place.  What a life, if you want call it that.”

          That evening, Led had difficulty sleeping.   He held the image of his friend lying alone in a hospital bed and contemplated the infinite number of days spent in such a depressing environment.  The smell of institutional food, the yells and screams of fellow patients, the monotony.   Led thought of waves reaching an ocean shoreline, one lapping over the others.  The boredom  and the madness of being stuck in such a place for minutes, hours, days and weeks were images that wouldn’t go away. 

Gus and Led decided to visit Stratty monthly and during the bleak winter months the meetings were usually the same.  Stratty remained verbally incoherent.  Worse, he started having difficulty swallowing and underwent another procedure where surgeons inserted a feeding tube into his stomach.  He was  incontinent and was now wearing diapers.   Stratty was in rough shape and the two friends would leave more depressed after each visit.  It was becoming more emotionally difficult for them to visit.

Stratty had been undergoing daily physical therapy.  In early spring Gus and Led were surprised to find him among the other patients in a common area with a television blaring.  He was in a wheelchair and was wearing a bicycle helmet, a routine protocol for head trauma residents.  He still had no use of his right arm and leg but there appeared a change in his cognition.  The three friends told jokes and Stratty’s speech had slightly improved.  Was this an omen?

Yes, it was.  By early summer, Stratty had made incredible strides.  His speech had definitely improved and the facility’s physical therapists were successfully reversing the arm and leg paralysis.

Vacations and the vagaries of work interrupted Gus and Led’s visits and it wasn’t until early October they returned to Harold House.

They were shocked.  Stratty was in the common room.  There was no wheelchair.  He was using a walker and shuffled to greet his friends.

“Can you believe it, guys?” he chortled. “No more fuckin’ wheelchair! I can’t believe what’s happening.”

Stratty proceeded to tell them how the physical therapists had been pushing him hard.  They were using rubber exercise bands on his right leg and it was miraculously responding.  Stratty was also using free weights and grip exercisers to strengthen his hands and forearms. 

“Watch this”, he said. “I can now walk the entire floor by myself.  They still make me use the walker but this is easy peasy.”

The friends were ecstatic over the transformation and improvement.  Most noticeable was his speech.  That, too, was improving.  Stratty was forming full sentences with no garbling.  Things would prove even better.

Gus and Led visited Stratty in mid-November.  It was approaching Thanksgiving and they didn’t know what to expect.  The miracle had occurred.

Stratty greeted them by the nurses’ station and standing tall.

“Hey guys, great to see you,” he said with perfect diction. “Come on to my room.  I want to show you something.”

He walked from one end of his room, pivoted and returned to them.  He was walking!  Gus and Led were agog, even more so when Stratty grasped a sheaf of booklets containing  color book drawings, arithmetic tablets and English grammar and spelling books.  The teaching aids were reminiscent of elementary school exercises.  Each booklet had been completed with penmanship that had been lost more than one year prior.

“I’ve done this all my myself in the past two months,” he said proudly. “I’m still not one hundred per cent but I’ve always had drive and this has been the biggest challenge in my life.”

“We were really worried about you last January, Strat,” Gus confessed. “You were a hurtin’ puppy.”

“Yeah, but you know I was so out of it I don’t remember anything,” he replied.  “I had no memory of what had happened, where or who I was.  I know you guys kept visiting me but there was no lasting memory. I can’t tell how much that meant to me.”

His voice croaked with emotion and he wept.  The friends followed suit.  Tears and laughter.

“But guys, I’ve some really great news,” Stratty said. “I’m being released the day after Thanksgiving.  Annie’ll be picking me up.  God bless.”

With that announcement, Stratty again activated Alexa and John Fogerty blared, “Put me in coach I’m ready to play ……..”

Magnificat.  A miracle did occur.