Looking for Superman

Today my last patient of the day was a bilateral below the knee amputee who could only see me if I was approximately 3 inches from his face, and could only hear me if I literally shouted at the top of my voice into his ear. "He had hearing aids, but destroyed them during one of his spells. Medicaid won't pay for anymore. He's on medication now, and he's really calm," his son informed me. It was the end of my patient treatment day, and my voice, never particularly loud, was fading, as many of my patients are hard of hearing. I do everything I can to preserve the dignity of my patients, and one of those kindnesses I try to extend includes not shouting at them. Today, as I treated the blind, the deaf and the lame, I could not help but think of Helen Keller, and Anne Sullivan.

To say his home was humble would be an understatement, and yet as I settled into my history and physical of the man, I noticed, as I often do, the warmth in his face, and in the face of his son. These are ordinary people, on an ordinary street, on an ordinary day in America. Dogs ran to greet me at the door, smells assaulted me. There was garbage, there was animal feces, and the man had what he referred to politely as, "sometimes I leak a little, ma'am. Sometimes I don't make it in time." "Yes sir. We're going to work on that," I shouted into his left ear, trying not to breathe too deeply, so I could keep going. "We're going to work on your strength, and speed, so you can." In a world that sometimes seems filled with unsolvable problems, this is one I can solve.

Wisdom will happen to you when you least expect it. It does not happen to me in church, or sitting at a cafe reading de Beauvoir, or walking through the woods, although I find peace in these places. Wisdom happens to me in the heat of a needy moment, and makes me want to believe in an attentive God. It taps me on the shoulder and turns my head around, before I make a mistake. Today, that nudge from within, that whisper in my ear: Ask this man to show you what he can do. "Sir, before I offer any suggestions, would you show me how you get from the wheelchair to the commode, and the commode to the bed?"

And in a maneuver with no less than a dozen distinct and precarious steps, he did, describing each move proudly. When he finished, his thick glasses were smudged, steamed with sweat, and sat crookedly on his head. "Hey, Superman," I said as I reached out and straightened them, as I so often do for my patients. He sat panting with effort, looking like a super hero, capable and proud.

His eyes were tiny behind the thick lenses and four crooked teeth beamed at me in an open-mouthed smile. "Well, sir! I'm mighty impressed, and I don't impress easily." He threw his head back and laughed. I reached out to shake his hand, and he clasped it and pulled me down so he could see me clearly. "When are you coming back?" "Next week," I said, and suddenly, I couldn't wait to get there. I know Clark Kent when I meet him, I thought, on an ordinary street, on an ordinary day in America.