I have told this story several times, but I must keep telling it. The picture I am posting is the room, and the Holy Bible where my middle son was raised up from near death. Rick came to live with me two years after my husband passed away. He was 61 and had been forced to retire after his company filed for bankruptcy. He was living in Fort Worth, Texas, and I lived in Perryton, Texas some 400 miles away. He seemed to be in pretty good health, and we adjusted quite well to the change in both of our lives. Rick moved back into the bedroom he had left when he went to college. He had gotten Federal Communication licenses before graduating from high school. He knew electronics well. He did a lot of improving things for me such as installing switches on my end tables so I would not have to get out of bed to turn on the electric fan or a light. He also did some plumbing, and replaced leaky water faucets. Almost every day he would bring something home from the store for me. Little things like extra scissors for every drawer in a room. He bought candles, and fans for all the rooms. I had an automatic cooling system, but Rick thought we needed fans to put us to sleep. His favorite place to rest was on my covered, screened in patio. He would sit there for hours at a time just enjoying the cool, peaceful atmosphere. Then one day the tide changed. His leg began to pain him, and it wouldn't go away. Since his dad, granddad, and a few other male members of the family had blood clot problems, I guessed that was what was wrong with him. We went to the doctor and sure enough that's what it was. After he got that straightened out one cool evening in late summer he was sitting out on the patio. Since he always stayed out for long periods at a time I never thought to check on him. But when it started getting dark and colder, I looked out to see him lying on the steps. He was unable to move, and I hadn't heard him calling me since the patio is far from where I was watching T V. He had stepped on a piece of plastic that had landed on the porch, and he slid down to the bottom step. When I tried to help him up he could not move at all. I called the ambulance, and they came and took him to the hospital. He had broken his hip and was transferred to Amarillo 130 miles away. After a few days there he was brought back to the Perryton hospital for physical therapy. He had not been released from that hospital when the doctor's appointment in Forth Worth came up. It was very important that he keep that appointment because it would take three months to get another one. His medication for another problem could not be refilled until he saw the doctor in Fort Worth. The Perryton doctor released him temporary, and I drove him to Fort Worth with a wheelchair. We got a room and went to bed . We were to see the doctor there early the next morning. In a short time Rick got real sick and started vomiting. It kept getting worse so I called an ambulance. He was admitted to the hospital, and treated for a bowl obstruction. After three weeks there they released him to come back to Perryton. He was readmitted to the hospital and stayed a few days before getting to come home. Two weeks went by then he had another attack. He was air lifted to Amarillo for another three weeks. Finally the doctor said he could do no more for him and sent him home with hospice care. Rick was so weak till Chuck and I both could barely get him out of the car into a wheel chair. He had not eaten in three weeks, nor had he been given anything through the vein. He was just skin and bones.
Myrtle Jean Sharp
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