by Joel F. Martinez
On 11:00 a.m. on Wednesday, May 28, 1986, at the age of eleven, I was scheduled for surgery at Presbyterian Hospital in San Franciso to remove an exostosis from my right leg. My father drove my mother, my younger brother, and me to the hospital about eight in the morning. I remember entering the hospital with my family to get registered for surgery. After getting registered, my surgeon's assistant led my family and me to my own private room. We walked on the glossy white floors, in between the illuminant walls at 9:30 a.m. When we arrived at my room, I noticed it wasn't big or too small, it was 15' x 20' with an automatic twin-size bed. My younger brother sat immediately on the bed, with the remote control flipping the channels of the television that hung on top of my room right in front of my bed. My parents, trying to make me feel less nervous, were cheerfully having a conversation with me about the boxing fight "Marvelous" Marvin Haggler vs. The Argentine Slugger, Juan Roldan, a fight I would get to see three weeks after my surgery. Time went by quickly and before I knew it, a nurse dressed in her white uniform came in with a silver tray, and on top of it was a syringe needle. It was 10:40 a.m. and I knew the time had come. I didn't struggle when she took the cold, sharp needle and punctured my right arm. The nurse told me, "Excellent, you're a brave boy…most kids your age would scream and give me a hard time." I replied, "It was nothing, and I'm not like most people my age…I'm one tough cowboy!" (Truth was I was scared like hell!). My parents giggled with the nurse and she left the room. It took about five minutes to feel drowsy and by the tenth minute I was practically asleep. A young tall male and female nurse came into my room about 10:50 and moved me from my bed to a gurney table. Each of my parents said, "I'll see you soon, Joel. I love you."
When I arrived at the surgery table, it looked more like a torture chamber than anything else. The metal table was cold, hard, and austere. I could see all kinds of sharp knives and instruments that are all meant for something…to cut through human flesh. Right in front of me, when I lay on this God-forsaken table, a bright light shone on my face. However, I was not completely blinded. I could see my surgeon and two of his assistants covered in blue "shower caps" and greenish blue masks. I suddenly felt a pinch in my arm and I was out cold.
I opened my eyes, and the only thing I could see was a blurry object telling me in a female voice, "Wake up, wake up, Joel." I felt cold and extraordinarily drowsy. I asked her, "What time is it?" She replied, "It's 4:00 p.m." What seemed to be a blink of an eye for me was actually a five-hour operation on my leg. I was in the recovery room feeling pain, with the only compensation at that time my mother. In this surgical procedure they had to fracture my leg to take out the exostosis and thus, regardless of the medication, I was in serious pain. So I was brought back to my room where I saw my parents. Eventually, my father departed with my brother back to the house se he could complete his homework and eat his dinner. My mother stayed with me. I was so nauseated by the medication that I vomited at least ten times that night, and each time my mother held the cup where I would vomit.
For six days my mother slept with a blanket and a pillow on the floor, two to four hours a day. She helped me regardless of the time, 3:00 a.m., 4:00 a.m., you name it, any time. I had fevers up to 102 degrees for six days, and sometimes so much pain that the nurses gave me medication through a needle in my butt. But you know what? I knew everything would be fine because my mother was there. This is the same woman who took me by my little hand to the swings at Excelsior Park when I was a two-year-old toddler; the same woman who let me sleep in her bed holding me because I was afraid of the evil spirits in my closet; the same woman who took me on the bus and bought me donuts at Jim's Coffee Shop. For six days and nights my mother was at the hospital, eating the lousy food my 11-year-old body couldn't tolerate because of the medication. I can go on forever about all the torment and pain I went through during that time in my life, but I knew I would overcome because my mother provided me with the best medicine of all, her unconditional love.
I have an incredible mother who I adore more than any woman on this planet. She has given me life and has guided my path in this world with the light of her love. I'll never be able to repay her, but maybe all the payment she wants is for me to succeed in life. I know one thing for certain. If I ever have children, I'll love them like my mother loved me. With such love I know they can overcome anything, regardless of the circumstances and obstacles God will put in their path of life.
