Feb. 1, 2016. 5:19 p.m. My father sleeps.

My brother Rod was in the bedroom nearby when Dad, who had hobbled into the kitchen, as he does every day, to a kitchen chair in front of the refrigerator didn’t sit down quite right and slid right off the chair.  “Ow!” he yelled as he landed.  “Ohhhhh….!” 

My brother rushed in and found him on the floor.  Rod called 9-1-1 and an ambulance came and brought him to Glen Cove Hospital, 5 minutes away.  The doctors said he had fractured his hip.

Old people don’t heal their broken bones.  But this was not a problem for Dad.  He’d been in a huge car accident on Thanksgiving evening 10 years earlier.  A pin was holding his fractured hip together.  Dad just needed rehab.

Where would he liked to go? asked the doctor.

“Glengariff,” said Daddy.  His primary care doctor, Luigi Capobianco, M.D.., was a shareholder.  Dr. Capobianco was his late wife’s father’s physician.  Dr. Capobianco went to St. Patrick’s Church.  Dr. Capobianco was a Roman Catholic, like Daddy.  He trusted Dr. Capobianco.  He wanted to go to Glengariff, because he believed he would get the best care, because Dr. Capobianco was like that.  You might even say Dad worshipped Dr. Capobianco.  He counted on him in every way.  Daddy was a loyal and faithful patient.  He knew he could trust this man.

I had never met Dr. Capobianco.  But when I did, a few weeks later, I got the impression he didn’t know Daddy from a hole in the wall.


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