Mangia! Mangia!
Mom navigates family through wheelchair
ANTOINETTE JACKSON

My cousin Marietta was eager to have me go through the Heritage Museum in the city of Brooksville, Fla., where they spend their winters.

One of the rooms in the Victorian mansion had been a physician's office and displayed an old wooden wheelchair.

I stopped in front of it and got a big smile on my face. This chair was older but quite similar to the one my mother had used in the early 1950's when she had three operations.

Right after the polio epidemic, our itinerant peddler, Gitano told Mom his daughter Maria was having surgery to help her walk better. Through his weekly updates, Mom followed the little girl's progress until a ray of light shined into her own life.

My mother had scarlet fever and diphtheria when she was 11. Now in her 40's, her ankle muscles were weakening and she was falling often.

Armed with hope and optimism, my mother and father visited Dr. E. J. Berkheiser in his Michigan Avenue office.

Mom explained to the well-known doctor that when she recovered from the diseases, her hand muscles were weak and her ankles were dropped.

"I feel like a ballerina standing on my toes all the time," was the way she described her affliction.

Lately, even the most insignificant items, like a raisin that had dropped on the kitchen floor, or a slightly elevated portion of the sidewalk, was enough to send her to her knees.

Was it just a matter of time before she really hurt herself? Was she destined to spend her later life in a wheelchair, she asked?

The skilled surgeon listened with compassion and explained, while Mom was older than most of his patients, he would do his best to stabilize her feet.

He could shorten the ligaments to permanently secure her ankles in position. He would operate first on the right foot and, when that healed, he would operate on the left foot.

In spring of 1953 Mom entered Presbyterian Hospital on Congress Street for her first operation.

Grandma Providenza, now remarried, was living across the street from us in her own home. The previous winter, she had suffered a stroke.

While Grandma was capable of looking after us, she wasn't physically able to cook or do household chores.

My brother John was 10 and I was 14 years old--old enough, we felt, to help out.

After more than a week in the hospital, Mom came home in a thick white plaster cast from her knees down to her toes.

Daddy rented a brand new, varnished oak wheelchair with woven caning on the back and seat.

While it was state of the art in 1953, it was huge and unmanageable by today's standards. As quickly as she could, Mom learned how to navigate the clumsy vehicle around her kitchen.

Johnny and I pitched in and took over the household chores.

To motivate him to do his share, I separated our household duties and put my little brother's list on the refrigerator. Johnny set the table. He and I did dishes. Johnny kept his room picked up and clean.

He mowed the lawn in the summer, raked the leaves in the fall and shoveled snow in the wintertime.

When my brother finished something on the list, he got a checkmark beside the chore.

On Friday, Daddy looked at the list and added a bonus to Johnny's allowance based on what he did.

At dinnertime, Mom pulled up to the table, and from her wheelchair, step-by-step we worked as a team to prepare meals.

She would slice the vegetables. I would bring them to the sink and wash them. I filled pans with water and carried them to the stove. Mom measured out the pasta and I put it in the pan.

Under Mom's direction, I helped with meals, shopping and keeping the house clean. I was becoming quite the little cook and homemaker.

At the same time Johnny was learning responsibility and becoming a big a help to Daddy.

Mom tried to do more and more from her chair. It was almost comical to see her washing the kitchen floor with the Fuller brush mop propped between her arm and the wheel.

Square by square Mom maneuvered over the red and while tiles until the whole floor was done.

Just about the time she became mobile again, it was time for another operation.

Over the course of three years, Mom had three surgeries, one on the left leg and two on the right. In between, she managed to have her gall bladder removed.

When the ordeal was over, my mother could walk steady. And, thanks to Dr. Burkheiser, Mom was never again in a wheelchair.

While the antique wheelchair in the museum

triggered fond memories, there was still something I was ready to work out with my cousin's help.

As a junior in college, my marriage and family class professor, Dr. Floyd Anderson, assigned an autobiography.

In the section where I recounted the years of helping my mother get back on her feet, Dr. Anderson wrote, in the margin "martyr complex."

Though I got a good grade on the paper, his comment always bothered me.

When we got together later, I asked my cousin what she remembered about that time in my life.

"Mar, you were there. Did I resent it? Did I act like a martyr?" I asked.

"No, not at all," Marietta answered. "I didn't see any of that."

"I saw it as a positive learning experience for both Johnny and me," I replied.

Marietta agreed.

As for Professor Anderson, while he may have had a doctorate in marriage and family studies, he didn't know squat about Italian families.

Mom's Pasta with Broccoli

This is by far my favorite pasta dish. Garlic and olive oil are the perfect compliment to the broccoli's strong flavors.

1 pound bunch fresh broccoli (or 10 oz. frozen)

1 1 / 2 cups boiling water 1 teaspoon salt 12 ounces linguini cooked to al dente 4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

3 cloves garlic

Bring the water to boil in a large pan. Peel and cut broccoli stems into bite-sized pieces. Add the stems to boiling salted water and cook for 5 minutes. Cut florets into approximate bite-sized pieces, add to pan and simmer uncovered for about 8 minutes, until just tender.

While the broccoli is cooking, in a separate pot, cook the pasta to al dente according package directions. (Mom always broke long pasta into three parts before adding it to the boiling water.)

While the broccoli and pasta are cooking, lightly brown the garlic in the olive oil and set aside to cool.

Drain the pasta, reserving about a cup of the cooking water.

Add the pasta to the pan with broccoli. Stir in olive oil and garlic mixture and cook together for about a minute. If too dry, add some of the pasta water.

Serve with freshly grated Romano cheese. Serves 4

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Antoinette Jackson is a Bullard-area resident. You may reach her at Antojxn@aol.com.