Beyond the Bridge: 10 Lessons I've Learned From a Lifetime of Disability

My name is Tom Turner. On the night of September 10, 1970, my parents met me, their new son, Thomas William Turner, in the delivery room of Thompson Hospital in the beautiful little city of Canandaigua, New York, located in the heart of Upstate New York's Finger Lakes region. My birth, however, was somewhat unconventional. It also brought with it a simultaneous announcement that I had been born with spina bifida, a common but little-known congenital disability. Originally anticipating their bouncing baby boy, my birth brought with it harrowing news for my parents. Instead of accolades and cooing with a newborn, the following words they heard from doctors were the generally accepted medical advice of the time: "Don't get attached. He may not make it." Now, in my 50s, it's still hard to imagine the emotions that rushed through my parents' minds that night. "How will we take care of him? What is his life going to be like? Should we put him in an institution?" Without a moment's hesitation, however, my father announced, "No! We want him! Bring us our son!" Taking no time to dwell on the future, my parents instead immediately decided to seek out a second opinion for life-saving surgery at another hospital in Rochester, our nearest city. In that instant, they answered those open-ended questions and never looked back. "Go home then. And may God be with you." This was the advice given. "We're not able to help him," they continued. Reaching out to the highly regarded Strong Memorial Hospital in nearby Rochester, New York, Mom and Dad instead implored a young orthopedic surgical resident, Dr. William P. Haake. He put his knowledge and skill to the highest test and accepted the daunting task of closing the opening in their new baby's spine. Without hesitation, Dr. Haake accepted my parent's plea. But there was more. In addition to the open spine, I also had what is called "hydrocephalus," or water on the brain, and needed what is called a "ventriculoperitoneal shunt. " This device would channel the spinal fluid from my brain into my abdomen, where it could be assimilated into my digestive system. And for this, yet another specialist was necessary. Our introduction to Dr. Thomas Rodenhouse happened at this time. Though he was then a resident who had never performed such a procedure, he still rose to the occasion. Thankfully, both these men skillfully completed their maiden voyages, and I'm pleased to say that I'm friends with them both to this day. "It could only be you, Tom." For so many years, I never understood these words from my mother. But now, and sadly, after her passing, I do. Somehow, my life brought out something intangible that lay deep inside her, my father, and our own family. It not only saved my parents' marriage but also tapped into the depths of who they were and who I am. In this book then, I want to tell you what I've learned in my now 53 years. These are my life's lessons. Welcome to my world.