Digitized Care

Digitized Care

In 1964, My father lost a leg to cancer. He didn’t slow down one bit. He spent the next 30 years on crutches raising six children, coaching Little League, volunteering, running for office, and traveling around the world on business. In April 1993, he had emergency by-pass surgery. This slowed him down — slightly.

My sister’s wedding was scheduled for June and my father was determined to walk her down the aisle. Not yet back to full strength, he drove 400 miles to the wedding. As a small concession to his recovery, he rented a wheelchair for walking long distances. On the wedding day, which was also my parent’s 38th anniversary, Dad walked my sister down the aisle. He enjoyed the rest of the day in the rented wheelchair. 

Flash forward twenty years. Still on crutches, Dad had slowed down a bit due to severe gout. He applied to his health-care system for a wheelchair. They responded that since he had returned a more-sophisticated wheelchair twenty years earlier and was now applying for a simpler one, he must have “gotten better.”  Request denied.

We were stunned. But being the family we are, we asked him if he had grown a new leg since we last visited. We were also angry. No one had examined my father or even asked him any questions. He had been denied sight-unseen.

Patients today, despite huge technological advances in care, have become less and less visible to the healthcare system. A patient consults a doctor who arrives carrying a computer. She taps at the keyboard while symptoms are described. While they chat, the doctor orders tests, forwards information to other doctors. makes notes in her records, and sends a prescription to the printer. Her data is analyzed by insurance companies and healthcare systems who decide if the care should be covered or denied.

The introduction of computers has made medical care more efficient but less personal. Abraham Verghese, physician, educator, and author of many books, worries that the “human connections” of medicine are being lost in the digital age. Time-harried doctors can’t look at their patients, listen to their stories, or know who they are. The cornerstone of medicine — one person caring for another — is lost when computers step between patient and doctor.

After struggling two more years on crutches, my father finally got his wheelchair.  His caring doctor who knew him well, resubmitted the application, clearly stating my father’s condition and his need, and his request was approved. We still laugh about the “new” leg but also wonder how many others don’t get the care they need. Many people remain unseen — those without families, insurance, advocates, or money. 

Doctors are people. Patients are people. People are not data. When healthcare policies are based on data alone, much is lost. Digital medicine cannot replace the compassion a good doctor offers his patients. Health does not happen without caring. 

Pleasant-ly!

Pleasant-ly

My father was a card-carrying member of the Grammar Police. He infuriated his children, who were just trying to make an argument for getting their way, by insisting on correct grammar at all times. He loved nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, and obscure tenses that nobody ever needs to use — as I often insisted. Dad earned his commission from his mother, a first-generation immigrant who loved words and English — her second language.

I continued my father’s commission by slyly correcting friends during conversations and by shouting at the radio and television when grammar mistakes were made: Live fearless-LY! Not less calories — fewer! Got milk? No, Do you have milk? I carried a virtual Sharpie to correct misusage in signs, “Let(apostrophe)s go.” I erased commas and corrected spelling as I strolled the mall and rewrote scripts while watching movies. I especially jumped on misused words: You have fewer coins but less money. It is between two friends, not among them. I walked my beat with diligence and felt smug in my GC — grammatical correctness. 

As a parent, I introduced my children to words and usage. As a teacher, I didn’t have the same control since children come to school already speaking. I gently reinforced correct grammar in verbal exchanges and wielded my red pen judiciously. 

One day, while exercising my red pen, I tuned the radio to an interview show. The calming tones of Mr. Rogers filled the room. The host asked Fred about his childhood. Fred had been a quiet boy, overweight, lonely, and often ill, spending hours  in bed playing with his toy soldiers in, he noted, “the land of counterpane.” 

Then came a seminal moment in my life. The host asked Fred if gazing out the window during his illness triggered his imagination. I gasped. Every good grammarian knows that “The Land of Counterpane” refers to a Robert Louis Stevenson poem and has nothing to do with windows. A counterpane is a bedspread. I waited for Mr. Rogers to refer to the poem or correct the host, but he didn’t. He paused and said that yes, being alone so much did trigger his imagination. 

I put down my pen. Mr. Rogers, an intelligent man, an accomplished musician and composer, well-versed in child psychology, and an ordained minister surely could have corrected his interviewer and been well-justified. But Fred chose to be pleasant instead. 

In the movie Harvey, Elwood P. Dowd. an older gentleman whose best friend is an imaginary six-foot rabbit is asked by a doctor why he persists in his delusion. He answers, “Years ago my mother used to say to me, she'd say, ‘In this world, Elwood, you must be… oh so smart or oh so pleasant.’ Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. You may quote me.”

That day, in my quiet classroom, I decided to be more like Fred. I maintain my commission with the Grammar Police but have abandoned my club of correctness. Now instead of being oh-so-correct, I try to be oh-so-pleasant when editing or conversing. Speak well but live pleasant-ly. Fred, Elwood, and I recommend it. 

(Writer’s note: I am still working on this!)

You Are [Not] Special

 

You are [Not] Special

In 2012, David McCullough, Jr, a teacher at Wellesley High School, gave a commencement speech which made national news. He told the graduates who had been “pampered, cosseted, doted upon, helmeted, [and] bubble-wrapped” by the many adults in their lives, the awful truth: “You are not special. You are not exceptional.” This admonition struck a chord with many because it countered Mister Fred Rogers catchphrases: “You are special,” and “You’ve made this day special by just your being you.” 

Mr. McCullough asserted that many young people feel entitled to specialness because they had been indulged by parents, affirmed by teachers, and serenaded by Fred Rogers. Parents ensured that their children got the very best, that they were at the front of the line, that they did not fail. Teachers praised every small effort. Mr. Rogers told them that he liked them “just the way they are.”

Mr. McCullough noted that there were thousands of graduates with equal or superior credits and that they were not the center of the universe despite what their parents, teachers, coaches, and almost every adult in their lives had told them. He told them that true worth is not measured by accolades but by genuine achievement. 

Mister Rogers did tell them that they were special. He did like them just the way they were. But he did not mean that they were exceptional or more worthy than anyone else. He sang, “You are my friend, You are special, You’re special to me.” In his songs and on his shows, he was telling children that they had a friend, someone who was looking out for them, someone who accepted them as they were. They were special because he cared for them.

Some children watching Mister Rogers did not have secure lives with loving parents. His gentle voice and close attention might have been the only affirmation they got. Many children who watched did have happy families. Fred taught them to appreciate everyone, even those who are different, because “everybody’s fancy, everybody’s fine” and everyone is worthy of friendship. That’s how you are special — because you can have friends and be one.

Mr. McCullough told young people to live worthy lives. Mister Rogers did too. He welcomed everyone into his world. Everyone in his neighborhood has a place and is respected. Mr. McCullough told the graduates that a fulfilling life was not “something that fell into your lap” but was something that was earned through honest effort. Mister Rogers told children that life would be fulfilling when you treated everyone like a friend.

Mr. McCullough ended his speech with the hope that the graduates would “discover [that] the great and curious truth of the human experience is that selflessness is the best thing you can do for yourself. The sweetest joys of life, then, come only with the recognition that you’re not special. Because everyone is.” 

Mister Rogers would agree. 

(I encourage you to read McCullough’s book, You Are Not Special… and Other Encouragements and to watch Mister Rogers Neighborhood on PBS or online.)

Harry Potter and The Soul of America

 

Harry Potter and the Soul of America   

In Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Dementors, dark creatures who feed on human happiness board the Hogwarts Express: “Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth … they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them… every good feeling, every happy memory, will be sucked out of you.” A Dementor’s kiss will not kill you — it will suck out your soul.

What is the soul? Socrates defined the soul as the animating force of reality. The Bible defines it as the living breath of creation. The soul defines a person’s very being. People have individual souls. Nations also have souls — animating forces that define them as one people with common beliefs. 

In The Soul of America: The Battle for Our Better Angels, Jon Meacham defines the soul as a “belief in the existence of an immanent collection of convictions, dispositions, and sensitivities that shape character and inform conduct.” The soul is “the vital center, the core, the heat, the essence of [American] life.”

What is animating the soul of America today? What values do we hold in common? Who and what is shaping our national character? What defines the essence of American life? 

Political animus is battering the American soul. Fractures in the government and the nation chip at our common values until our unity is shattered. Attack replaces debate. Fractions replace consensus. Fear replaces convictions. 

Edmund Burke wrote, “No passion so effectively robs the mind of all of its powers of acting and reasoning as fear.” The current political atmosphere feeds on our fears. Meacham writes, “Fear feeds anxiety and produces anger… Fear is about limits…  Fear points at others, assigning blame.” A nation’s soul withers when fear rules. Can the American soul be saved?

To defeat the Dementors, Harry summons a Patronus, an embodiment of hope. Will hope also save our American soul? Eleanor Roosevelt wrote, “Surely, in the light of history, it is more intelligent to hope rather than to fear, to try rather than to not try.” Meacham writes, “hope… breeds optimism and feelings of well-being… hope is about growth… hope looks forward, toward the horizon… hope points ahead, working for the common good. Fear pushes away; hope pulls others closer. Fear divides; hope unifies.”

Harry summons his deepest hopes and defeats the Dementors. His soul is safe.  Meacham concludes, “Hope is sustaining. Fear can be overcome.” Hope triumphs over fear wherever people listen to one another, work together for the collective good, or walk forward with a common goal. As long as citizens summon their deepest hopes to defeat their fears the American soul is safe. We must not allow anger and fear to direct our actions. A unified purpose, based on common convictions, animates our American soul and shapes our American character.

Harry Potter’s teacher explains: "You can exist without your soul, … But you'll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no...anything. There's no chance at all of recovery. You just — exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever…lost." Will America lose its soul? We must remember our common purpose as a nation and rely on our “better angels” to guide us. 

Eleanor Roosevelt wrote, “The course of history is directed by the choices we make and our choices grow out of the ideas, the beliefs, the dreams of the people.” Harry learns, “It is our choices … that show what we truly are.” 

Our nation is shaped by its choices. Let us choose hope. 

(All quotations are from The Soul of America: The Battle for Our Better Angels by Jon Meacham (2018) and the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling.)

 

Airing Your Dirty Laundry

Airing Your Dirty Laundry

Another celebrity has written a “tell-all” biography — a sure best-seller. People love reading about the secrets of celebrities and surely there will be much “dirt to dish.” Famous people love hanging out their dirty laundry for public view.

Why is it that celebrities feel compelled to tell everyone about everything? In a day when privacy is at a premium, when all of our personal information is being sold to advertisers and identities are stolen, why would anyone want to share what should be kept behind closed doors? Why are we so interested in the secrets of others when we are so worried about our own?

In earlier days, information was not so freely shared. Children were taught what was private and not to be shared and what was available for public view. Parents gave information to children on a “need-to-know” basis. A new car was news. A financial loss was not. An expected baby was news — but not until Mom and Dad were ready to share. Illnesses were personal. Gardens were public. Dirty laundry was kept in the hamper not hung out in the yard.

Parents taught children to share possessions, not gossip. Teachers taught children to share knowledge, not rumors. Words were measured. Children learned to think before they spoke and to speak with kindness.

Children hear and see “dirty laundry” in the public domain every day. They lack the discernment to judge what should be public and what should be private. Parents and teachers must be both instructors and models for sharing information. Children must learn the difference between news and rumor, information and gossip. Children, and adults, must think before they speak.

Some parents think it is a good idea to tell their children about the mistakes they made in their youth. Sometimes the stories evoke laughter. Sometimes children take them as tacit permission to make the same mistakes. Stories of underage drinking, sneaking out at night, drug use, lying to parents, cheating in school, and taking unnecessary risks might be fun stories to share with other adults but how will your children understand them? Will they know that these were unwise choices or will they think they are things children are expected to do? Some family stories are not fit for young ears. 

Once the laundry is out, how will you stuff it back in the hamper?

Parents must guard their children as carefully as they guard their identities. “Tell-alls” by parents should be carefully edited before sharing with children. Admit to mistakes but don’t share the details. Teach them what is right and then model it. There will be plenty of time to share your mistakes with your children after they are grown. Laundry should be clean and edited for your children’s level of understanding. 

Dirty laundry should be kept in the hamper. 

Vanity

Vanity

June 5, 2017

“Vanity, vanity, all is vanity.” This is the lament of the ancient philosopher, Solomon, widely regarded as the wisest of the ancient kings. When we think of vanity today, images of celebrities may come to mind, but for Solomon vanity had a different meaning —useless. 

Late in his life, Solomon had pretty much had it all — wives, riches, and power. But it all seemed pretty empty to him. The root of the modern word “vanity” comes from the Latin word “Vanitas,” meaning empty. Solomon had discovered that his life, his riches, and his wisdom were all empty. He felt useless.

A lot of older people feel that way. We have outlived our usefulness. We have left our jobs. We have limited funds, failing health, and a shrinking influence on others. We may have wisdom but no one wants to listen. Like Solomon, we feel that our lives are empty.

A few years ago, we bought a new refrigerator. Our old one had lasted more than twenty-five years, but the salesman told us that the new one would probably last no more than ten. “Planned obsolescence,” he told us. Appliances are constructed to fail so that new ones are necessary. Sometimes life feels that way, older people wear out so that younger people can take their places. 

That is the cure for vanity — the filler for emptiness —looking past the mirror to the world beyond. The remedy for a feeling of uselessness is becoming useful. Older people, without the obligations of the young, can fill many needs in this world. Much valuable work is done by senior volunteers in schools, hospitals, communities, and beyond. Helping others fills empty time and spaces. 

Vain people are selfish. Their needs come first. Useful people are selfless. They give of themselves and become necessary and fulfilled. Solomon noted that only the good we do lasts. The good we do endures long after we are gone —the child we help, the hand we hold, the skills we share, the love we spread. 

No life shared is lived in vain. Even Solomon, while moaning about vanity, left behind poetry still read today. Giving of yourself replaces emptiness with purpose. A life lived with purpose — if the purpose is to give to others— will become poetry, filled with images of joy, compassion, and love. 

One of the most beautiful poems I know sits in a wheelchair in a nursing home. She greets everyone with a smile and a hug. She laughs and cries with her friends, welcomes strangers, holds a hand, pats a shoulder, radiates love. Her speech is unclear, but her meaning is crystal. There is no vanity about her. Her life is full. 

No one who shares a smile, a hug, a kind word, a laugh, will ever become obsolete. No life lived for others is lived in vain. No life is empty when filled with love.

Marie Aurora Scotto: Beloved Mother

Marie Aurora Scotto

Beloved Mother

July 21, 1930 - February 21, 2019

Marie Aurora Scotto, 88, passed peacefully into the arms of Jesus on February 21, 2019, at her home at Pennybryn at Maryfield in High Point, NC, surrounded by her family. Born in the family home (in the same bed as her mother Isabella had been), in the village of Sammichele di Bari, Italy, during a rare sighting of the Aurora Borealis, she was named Aurora Maria. The village priest reversed her name at her baptism, saying that Aurora was not a Christian name. 

Maria Aurora, at the age of 4 months, returned by ship with her mother and siblings, Ann, called Nina (2) and Peter (1) to her father, Nicholas in New York. During the journey, the ship nearly sank. Isabella got down on her knees with her children in her arms and prayed to St. Anthony. The ship and family were saved.

Growing up in the Bronx and Astoria, Queens, Marie (whose name had been Americanized by her teachers), was an outstanding student, skipping a grade in elementary school. Marie later attended Berkshire Hills School for Young Women, located in the former home of poet William Cullen Bryant, a “finishing school” in Great Barrington, MA, where she studied German and Music. Marie was a standout as a singer at many school performances. Marie then attended Hunter College for Woman in Manhattan near St. Patrick’s Cathedral, studying Art, Education, and Natural History. Marie also worked in her family’s restaurant, “Moonlight,” to pay for her schooling along with Nina and Peter, and her cousin Mary Torelli. 

On St. Patrick’s Day in 1951, she met a shy young man with a winning smile at a dance at the Brooklyn Polytechnic Institute. Initially reluctant to encourage Michael Joseph Scotto, Marie gave him a false name: Marie O’Dooley. The intrepid young man got her phone number and pursued the woman he knew would be the love of his life. Marie soon returned his affections and they became engaged in his ’51 Chevy Deluxe three months later in Patchogue, Long Island. That fall, while walking home, Marie and Mike were struck by a car driven by a drunk driver. Mike was knocked over and Marie was dragged for three blocks. Severely injured, Marie received last rites, and Mike, who hated hospitals, bravely visited her during her recovery.

Mike and Marie married on June 19, 1954, at St. Joseph Roman Catholic Church in Astoria, with large Italian reception at Hotel One-Fifth Ave. After an eventful wedding night at the Savoy-Plaza and a honeymoon in Maine (detailed in the book Don’t Call Me Mister by Michael J. Scotto), the newlyweds settled into their first home on Clinton St. and Third Place in Brooklyn, close to the Scotto family. Marie worked for Bell Telephone while Mike pursued his career as an electrical engineer. 

Their first child, Lisa Marie, was born in Brooklyn, NY, in April 1955, followed closely by Joseph Nicholas in 1956. After the family moved to Garden City, Long Island, Paul Michael was born in 1958. Mike’s career took him to Kittery, Maine, in 1960 and on to Mystic, Connecticut, in 1961, where Maria Louise was born. After an eventful sojourn to Biloxi, Mississippi, in 1962, the family returned to CT and then moved to Seattle, Washington, where Carla Beth was born in 1963. Mike was diagnosed with cancer while working there so he and Marie, sending the three oldest ahead for schooling, drove across country with the two youngest to seek treatment in New York. The family settled in Pennsylvania where Mike recovered. Michael Francis was born there in 1966. During these many moves and births, Marie devoted herself to the loving care of her children and her husband with grace and joy. 

While raising her large family, Marie volunteered at Epiphany of Our Lord Church and School where she sang in the choir. Marie also worked in administrative positions to help support her family including her six children, her mother Isabella, her father-in-law, Joseph, the family dog, Fuma, and the family cat, Kit-ten. Known for her hospitality, open heart, and welcoming arms, Marie made many friends and was beloved by the community.

In 1980, Mike accepted a new position in Greensboro, NC, and Marie moved with her mother, Carla, and Michael, to establish a new home once again. Marie took classes at UNCG for quilting, tap-dancing, Italian, and guitar and became a vital member of St. Paul’s Roman Catholic Church, again singing in the choir, often soloing at weddings and funerals. A member of the Newcomer’s Club, singing with the New Hummers, she reached out to new residents, welcoming them with open arms and a sympathetic ear. Marie ministered to the aging at Evergreens Nursing Center and Pennybryn at Maryfield bringing music, love, and joy into the lives of everyone she met. 

Marie loved being a grandmother to her 17 grandchildren, Robert Andrew, Jeffrey David, and Thera Marie (Lisa and Bob); Travis Joseph and Curtis David (Joseph and Donna); Nicholas Anthony and Angeline Nicole (Paul and Judy); Jeana Marie and Harry Valentine (Maria and Harry), Maria Isabella, Nina Francis, Michael Elijah, Joseph David (Carla and Michael); Brooklyn Hope, Moriah Joy, London Darby, and Boston Clay (Michael and April); and her six great-grandchildren.

Devoted to one another. Mike’s and Marie’s was a true love story, filled with music, which lasted almost 60 years. When Mike died in 2014, Marie remained in the family home until a fall and a broken hip led her back to Pennybryn at Maryfield as a resident. Her joyful spirit embraced everyone there and she was loved by staff and residents alike. She attended every activity and daily Mass, wearing one of her signature hats. While valiantly enduring the debilitations of Huntington’s Disease, Marie’s smile never wavered, her embracing arms never closed, and her love for her family, her friends, and her God shone about her. 

Marie’s grand-daughter Thera related one story that illustrates Marie’s great love for her Savior and for everyone she met. In a diary “Grammy” shared, Thera read prayers that Grammy had written. Grammy prayed that she could love and be kind to people who weren’t very nice, or people whom she didn’t naturally like very much. What surprised Thera was that, while Grammy’s love seemed as natural as breathing, she had to work at loving as much as everyone else. It was a humbling experience to find that Grammy worked at loving, prayed for love, and was given the grace to live love out.

Marie’s love for everyone who knew her was real! Even at the end of her life, when her health problems were slowly taking her away, her love for her Lord Jesus and for her “neighbors” shone through. Her love and joy were a blessing to her family who surrounded her, in person or by Skype, on the day she went to heaven.

Marie is survived by her six children, her 17 grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren, also by her sisters, Ann, in Grass Valley, CA, and Angela, in Middletown, NJ, and many cousins, nieces, and nephews. She was predeceased by her husband Michael Joseph and her brother Peter. 

A requiem Mass for Marie Aurora Scotto will be celebrated on Friday, March 15, 2019, at St. Paul’s Roman Catholic Church at 11:00 am in Greensboro, NC. A luncheon will follow. Donations in her memory can be made to Huntington’s Disease Society of America (www.hdsa.org) or Pennybryn at Maryfield (www.pennybrynliving.org). The family thanks all of you who extend support, love, and prayers at this difficult time.