THE PERSONAL TESTIMONY OF DR. ANTHONY BALDUZZI
It was the May 1999 – a burning hot summer evening in Phoenix, Arizona. I woke up to blinding hospital lights in excruciating pain.
The Emergency Room surgeon turned to my mother…
“Linda, your son’s arm is very broken. He has a compound fracture of both his ulna and radius. He is going to need to stay overnight for surgery.”
I watched Mom’s heart skip a beat. I knew she couldn’t stay at the hospital with me.
Mom had to go home to take care of my dying father.
I remember lying alone in that hospital bed – 9 years old – feeling completely terrified. The truth is, I wasn’t terrified for myself or my upcoming surgery. I was terrified for my family.
Frantic questions raced and stampeded through my mind.
Would Dad live another day until I got home from the hospital? Would our family survive if Dad passed? How could I possibly tell Dad how much I loved him and admired his strength as he fought for his life and our family? How was I going to say goodbye?
The next morning, Mom pulled up to the hospital in her white SUV to take me home. The moment I saw the tears welling up in her eyes, I knew something was very, very wrong…