“Now, remember, you’re an alligator.” I put the plate of food on the floor in front of my daughter Danae. “Alligators get to eat on the floor!” My 6 year old son, Daniel, who was sitting at the dinner table looked down at his sister and burst out crying. “I want to be an alligator too!” “All right already. Here. You can eat on the floor too, if you want.” I looked at my wife Denise. “Why don’t we all just eat on the floor. We can be a family of alligators.” “Okay.” Pretty soon we were all spread out on the living room floor carpet. We all had our faces in our plates attempting to eat dinner. It was somewhat difficult but we managed to finish. The reason we told Danae she was an alligator was because she sort of looked liked one. Well... sort of. She was lying on her belly, thrashing her arms, wiggling her body and she couldn’t get up. Other than not having the green hide and the big sharp teeth she sort of looked like an alligator. Her ‘hide’ was actually a combination of her natural skin color and the dayglow, hot fluorescent pink color of the body cast she was in. She had come through her second major surgery just fine but the doctors didn’t want her to move her legs so they made sure she was immobilized. They sent us home with a one ton, pink alligator that needed feeding, diaper changes, and bedtime stories. “Take care of this alligator for one month and then you can have your daughter back.” The doctors told us. My only memories of humans interacting with alligators came from a 1937 movie where Tarzan jumps on an alligator and twirls it around fifty times and eventually subdues the beast after a horrendous battle down the river and over the waterfalls. One thing is for certain. His alligator didn’t weigh anything close to the one we had in our house. Just getting in and out of our car I expended more energy than he did going down the river. Wrestling with Danae’s wheel chair, moving her in and out, doing all that I had to do to make sure she was comfortable was like going over the waterfalls. Although I hesitate to compare myself with Tarzan, I can relate to some of his struggles. After his alligator was gone, though, life in the jungle went back to normal, more or less, until a gorilla or some other ferocious animal jumped on him and a new battle ensued. Eventually our alligator also left and we got our daughter back just like the doctors said. Life pretty much went back to normal, more or less. However, just like Tarzan, we knew that one day the alligator would return. In fact, in just a few days she will be returning. Danae will be undergoing hip surgery on October 3. The doctors will be sending us home with another pink alligator. This alligator will be different. She will weigh two tons. Hmmm... I wonder if that loin cloth still fits me.
"Daddy, I want to dance." Five year old Danae was looking up at me expectantly. I stole a quick glance down the isle at Amanda. She was Danae's usual dance partner and she was currently dancing up front about fifteen feet away, by herself. She seemed oblivious to those around her. I loved to watch Amanda and Danae dance together. Amanda, being the older, would lead Danae in everything. They were not generally joined by other children and most often would be seen dancing together, raising their hands, bowing down, and worshipping God. The worship time at church had already begun, however, and we were late. "Not today, sweetness." We moved on into our seats. At the end of the worship time we all sat down. Danae was busy drawing with her crayons when a lone individual walked out at the front of the church. "Look! Danae! A ballerina!!" "Where?" Danae immediately began to scramble into my lap. "I can't see, daddy!" Danae sounded frantic. I looked behind me. No one. I immediately lifted her up under the arms as I stayed seated. She was perfectly quiet. As the ballerina started dancing to the music of Twila Paris, Danae began to mimic the moves. She would touch her hands slowly in the air and then attempt to bow down, turn to the side and raise her head up. I had stopped watching the ballerina and was totally focused on Danae. She was dancing. With all the movement, however, I was beginning to struggle while trying to keep her upright. She was only standing on one leg and my arms were beginning to ache. My mind drifted back to the doctors office at the children's hospital. "How about this June?," the Doctor was asking. I looked at my wife, Denise, and shrugged my shoulders. "I guess June will be fine" We were discussing when we thought would be the best time to amputate Danae's leg. Some time in the ten minutes that followed that decision, however, a casual comment by the doctor about the progress of Danae's condition led us to seek another professional's opinion. We ultimately decided not to amputate, instead pursuing a series of corrective procedures. That had been three years and three major surgeries ago. As I held up Danae her right leg dangled uselessly. I had to be careful about where I touched her hip because it was still painful. "Daddy, you're hurting my surgery!," she would tell me. The song eventually ended and the ballerina sat down. Danae was excited. When at home Danae would often put on her pink and purple tutu and hop around the house as she pretended to be a ballerina. I looked around for Amanda but I couldn't see her. She had stopped dancing. I half expected her to walk up to Danae, motion with her hands, and say "come," in the low guttural voice that is sometimes characteristic of children with Downs Syndrome, but she didn't. "Daddy, I want to dance." I couldn't understand why God had given this young child, born with a crippled leg, such a burning desire to dance. Then again maybe it is oh so painfully obvious. "I know baby, I know." One day you and Amanda will dance with the angels and everyone's eyes will be on you and God Himself will applaud, was what I was thinking. I hugged her tightly. "One day you will dance, Danae, one day you will dance."
"You can wait outside if you want dad." The nurse was motioning me to the door. "That's okay. I think I'll stay here with her." Danae, my five year old daughter, was laying on the hospital bed looking concerned about what was going to happen next. Two nurses, dressed in white, had come in and were looking at Danae's body cast. Danae was beginning to fidget. It had been two days since her hip surgery and she was still in a lot of pain. Part of the pain was being caused by the cast itself which was cutting into her in about three or four places. Parts of the cast would have to be removed. Mr. Rick, as he was commonly known, peeked his head around the corner. "Are we ready?" Mr. Rick was the cast removal expert at the hospital. "Dad is here. I think it's going to be okay," one of the nurses commented. Danae's eyes suddenly got bigger. Mr. Rick was dressed in a green surgical type gown and was holding a scary looking piece of equipment. It sort of looked like an electrical butcher knife. Danae had already developed a fear of doctors and she assumed Mr. Rick was there to operate. Danae began to mutter, "no, no, no, no!" "It's not going to hurt," Mr. Rick began to explain quickly as he turned the machine on and held it up to his hand. "See?" It was making a horrendous sound. Danae was becoming terrified. Soon she was screaming, "NO, NO, NO, NO!" as she began crying hysterically also. Although she was immobilized in the body cast she still tried to get up. Her legs couldn't move at all so she kept trying to arch her back and sit up. I knew that the cast had to be trimmed. I leaned over the bed and hugged her tightly using my whole body weight to keep her down. Her wiggling movements weren't helping the situation at all. Danae continued to scream. She was crying out for someone to help her. Another nurse came into the room. "Is everything okay in here?" "Dad is here. Everything will be fine." As I held her down it broke my heart to see her in such terror. From her perspective I was obviously part of the problem. Otherwise I wouldn't be letting these strange people hurt her, my daughter, the one who was looking to me for comfort. As I prayed quietly, tears were rolling off of my cheeks and falling onto Danae's face. Danae screamed for about half an hour as I continued to hold her down. Other nurses checked in. Danae's screaming was reverberating up and down the hospital hallways. They were obviously concerned that Danae's screaming was going to alarm other patients in the hospital. "It's okay, her daddy's here," the nurse would tell inquiring personnel. I began to imagine myself in a situation like Danae’s. In a situation where it seemed like I had no control. Just like Danae I was also lying there immobilized but instead of a body cast it was the weight of the world that was holding me down. Financial pressures, conflicts, work related problems, problems here at the hospital, were all weighing me down. I felt paralyzed. I kept trying to get up and move but I couldn't. I began screaming and thrashing around. Two angels dressed in white were standing by the bed. They were watching me screaming. One angel said to the other, "Its going to be okay, the Father is here." I continued to call out to anyone or anything that I thought would help me. As I continued to scream the Father walked over, bent over the bed and held me down. I couldn't wiggle anymore. I felt hot tears falling on my face. He continued to hold me while I screamed. After a while the fear began to melt and soon I was able to relax. My problems didn't seem so painful anymore. When Mr. Rick was done trimming Danae's cast she stopped screaming. Mr. Rick left the room as quickly as he could. I let go of Danae and stood up and wiped my face. I had been sleeping in Danae's hospital room for the last two days and I had gotten very little rest. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. "Thanks dad," the nurse said with a smile. "We'll leave you two alone for awhile." I looked at Danae. "Are you okay, baby?" "Yes daddy, I'm fine. Don’t be silly. Can I watch TV?"
“Grampa, are all things possible?” Five year old Danae was looking up at her Grandfather with a puzzled look on her face. It was the day before Easter and after she had been to the Lamb of God performance at church. “What do you mean, honey?” She paused for a second. “That's okay. Never mind.” Call me emotional and slap me silly, but there are definitely some scenes in Lamb of God that bring tears to my eyes. The usual throat lumpers are the crucifixion scene with Mary, the mother of Jesus, weeping loudly and the scene with the processional carrying out Jesus’ dead body. Those two are guaranteed to tug at your heart. There is another scene, however, that is equally guaranteed to bring a tear to my eye, at least. It is the healing scene with the crippled child. As far as I know, my daughter Danae is the only child in our congregation whose right leg is crippled just like the child in the play. During one of the rehearsals as I sat transfixed on the stage, I imagined it was my child standing before Jesus asking to be healed. It was Jesus bending down and touching my child's leg and it my child that was leaping up and down rejoicing at being healed. When I glanced down at the chair next to me, however, my child was sitting next to me. It was simply an actor running around up on the stage rejoicing. Danae, however, was fascinated by what had happened. “Did Jesus heal his leg, daddy?” That was all she asked. She watched him jump off the stage and she turned around and followed him with her eyes all the way to back of the sanctuary. We happened to be at one of the early rehearsals. Jesus was wearing a tee-shirt and blue jeans. The ‘crippled’ boy was wearing shorts and a regular shirt. Since I knew we would be coming back to see the whole Lamb of God play later in the week we left after that scene. When the healing scene came up again in the dress rehearsal, Danae again watched with fascination as the woman with the issue of blood was healed by Jesus. She saw the blind man healed and again saw the little boy approach Jesus to be healed. “How did that boy hurt his leg again?” she asked. She thought he had actually been healed the other night. I could tell that faith was welling up inside of her. “Can I go up right now and be healed by Jesus?” We tried to explain that these were just actors. Then again we wondered what might happen if we let the faith of a little child loose. Reality finally closed in and we refused to let her run up on the stage. She was more than a little miffed at us. I am sure she saw it as an opportunity lost. It didn’t make sense to her. We were at a loss as to what to do. We, as adults, were unable to look at Lamb of God through the eyes of a little child. I mean really, what would people think? How would the director have reacted? What would the actors have done? As parents and adults we saw actors, lights, special effects, sets and make-up but Danae only saw Jesus... Jesus healing a little boy with a crippled leg. “Grampa, are all things possible?” What is impossible with men is possible with God.
For more info on Danae and her progress, please see Danae's Story
Donovan can be contacted at donovan@artistman.com