Seventy years later, he still limps

We were by far the eldest among patients in the cardiology waiting room today.
I am “senior”; the guy sitting two chairs over would be whatever the next category is called before the inevitable last one.
Since I had no tablet to diddle with, unlike most of the others in the room, and no interest in what those five women on the TV were prattling about, I tried to engage him in conversation.
He wasn’t much of a talker.
Turns out he had bypass surgery 14 years before mine of 11 years ago. That gives a little boost to the psyche as you sit in the heart doc’s lobby wondering about those grafts’ integrity and whether the blood pressure, the cholesterol and all that stuff is ok, and whether the medicine cabinet full of pills is really working.
He said he worked as a concrete finisher until he was 75. That was 13 years ago. He’s now 88.
I asked how long he had used the cane, thinking it must have been sometime after he retired.
“Since the war; I lost three toes,” he said.
I had to ask -- what happened.
“Frostbite. In Europe,” he said.
He arrived in France in November 1944, and was sent with other infantry in December to hold the line against a German counter-attack at Bastogne.
We now call it the Battle of the Bulge.
Before I could ask more, the nurse called him in. And our paths didn’t cross again. Maybe next time.
He must have been about 18 when his war started, and it must have been over in about two months.
Did I mention he was black? Guess it really doesn’t matter, does it?

Editor Jim Butler can be reached at jim.butler@eunicetoday.com