by Barbara Mahler

Created on: September 04, 2007   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

"Sandra Rogge." I looked up to see Dr. James standing in the doorway on the other side of the waiting room. He was looking at me and I smiled as I got up and walked toward him. He turned and we walked down the hall to an empty exam room. As a nurse who had often worked with Dr James, I felt comfortable as we stepped into the small space. We sat down but I thought it strange that, except for the two of us, the room was empty.

I had come to the clinic that morning with my seventeen-year-old, John. He'd spent a listless and lackluster weekend. John was not a child who complained, ever. It was also entirely out of character for him to be sick but there certainly was something wrong with him. Sunday afternoon, my husband Tony, who is also a nurse, and I decided that I would call the clinic in the morning and have a pediatrician look at him. "Kids, they're always overdoing," I thought. "Maybe he had mononucleosis or the flu."

Monday morning came and although I wanted John to stay home from school, he would have no part of it. He dressed, ate breakfast, and got on the school bus as on any other day. At 8:30 AM, I called the pediatric clinic to arrange for someone to see him: 10 AM, Dr James. "Good", I thought. I knew that he would do a good job. With some degree of annoyance, I called the school and arranged to pick up John at 9:30 AM for the ride to the clinic. I thought, "Why didn't he just stay home that morning?" Most children would jump at the chance to miss a day of school. Not John.

John loved school and his teachers loved having him there. He was an uncommonly bright and personable child. Academically and artistically gifted, he was no shrinking violet. He had interesting, additional information to add to class discussions and teachers frequently commented about his wealth of knowledge on nearly every topic. He had an extensive personal library and voracious reading habits. His memory was photographic.

Mr. Neery was John's art teacher during his high-school years. He took a liking to John and recognized his artistic abilities. With Mr. Neery's help and encouragement, John developed his skills along that line. John had a drawing desk set up in his bedroom and spent hours there creating pen-and-ink and pencil drawings of incredible detail and beauty. It seemed an uncommon discipline for one so young. I was amazed to observe the painstaking efforts that he put forth in the creation of perfect and richly intricate original artwork. Many pieces were whimsical in nature,

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