Aaron tells the story of his father’s two-decade struggle with knee pain and the pivotal moment he had to choose between a robotic-assisted surgeon and an old-school doctor who had a love for jazz...
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Story created & performed by: Aaron Calafato
Senior Audio Engineer: Ken Wendt
Additional vocals: Cori Birce
Art: Pete Whitehead
Original Music: thomas j. duke
Transcript
Aaron Calafato: So I asked him, "Dad, who are you going to go with?" And I knew it was important because this decision could really determine the future of his life. I'll tell you why, right after the music.
I didn’t really notice it until he was in his late fifties, maybe early sixties. The limp—like the way he would walk—I could tell something was wrong. And my dad was a fantastic athlete, a collegiate star at soccer, but he was a smaller guy, so he got knocked around and injured a lot. I remember at an alumni game, the last time I saw him play soccer. I’m a kid, sitting on a little picnic blanket, watching him play against these 20-year-olds.
I think he was in his forties at the time. He was a stellar right winger. I remember, right as the second half started, he had a give-and-go pass, got right in front of the goal, right at the edge of the penalty box, and just put the ball on net. Beautiful shot, top left corner of the goal.
I was like, "This is amazing." And when they went to midfield to start play after the goal, I saw him turn around—literally just turn his body—and then he fell down, like his legs were cut from underneath him. Everyone ran out, and I was kind of scared because this was, you know, my dad. They had to take him out on a stretcher. He had torn his Achilles tendon completely. And it really hit me that my dad was just a human being. You know, I think kids don’t always put that together.
So he had this injury, stopped playing, but he kept going. He was hiking, canoeing, kayaking, golfing—and the guy had to walk it. I’d always be like, "Dad, you gonna take a cart?" And he’d say, "Cart? Cart's smart. I’m walking the course." He’d make me walk the course with him. I’m like 18, 20 years old, exhausted. This guy’s walking all 18 holes with just a hot dog after the 9th, you know what I’m saying, at the clubhouse. That’s just how he was.
Now, somewhere between his soccer injuries and golfing, something happened to his knee. I didn’t realize what a high pain tolerance my dad had until I started seeing him limp in his late fifties, early sixties. It was really noticeable. I said, "Dad, you should get that looked at." He always said, "Yeah, it’s gotta be a replacement. They have to do surgery, but I’m going to let it go as long as I can." And he did. This guy, until his leg was literally almost falling off, finally went to the doctor.
Speaking of doctors, as a kid, you just go to the doctor. When you’re an adult, you start needing specialized care. You start going to specialists. So you have to do a little shopping. It got to a point where he wasn’t really able to walk anymore, and he didn’t want to lose that ability, especially because of how active he was and still wanted to be. So he had to essentially go shopping for a knee surgeon.
The first knee surgeon takes a look at it—they do the whole x-ray, MRI, all that stuff—and the surgeon goes, "Holy shit, I have never in my entire career seen a knee that looked this bad." His bones had essentially fused over time. This was going to be a very complicated knee surgery—one that could really determine his future ability to walk. So he needed a great surgeon. It came down to two different surgeons.
One surgeon relied heavily on and appreciated the robotic assist. Now, I’m not an expert, but I know that robotic assists are a good thing. The doctor oversees it, but there’s automation involved, and it’s less hands-on. It can be more precise, so there are advantages. This doctor said, "Here’s what I’m going to do. Here’s how it’s going to turn out." But he also said, "There’s a chance this doesn’t go well just because of how screwed up your knee is, essentially."
My dad tried to weigh that option—almost like the numbers told him to go that route—but then he decided to get a second opinion. He got a referral to this old-school knee surgeon, a guy who didn’t use robotic assist, just his hands. My dad tells the story: he walks into the guy’s office, and you can just hear Thelonious Monk playing. There are Jackson Pollock replicas on the wall, the guy’s got kind of crazy hair, something out of a movie.
My dad goes in, tells him the story, and asks, "Is this something you can do?" The doctor looks at his charts, sits there, tapping his foot to the jazz playing in the background, and says, "This is a mess." He goes, "Listen, there are a lot of great knee surgeons, and you could go the traditional route. But the only reason I feel I can do this is because I’m going to be in there with my hands."
My dad says, "Yeah, but isn’t that an issue? Shouldn’t I be relying on a robotic assist for something this complicated?" The doctor says, "You could go that way, but here’s the thing: there might be a moment during surgery where you have to play jazz." My dad’s like, "What?" The doctor goes, "When I’m in a knee, sometimes you encounter things you don’t expect. You have to rely on instinct, adaptation, and creation in the moment to make it work. That’s why I rely on my hands. Robotic assists are great when there’s a template, but for something like this, you’ve got to play jazz."
My dad thought about it for months. Full circle—we’re sitting in the car, and I asked, "Who are you going to go with?" My dad says, "You know, I’ve never been a fan of Thelonious Monk, but damn, that dude could play. I think I’m going with the guy who plays jazz."
Even after he got back from the hospital, you still don’t know how it’s going to turn out. You have to wait, do the therapy. My dad did all that and was really proactive about bringing his knee back. He did what he was supposed to do. So did the jazz surgeon. And luckily, my dad is feeling great, walking great, standing six inches taller. The guy’s got a pep in his step and a bright future—thank God. And when you see him, it’s almost like you can hear the sounds of jazz.
