To My Daughter Amanda and My Son-in-law JT on Their 9th Wedding Anniversary

I wrote this story for Amanda after her most unusual wedding, and I share it with you today, on the 9th anniversary of her marriage to JT. Hope you enjoy it!

Princess Amanda and the Hurricanes

A True Story

Once upon a time, in the far-away northern kingdom of Lehigh Valley, there lived a beautiful princess named Amanda. Now Princess Amanda had been searching throughout the land, near and far, for a handsome prince to become her consort, and she had been searching for a long time.  Oh, to be sure, she had found several possible suitors, but alas, none of them would do.  Princess Amanda was beginning to feel that she would never find the perfect beau. She sighed, “Where, oh where, is my heart-mate?  Who will come along and seek my hand in marriage?  I am not getting any younger…I’m all of 26 years old! Oh, woe is me! I shall be alone forever!”

But soon thereafter, Princess Amanda DID find her paramour!  She met the handsome Prince John Thomas (who was known in the kingdom of Lehigh Valley as ‘JT’). At first, she was not at all sure that Prince JT was “the man”, but as time went by, they fell in love and finally the day came when they announced to the kingdom that they would be wed. And all the bells throughout the kingdom rang with the wonderful news.

But as Princess Amanda was no ordinary princess, nor could her grand wedding be ordinary, either.  The kingdom of Lehigh Valley was locked away amidst the mountains, and the late King James, Princess Amanda’s father, and been honored by having his ashes spread over the mighty ocean, far from the Valley. So Princess Amanda felt very close to her father when she was on the beach.  So it was determined that the grand wedding of Princess Amanda and Prince JT would take place on the ocean’s shore.

But not just any shore, of course. This was to be a special wedding, and so it must be held in a special place. As Princess Amanda looked at maps of the country, she discovered the Isle of Captiva, many miles to the south.  It was a beautiful little island, right on the Gulf of Mexico. There the sun was always shining, it was always warm, and the beaches were wonderful white sugary sand. Yes, this would be a grand place for the royal wedding.

Plans began for the wonderful event. Although Princess Amanda lived a long way away from Captiva, her mother, Queen Jennifer, just happened to live in that very same area, and so was able to help Princess Amanda with her plans. They chose a little village near the beach, with rooms for all the royal guests. They chose a scrumptious wedding feast. And they picked out the flowers and the royal wedding cake.  The date chosen for the grand event would be September 5^th, or the week-end when the entire country took time off from work to celebrate work. This made sense (somehow), as now all of Amanda’s royal guests would have the time off to fly south for the wedding.

But as all things planned have a way of changing, this would be no exception. What Princess Amanda did not take into consideration was that in the south, the season from June through October was known to produce very bad storms called “hurricanes.” Even the people of the southern kingdoms had grown unafraid, because there had been no big hurricanes for quite awhile now, so it was no surprise that the Princess had overlooked the possibility of a storm of this kind interrupting her plans.

And as the poet Burns once said, “The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray,” so too did these wedding plans. With barely a fortnight before the grand event was to take place, with all of the royal guests booked on flights to the south, with all of the rooms in the village reserved, along came a hurricane named Charley, who was definitely not on the guest list.  After demolishing a lot of the Caribbean islands, Charley had turned into the Gulf of Mexico, and all of the forecasters had foretold that it would hit Tampa. But Charley had different plans, and turned very sharply at the last minute, smashing directly into Captiva, slicing the tiny isle in twain, and destroying any plans for the royal wedding.

“Oh, woe is me,” cried Princess Amanda, “will I never get married? All of my plans are now washed away by this terrible storm!” But Queen Jennifer comforted her child.  “Now, now, my beautiful Amanda, the wedding is still two weeks away. And we have very lovely beaches where I live, so perhaps we can move your wedding to the East Coast, in the big city of Fort Lauderdale.” And although the princess was at wits end, she told her mother the queen to see what could be done.

Now, Queen Jennifer was a very resourceful person. She had been waiting for her daughter to meet a handsome prince for some time now, and now that a wedding was eminent, she would see to it that the event would indeed take place. Within a few days, Queen Jennifer had arranged lodging for the wedding party at a wonderful palace right on the beach. She had also arranged a banquet in a great hall, flowers, a wonderful wedding cake, musicians, and a photographer to record the grand event.

“Oh, mother, you are so wonderful,” cried the Princess. “How could I have ever known what to do, being so far away in Lehigh Valley?”

“It was nothing, my dear,” said the Queen. “I would do anything to make my daughter happy and to see her marriage to Prince JT succeed. I am still working on the details, but everything has been arranged for you to get married on the beach in a beautiful sunset ceremony.”

The Princess thanked her mother, and continued with her now-altered plans. She still had to travel to the south to get the necessary papers for her marriage, so she and Prince JT packed their bags and got ready for the big trip.

Alas, this was not only hurricane season in the southern lands, but would turn out to be one of the most terrible hurricane seasons in history. And it was just starting!  As the magical date approached, so did hurricane Frances.  A week before the wedding, the storm had headed directly for Fort Lauderdale, and Queen Jennifer began to have doubts as to whether Princess Amanda would get married this time, either. “I don’t know if it would be wise to travel south right now,” Queen Jennifer suggested.

But Princess Amanda would not relent. “There will be a wedding this time, mother, and no hurricane is going to stop us,” she proclaimed. Unfortunately, she was very unfamiliar with these storms, and hurricane Frances was about to prove her very, very wrong!

The princess and prince arrived a day earlier than planned, four days before the scheduled wedding, to obtain the official papers needed for the ceremony.  That Thursday, they awoke to find that all of the offices in the kingdom had been closed because of the approaching storm. But Queen Jennifer’s consort, Prince Gary, quickly took them by coach to another kingdom nearby whose offices were still open, and hours before they too closed because of the approaching storm, Princess Amanda and Prince JT had the necessary documents.

But it would do the now-unhappy couple no good.  Later that same day, the beach on which the palace stood was evacuated, and the airport where the royal guests would arrive was closed. Once again, there would be no royal wedding.

“Boo-hoo!” cried the princess. “I am beginning to wonder if I was ever meant to marry my sweet prince! It is unheard of that so many hurricanes would take place so soon, and right where my wedding is planned!” But Prince JT was unmoved. “We will get married before we leave the land of Florida. It WILL happen, and I am sure of it! So do not cry, Princess Amanda. While we are waiting for the right time and place, let us just go on our planned honeymoon, to the Magic Kingdom of Disney, far away from these storms. We will relax and enjoy ourselves, and ponder our next move in peace and quiet.”

And so the prince and princess, still unwed, packed their bags and took a coach north to the Magic Kingdom. There they would enjoy some peace and quiet. Or so they thought.

Queen Jennifer was now busy contacting all of those who were to have taken part in the wedding, and thanking them for their hard work, though there would now be no joyous event. But when she talked to Tricia the Event Planner, at the palace on the beach, a new plan began to grow. Was it possible for the wedding to take place the following week-end, after hurricane Frances passed by? Together, the Queen and Tricia the Planner worked out the details of the new wedding, to take place, of all dates, on September 11^th.

Now Tricia the Planner had been working on the wedding for 3 weeks, and knew the entire story of the broken plans of the royal couple-to-be. And her heart was moved, and she went to her superiors and asked them to help make the wedding a very special event. And an entirely new wedding ceremony began to grow, one with a grand ballroom and gourmet dinners and servers, one with more flowers and a bigger cake, and more musicians. And Princess Amanda and Prince JT would stay in the biggest and best room in the palace, too – a room normally reserved for kings and presidents. And the best part was that the palace would provide all of this as a wonderful gift to the prince and princess! The palace had a heart bigger than any hurricane, and it showed. Princess Amanda and Prince JT would have the best wedding ever – the palace would make sure of it!

And Tricia the Planner also put the amazing story of Princess Amanda and the two hurricanes out on the palace news wire, and soon reporters throughout the entire land were asking to interview the Prince and Princess. There was Good Morning America. And Fox News. And National Public Radio. And the Early Show, and Channel 7 and the Miami Herald newspaper. Why, even the newspaper in the Princess’ own kingdom of Lehigh Valley, the Morning Call, wanted to cover the wedding, and they sent a reporter.

And guess what happened? The news people found out that the Prince and Princess were relaxing at the Magic Kingdom, and they all went to find them and interview them.  You know, the paparazzi. There went peace and quiet. But the now happy couple, who had been told of the new plans, simply ran away from the paparazzi, as most royal couples do, and enjoyed the rest of their stay, as they contemplated the happy day to come on Saturday.

What happened next is unbelievable, but these are the things that special love stories are made of. Lo and behold, yet another hurricane, named Ivan, was making its way west, and all of the weather forecasters could not say which way Ivan would go. But it was possible that it could also hit the land of Florida and interrupt the wedding plans. Again!

THREE HURRICANES? I told you it was unbelievable! And Princess Amanda became somewhat anxious as she pondered the possibilities of yet another failed wedding. But Prince JT stood fast, and proclaimed that he was sure that the wedding would take place this time. Prince Gary, Queen Jennifer’s consort had lived in the land of Florida his entire life and he too thought that this time, wedding bells would ring!

And he was right!  On Saturday, September 11^th, as the sun was setting over beautiful Fort Lauderdale beach, Princess Amanda walked barefoot through the sand, from the palace to a lovely little chapel-like setting, close to the breaking surf. There was a white archway with flowers, and chairs and an official of the kingdom who would pronounce the prince and princess man and wife. Princess Amanda’s sister, Princess Annie was the matron of honor, and her little son, Prince Aiden, carried the royal wedding bands. The musicians played guitar and violin, and serenaded the royal couple. And there wasn’t a dry eye on the beach!

As tiny sandpipers fluttered overhead, and the waves gently washed up on the shore, Princess Amanda and Prince JT poured sand from two little bottles into one big bottle, to signify that the two were becoming one, and that no one could ever separate the sand in the big bottle to say whose was whose.  As the Prince and Princess kissed, an airplane flew over, pulling a big banner which read, “Congratulations to Princess Amanda and Prince JT!” and it had a big red heart attached.

And then they returned to the palace, where they toasted their marriage with lemonade, for Queen Jennifer had wisely said, “When someone hands you lemons, make lemonade!” The two hurricanes had handed the wedded couple many lemons, and in the end they had turned them to lemonade – a more majestic and wonderful and happy event than was ever originally planned.  The wedding party sat down in the great hall of the palace, and had salad, and bread, and fine drinks and filet mignon and shrimp. And there was dancing and toasting, and picture-taking. And there was a beautiful wedding cake, which was topped by a special setting especially designed and made by Queen Jennifer herself.

And what of hurricane Ivan?  Well, he decided to go to the southern islands and on into the Gulf of Mexico, and eventually visited the people in the lands of Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama. He even managed to visit parts of northern Florida, and as it turned out, Ivan was the fourth of five hurricanes to hit the land of Florida that year. To this day, that time will be remembered as the busiest hurricane season that ever was! But that is another story.

And Princess Amanda and Prince JT lived happily ever after, with Prince Anthony, their son, and little Princess Zoe Jane, their baby daughter. They went back to the kingdom of Lehigh Valley, where they live to this day. And Queen Jennifer has the top of the wedding cake in her freezer, and in one year’s time, she will share it with Princess Amanda and Prince JT on their first anniversary, and they will all relive that very unusual summer when a royal family from the north became hurricane experts and had a wedding that they will never, ever forget!

-= The End =-

©Copyright 2004 Itzazu.Com All rights reserved. This document may not be copied or reproduced in its entirety or in part without the written permission of Gary Barth and Amanda Loper

And the Answer Is...

God is good! Very brief follow-up to my melanoma surgery on August 23rd.:

 Dr. Zampell called this afternoon at 1:17 PM to inform me that my pathology report came back NEGATIVE! There are no further signs of cancer in the tissues removed from my shoulder or in the sentinel lymph nodes removed from my armpit.

I take full responsibility for being stubborn and putting this surgery off for so long. Had I listened to my wife, who had bugged me for years to have this ugly patch of skin examined more closely, maybe I wouldn't have ended up with this kind of surgery. Hind-sight is 20/20, I know, but in the future, I will get all suspect items looked at immediately, if not sooner!

My heart-felt thanks go out to the surgeons who took care of me at the Manhattan VA Hospital. I wish I had all of their names, but Dr. Jamie Zampell, my reconstructive surgeon, really made all of this happen, and managed to get everything expedited. I also thank the staff who took such good care of me for those few short days I was there. Everyone was polite and caring, from the orderlies who took care of my room to the nurses who came in to deliver my meds and check on me. As most people do, I hate hospitals, but my stay at this facility was an exception. I would not hesitate to put myself in their care, if, God forbid, I ever again need the expert care I received from them.

There was a reason we moved to Pennsylvania, and that reason was family! And my daughters and sons-in-law stepped in and made sure that I got the help I needed in getting to NYC for all of this. They insisted that they would drive me to and from the hospital, and went above and beyond to accomplish that. Together, they made four 200-mile round trips, because "that's what family is for!" And I love all of them so much for that! After 66 years of life in Florida, I am finally home here in PA! My family is Amanda and JT, Annie and Dave, and 7 wonderful grandchildren. God bless all of them!

And finally, and most importantly, I have to give God the glory for what He has done for me, and for us, in this process. The world might call it luck or coincidence, but Jen and I saw miracle after miracle happen during this time of trials. Every time we ran into an obstacle, we prayed, and that obstacle was removed. Schedules were revised, rules were changed, the unavailable became available. From the time my melanoma was diagnosed until it was removed, time was never wasted. A doctor made a 30-minute walk through the Lower East Side on a holiday to care for me. And the end result, a negative pathology report, was just the icing on the cake! God has been with me and Jen, and with my family, during this journey. We had people who didn't even know me personally praying for me - a local church pastor called me and told me that their prayer group would keep me in their hearts while I was in NYC. That's faith for you!

And now it's time to get back to our lives here in Palmerton. This little detour has been closed, and we've got other things to do!

It's Just a Flesh Wound... - Epilogue

Before I say another thing, I want to give JT a BIG thank-you for this 2nd trip to Manhattan. He graciously brought me over here a few days ago and now he's here to take me home. And he has brought Jen with him. I am a very happy man. And he is a good driver - after riding through the streets of NYC with him, I'd trust him anywhere.

SO - when we are situated in the back of the SUV, and JT pulls out, I realize that every turn and bump is going to hurt. A lot! I lean against the door on my right for the left turns, but the first right turn feels like all my stitches are popping out. I grip the door's arm rest so tightly to keep from swaying that I pull the insert right out of the handle. Whoa! Again, JT is not doing anything wrong, but the pain is deep and every move hurts. And we have 100 miles to go! Jen is beside me, talking to me, but all I can think of is the fact that I hurt, and that I am bleeding through my shirt. I try to smile, but there will be no enjoyment on this ride, only endurance. I want to be home in the worst way!

It is the longest 100 miles I have ever traveled, but we finally arrive at Amanda's house, where Jen had left our car. I really don't want to stay too long, but I do want to thank Amanda and JT for all of their help in this. Amanda immediately spots the blood on my shirt, but Jen explains it away as "seepage." I will not be sitting down on any furniture! After another round of thank you's and get-well wishes, we head out to the Escort for the final 12-mile ride home to Palmerton. Uh-oh! I thought getting into the SUV was hard, but this little car is going to be worse. I have to lower myself down into it, and every move is painful! But I'm going home, and I want to get going now. We shoe-horn me into the passenger seat, and immediately decide that there will be no seat-belt for me on this ride. I'm counting the miles and watching the street signs as we get closer and closer, and then we're pulling up out front.

Now our little home has a ramp leading up to the door, and right now, it's perfect. As Jen unlocks the door, we discuss the "girls" - our two dogs, Sandy and Sasha - and try to figure out how to keep them from jumping on me. After being gone for almost 4 days, they're going to go nuts when I walk through that door. And so Jen leads the way, and as I appear in the doorway, they behave just as expected. Sandy is jumping so high that she just about reaches eye-level with me on every leap! Sasha isn't much better. But as painful as it is, I try to greet and pet both of them. It's pandemonium, but it's healing to me - I am home, and my furry children are ecstatic. Even our two cats are pleased to see me again.

I usually keep myself fairly busy around the house. We both do our share, and everything runs more or less smoothly. But now, Jen has had to do her work and mine, and we are still in the initial stages of moving. Little things like walking the dogs were shared, and some things (like cleaning the kitty litter boxes) were my chores. Everything is now on her shoulders, and she has been so great during my little trip to Manhattan. She is adamant about my not doing anything, just relaxing and recuperating, but to my little ADD brain, it just ain't right! And so Jen has come up with her own little saying: "Don't piss off the nurse!" Every time I try to do anything - ANYTHING! - I get that verbal hand-slap. She is really good at one small task - scratching my back. It itches like crazy, and I can't do it. She fluffs my pillows, and she really shines when it comes to giving me a bath. Oh yeah...

SO - I have been home now for over two weeks. A quick trip to Manhattan to get stitches and the drain removed, and the healing is going well. Most of the swelling on my "shoulder pad" has gone down, my back still looks like I wrestled a croc and lost, and there is still some tightness on my left side. I'm dressing myself, and driving the car, and I even put down some mulch out front and weed-whacked the back yard. Dr. Z said that it would probably take about 6 months before things started to look normal (whatever that is!) again. As of this writing, I still do not have the pathology report on the lymph nodes, but Jen and I aren't worried. No news is good news, and I have had a whole lot of people praying for me. I am trusting in total healing for this cancer. And just a few nights ago, we were watching a reunion of the "Mary Tyler Moore" show, and listened to Valerie Harper's super-positive outlook on things, and she has been diagnosed with a terminal cancer. Jen and I lean very heavily on our Christian faith. When I hear others claim that we use our faith as a crutch, I totally agree with them. For, you see, when we are given things to bear that are sometimes very hard to endure, it is our God who gets us through them. He was my crutch throughout this ordeal, and when I started to feel despair or fear sometimes, it was prayer that gave me strength. My own prayers, and those of many others who heard of my illness and offered to pray for me. This story is a testament to my faith, and I give Him all the glory!

Our Father, who art in Heaven,
Hallowed be Thy Name.
Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done,
On Earth as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
For Thine is the Kingdom, and the Power, and the Glory,
Forever and ever, Amen!

It's Just a Flesh Wound... - Part III

WARNING! Graphic post-surgery images below! Viewer discretion is advised!

The week of the 23rd has just started when the phone rings - it's the Manhattan VA again, and I am scheduled for my pre-bed testing at 8 AM on the 21st. Uh! I think you're wrong...Dr. Zampell has me scheduled for those tests on the 22nd. "Oh, no, sir! We do this testing on Wednesdays, and you are on our schedule for that morning." Well, I can't make it, so what do we do? "You'll have to get your doctor to call us - we can't go changing these schedules." So I call Dr. Z, and am told to simply ignore the call, that everything has been set up, and to just get myself there before 7 PM on Wednesday. No problem.

But again, how am I going to get there? I will not ask my family to do this trip again. And so the old "Wilkes-Barre shuttle" plan goes into play. And again, my family trumps me - daughter Amanda says that her hubby, JT, knows NYC inside and out, and that he will be happy to drive me over this time. Oh, man! I'm feeling great that this will be, and yet I feel like I'm putting someone else out. It's a burden I don't want to impose, but Amanda simply says, "that's what family is for" and it's settled. It will be a one-way trip for me, so there will be no parking - JT will drop me off at the front door and head home. And since it's late in the day, the traffic will be light. And so, at 6:45 PM, I step out of the car and into the hospital for what will be a 2-day stay...I will spend the night, do the pre-bed on Thursday, followed by the surgery on Friday, and I will go home on Saturday morning. Sounds good to me.

And now the whole thing starts getting really serious. I'm checked in, handed some PJ's and given a room and a bed. I hate hospitals! I have a room-mate, who is very quiet but for one problem - there are little TV sets suspended above each bed, and this guy has his running when I get there. It's still running at 4 AM, when I have to ask the nurse to turn it off. And then there is the nurse's schedule, which seems to be to wait until I am sound asleep, and then walk into the room, turn on every light, and ask me if everything is okay. I swear, they do this on purpose! As I lay there, the seriousness of my situation finally starts to sink in. For a month or more now, I have blithely put off any concerns, thinking that everything will happen tomorrow. And now it's tomorrow, and in two days I will be in an operating room, being carved up like a Christmas turkey, to remove a very nasty cancer. Finally, it's showtime. And me, this 66-year-old macho dude, I'm a little scared.

Thursday morning, I'm served the usual hospital grub, which is surprisingly almost edible. I'm not too hungry, so I eat the sausage patty and a banana, and half the coffee, and soon enough, they've come to take me to X-ray. I get a mini-tour of the hospital as I'm wheeled from my 10th floor room to the 4th floor - this is a big hospital - for shots of my shoulder area. A little closer to the knife - what in Sam Hill am I doing here? We're really going to do this, aren't we? Well, I suck it up, and soon I'm back in my room, watching Pawn Stars. And then I get a visit from the oncology surgeon, and several other doctor-types. This, I find out, is a teaching hospital, and there are a lot of interns on the way to their residency. After the doctor explains to me what he will do, in very graphic terms, he turns to these 3 interns and gives them a mini-lesson in oncology, using me as his prop. Oh, wonderful! Don't mind me if I go to sleep. Dr. Z pops in a bit later to see how I'm doing, and reminds me that I will not be able to eat or drink after midnight. Well, that's okay, as I'm losing my appetite thinking about tomorrow, anyway. Back to the TV, a little bite of faux-dinner, and try to sleep. And at 3 AM I have to ask the nurse again to turn off my room-mate's TV. Good night!

Bummer! It's 6 AM, and the nurse comes in with her little torture rack to take my temperature, pulse and blood pressure. This is IT! D-day!  She also brings me one of those hospital gowns that covers your front and shows the world your caboose! I hate those things! And I'm given a packet of giant wipes and told to give myself a bath. Oh, great! I sequester myself in the bathroom, strip, and wipe myself clean with these things, and put on the infamous gown. I'm slick wit this thing - before I put it on, I tie both of the cords on the back as tightly as possible, and then slip the gown on over my head. Ain't nobody gonna see my booty if I can help it!  Back to bed to await my fate, and shortly, the gurney arrives to take me to the butcher shop. As absurd as that sounds, that's exactly how I'm feeling at the moment.

First stop, though, is nuclear medicine. I talk to the doctor who explains that they will make 4 injections around the melanoma. He's a matter-of-fact kinda guy, Jewish with a yarmulke, and he says, "I could numb the area, but the anesthetic needle would hurt just as much as the injections. So no anesthesia. I'll give you 4 shots, and they will hurt (thanks, doc, for your brute honesty!). And then we will take you to the machine and trace the route of the injections to see which lymph nodes may have been affected."  Okay with me, doc...you've got a captive audience. Go for it. I'm rolled into a room with something that looks like an open MRI machine, where I'm told to lie down on a very cold table. The technicians running the show are very friendly and try to make me comfortable. Like I can be comfortable right now??? Then Dr. Frankenstein asks for the 1st hypodermic, and I swear, it looks like a scene from the mad doctor's lab - a heavily-gloved technician cautiously brings a stainless steel cylinder over and slowly unscrews the heavy lid, and offers it to the doctor, who gingerly withdraws the syringe, looks at it closely (you can see where my mind is at the moment), and then bends over and pushes the small needle into my shoulder. When he told me this was going to hurt, I prepared myself for some real pain, but this is a slight pinch and a short-term burning sensation. That wasn't so bad, and three more shots later, I am told that I must lay "absolutely" still while this machine does its thing. "For how long?", I ask. "Oh, about an hour or so. Might be more or less...depends on how fast the trace flows."

Now, I'm a little ADD! Okay, more than a little! I can lay still for about 3 minutes...if I'm asleep. The platform I'm lying on moves me into and under a large plate with cross-hairs, and once they have the location mapped on their computers, it's picture time. Just tell me to lay still and watch how fast I get an itchy nose. Probably about 30 minutes into this Chinese torture treatment I'm getting very twitchy. "How much longer, doc?" "We're almost done...a few more minutes!" And then I see 2-3 more doctors enter the room, and I can barely over-hear the discussion about which lymph nodes will be removed, how hard this will be, who will do which surgery... This HAS to end soon, or I'm gonna flip out.  And then the machine is turned off, I'm out from under the plate, and back on the gurney.

And headed directly to the surgical ward. We round a corner, and there are two surgical nurses waiting outside the doors. Scrubs, caps, face shields and masks...I picture them rubbing their hands together with glee and chuckling. "Ah-hah, our victim has arrived!" And now, for the first time since I've been here, I am really scared. Why? I don't know, but my mind goes into hyper-speed: lying there on that table, totally unconscious, mostly naked, with a bunch of guys with sharp instruments hacking away at my shoulder. What if something goes wrong? What if I don't wake up? And I know what this is - I'm forgetting that my God is in charge here. I'm being attacked by the author of doubt. And so I close my eyes and pray that He will be there with me in that operating room, guiding the hands of the surgeons and keeping me from harm. I'm moved from the gurney to the operating table, and looking up at all of those lights and people in masks, and someone puts an oxygen mask over my face and tells me to relax and breathe deeply...

"Mr. Barth, Mr. Barth...how are you feeling?"  I open my eyes and look around - the room is empty except for me and my gurney. I feel okay, a little groggy but otherwise fine. There's a clock across the room on the wall, and it says 6:30. I went into the operating room at 11 AM. Whoa! I was in surgery for 7 hours! Way back when all of this was being planned, I was told that it would take maybe 3 hours total. What happened? Well, my mind can't wrap itself around this stuff right now, and in a few minutes, an orderly rolls me back to my bed on 10 North. And amazingly, someone thought that I would be hungry after this thing, and dinner is delivered before I'm even back in bed. This was so humorous to me that I almost laughed. Almost, because every time I took a deep breath or coughed, it hurt! I'm hooked to an IV which is delivering a saline solution and an antibiotic, but when I tell the nurse I have to use the little boy's room, she disconnects me and asks if I can use the rest room by myself. Strangely enough, I am confident enough to reply "Yeah!" And I struggle out of the bed, get my feet on the floor, and waddle into the john.

Oh, sweet relief! After 7 hours! And I shuffle over to the sink to wash my right hand (the left one ain't working so well), and...SWEET MOTHER OF PEARL!!! I look in the mirror! What the heck is this monstrosity on my left shoulder? I have been mutilated, hacked to pieces, even! When I went into surgery, I had this little patch of brown stuff up there, and I thought that a small piece of skin was going to be replaced. This scar looks like the Suez Canal. It starts at my arm pit and goes up over my shoulder. No wonder I was in surgery for 7 hours!

 

Oh, man! And then I remember the flap thing, and if this is the skin from that flap...I turn to my right, and look at my left side. And it's WORSE!! Right now I'm not feeling much pain, but I can only imagine what's going to happen when all of the anesthesia wears off. I've also got this tube draining the side incision into a little bulb, and that bulb does its best to be in the way every time I move. I get myself back to my bed and start to rationalize how I'm going to lay down with all of this. I manage to slide into the bed and the nurse reconnects me to the IV, and all I want to do is go to sleep and wake up to the realization this was all a bad dream. But first I have to call my wonderful wife, who I know is worried crazy about me. I was going to call her after a 3-hour operation, and it's now after 8 PM. Just hearing her voice on my cell phone takes a lot of the pain away, and I miss her something awful! Right now, I would give anything to have her sitting here next to my bed and holding my hand. I attempt to prepare her for what she will see tomorrow - I tell her I look like Frankenstein's monster! But I let her know everything is alright, that I can't wait to see her. I kiss her goodnight over the phone, and Saturday can't come soon enough! I'm asleep before I know it.

 

I wake up a lot sooner than I wanted to, and my left armpit, or what remains of it, feels like someone has run a bayonet into it. I click on the call button, and the duty nurse comes in. Before she can ask what's wrong, I tell her my pain level is 10+!  I am allergic to morphine, and so all my pain meds will be administered orally. Not good right now, because I hurt like crazy, and the Vicodin I am given will take about 25-30 minutes to take effect. I lay there trying not to moan, and finally the drugs take effect, and I go back to sleep. Last thing I remember thinking is, "And you're going home in the morning??? Are you crazy?"

I am still in a state of disbelief when Dr. Z comes in to visit on Saturday morning. She thinks everything went extremely well, and she is impressed with the results. Since my opinion is that I look like I was attacked by Genghis Khan with a dull machete, I feel a little better. She will go to the desk and arrange my release, and get me set up with antibiotics and pain meds. I thank her profusely for not killing me, she laughs and wishes me good luck and then she's gone. I'm still trying to figure out how they're letting me go home looking like this when my other doctor comes in, the surgeon who did the excision and lymph node removal. And once again, he says, "It looks great! Everything went very well, and there should be no problems." And so I am reassured twice, and my mood lightens considerably.

And my cell goes off, and it's my wonderful honey, letting me know that she and JT are on the way - it's about 12:30, so they should be here around 2:30. That does it! Since I woke up this morning, I have been laying there not wanting to move for fear of pulling stitches or making something mess up. But now I am empowered by my wife's message, and I am determined to get myself dressed and ready to go. I grab my Jockeys and my jeans and creep into the bathroom to change - I still feel like something could "come loose" if I move the wrong way. And I succeed! Just putting on my clothes feels great, and I slowly get back into bed to watch a bit of TV to wait for my ride back home. What I didn't expect comes next - Jen walks into my room, and I freeze. Oh, boy! Well, I told her what to expect, but she is so cool...I'm standing there without a shirt on, with all of these scars exposed, and she barely blinks. I love her so much right now. I expected her to really flip out, but she walks up and kisses me and asks me if I'm okay. Whatta woman! We even make jokes about it - one thing she and I have always had is a great sense of humor. So even though I'm looking like a victim of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, we're laughing.

Well, all I want to do is get the blazes out of here! Quick! Help me put that shirt on. Here's my backpack, here's my shoes, here's my paper bag with my meds!  Where's JT? I am surprised when I learn they're going to let me walk myself out. Jen asks if they are sending a wheelchair, and the nurse asks her if I can walk okay. Well, that settles that. Grab the stuff and let's scram! Only "scramming" in my case is a slow shuffle - I can't walk as easily as I thought I could. Every step hurts, but I ignore the pain - I'm going HOME! From the 10th floor to the lobby, it's not pretty, but we get there, and JT is waiting with the SUV. Oops! How on God's green earth am I going to get into this thing?  And then Jen says that I'm bleeding "back there." Oh, great! I don't need that, too, but I want to get out on the road and away from the VA hospital. I get in the back seat, Jen climbs in beside me, and we start the long journey home.


(to be continued...)

It's Just a Flesh Wound... - Part II

I am in a near panic mode as I look at the prospects of this surgical circus - a small brown patch on my shoulder has now ballooned into a major operation. I had expected some doctor to come along and simply cut a piece of skin off my body and that would be that. Maybe something in an office somewhere, under local anesthesia. And in a local atmosphere, maybe Allentown, 20 miles away, or worst-case, Wilkes-Barre. Show up in the morning, chop the little bugger off, and I'd be home in time for lunch. Now things are cascading out of MY control. I say "MY" because, as all of this starts to go down, I am learning that He is in control. Right now, I'm looking at major surgery, including plastic reconstructive surgery, to fix what I had thought was a very minor problem.

And as the picture starts to develop, I'm getting more and more worried. I talk to the plastic surgeon in Manhattan and get this story: I have the initial appointment on August 12th, which will be only a consultation on what procedures will be done. There will be other work to be done, and I will need to come back several times prior to the actual surgery. No way! This is how I'M going to do it - I'll talk to the first doctor, come back for the operation, and do all of the follow-up at W-B or Allentown. You will NOT make me go to NYC if I can help it. (And there I am, telling God what I'M going to do! I'm really good at bragging about prayer and miracles, but right now, I'm not following my own advice!)

After I get off the phone, I'm not a happy camper. WE JUST MOVED HERE, FOR GOODNESS SAKE!!! I will not go to Manhattan willingly...they'll have to drag me, kicking and screaming, to that hospital. But my wonderful Jennifer manages to calm me down enough to suggest that we should pray about all of this, that God has brought us here, look at all He has done so far. Do you think He will not be here for us now? I hate it when she makes so much sense, but she's right. I'm deep in worldly concern, and not in my faith. But that is going to change.

Okay, Lord, what would you have me do? Well, first of all, use some common sense and admit that this is a serious issue and so far, everyone I have seen in the VA system has expedited my treatment. Is this SOP for the government? Absolutely, NO! Without sounding self-deprecating, I am a nobody. I served my country honorably, but I'm no hero. I'm not famous, I don't have "connections" anywhere, and I'm certainly not wealthy. There is no reason why this problem of mine should garner special attention.

But it has! The Orlando VA rushed my biopsy through. When the positive report came out, an appointment I had with the Allentown VA clinic was moved up a month and sent to W-B. The doctors at W-B had rushed through an appointment in Manhattan in what I consider record time. And now I'm bitching because I don't want to go to Manhattan! God, I am so sorry! You're the Man! I put myself in Your Hands! And when I released my fears and worries to Him, things began to change.

I had reluctantly accepted the initial appointment in Manhattan, but now Jen and I are figuring out how to get it accomplished. I have no idea on how I am going to get there, but now we have decided that I will drive over to W-B at 2 AM on the 12th, take the shuttle over, get through the consultation, take the shuttle back, and drive back home from W-B. Yeah, it'll be an all-day affair. But it has to be done, and there are no other solutions. Jen and I had even Mapquested the trip, thinking we could kennel the dogs and go together, but that idea was quickly shelved. I am not looking forward to this trip, but we have prayed about it; He is in control. And I am resigned to His will.

Why do I keep forgetting that we moved to PA to be with our family? And worse yet, why do I keep forgetting what "family" is? I have two wonderful daughters, two great sons-in-law, and (now) 7 beautiful grandchildren. Can anyone be more blessed? Well, God knows the heart, and daughter Annie just happens to stop by for lunch a week before the big trip. In talking about things, Jen mentions my upcoming trip to NYC, and describes the trip plan. And Annie tells her Mom that this is ridiculous, and that her husband, our son-in-law Dave will drive me to the hospital. Really??? I am dumbfounded! Speechless, even! Really?  Thank you so much, Annie! It is as if someone had lifted a huge weight from my shoulders. I still have this trip to make, but at least it will be with family. W-B calls to tell me that my seat on the shuttle has been confirmed, and I happily tell them that I will not need it, as I have a ride!

I arrive at the hospital, and after a few minutes, I meet Dr. Zampell. The meeting goes something like this: Dr. Z checks out the melanoma and marks out some measurements  around the area. She tells me that another surgeon will have to remove this piece from my shoulder. In addition, and I am learning new things all the time, cancers like this drain into lymph nodes, which may also become cancerous, so before any surgery, I will also be going to the nuclear medicine department, where they will inject a radioactive material around the melanoma and then trace it to a connected lymph node. Another surgeon will remove one or two lymph nodes for biopsy after the cancer has been removed. And THEN Dr. Zampell will cut a "flap" out of (hopefully) my armpit area and rotate it up and into the affected area, and close everything up. So, in this order: nuclear scan of my lymph nodes, removal of the cancer, removal of 1-2 lymph nodes, and flap surgery to finish up. How long will this take, doc? "Oh, about 3 hours."


Well, that's a mouthful! What's next? "You'll need to see the doctors that will be doing the main surgery. You can come back on Friday..."  No, I cannot come back on Friday. What part of "I live 100 miles away" are you not hearing?  Dr. Zampell makes a few phone calls and tells me that she has talked to the other doctors involved, and that we can meet with them today. "About how long will that be?" Oh, about 2-3 hours. Again I'm stymied - my son-in-law is sitting in the lobby waiting to take me back home, and the parking garage ticket is running out. I tell Dr. Z that I cannot wait that long, and that we'll have to get together by phone to work out the details. And she picks up her cell-phone and makes a call, and about 10 minutes later, I have the surgical staff in my examination room. And for the next 15 minutes, they talk to me, question me about my health, and explain what they will be doing. In a little more than an hour, we have accomplished what was going to take at least another week to do.

But there are other details - I have to come back in a week for what the hospital calls "pre-bed," which involves stress testing, blood work, EKG...all of the things that I have to pass before they will operate on me. Surgery will be the following week. Today is August 12th. I have to be here on the 21st for the pre-bed. Surgery will be on the 28th. Now, I have already had a consultation with the doctors that was supposed to happen in a week - that happened in 2 hours. Dr. Z tells me that the hospital will be in touch with me about the follow-ups, and I thank her and say goodbye, but what is going through my head is how I am going to meet these other appointments. I need a "wormhole" between Palmerton and Manhattan. There is no way I'm going to continue this 100-mile commute.

I'm so glad to be home from this trip, and still in suspense over what will happen next. How am I going to make another trip next week, and yet another one the following week for my surgery. Jen and I pray about this - we know that He has been working His miracles so far, and we put this in His hands once more. Our prayers are answered once more when the phone rings a few days later, a call from the Manhattan VA. It is one of the oncological surgeons that I saw on the 12th. They have decided that the surgery should be performed on the 23rd instead of the 28th. These doctors have changed their schedules to accommodate me. They ask if I can come over a few days early to get the pre-bed done, and I tell them that the soonest I can get a ride is the 21st. After a few minutes on hold, I am told to get there any time before 7 PM on that day - they will admit me, and do the pre-bed the following day. The doctor tells me that they usually want these tests done a week before to avoid having to cancel surgery if testing shows problems, but that my charts look good, I appear to be fairly healthy, and so they will go with the operation the following day, the 23rd.

And so, my surgery has been accelerated, I don't need to make any more trips to NYC until the week of my operation. This whole thing has been shortened by a week, doctors have changed their schedules for moi! And they have waived standard hospital procedures in doing so. None of this has happened because I have begged and pleaded, because I had some influence, because I was someone special. It has happened, I believe, because of my faith, our faith, me and Jen. God has opened these doors and made all of this happen.

(to be continued...)

Into Each Life, Some Rain Must Fall!

Although it has been only 10 days since my surgery, it seems like months. For the past week-plus, I have been walking around with umpteen stitches in my left side, and a drain to get rid of those nasty bodily fluids seeping from my incision. This drain is a plastic tube with a small collection bulb at the end, and I have had to sleep on my back and keep this contraption in check, lest I yank it out prematurely. In other words, this situation stinks. That little bulb has to be hidden everywhere I go - I do not wish to gross people out at the supermarket by revealing a rubber hose full of...well, you get the idea.

And so, the day has finally come to make that long journey back to Manhattan to get the stitches out and that tube removed. Again, I thank God for my children, for daughter Annie has insisted that she drive her Mom and I back to NYC this trip. And I thank God, too, for Dr. Zampell, who has graciously offered to meet us at the hospital on Labor Day to do the work. I think she lives in Manhattan, and I find out after the fact that she had to walk for 30 minutes to do this little job, on one of her few days off.

Anyway, we leave our little abode and head for Annie's house. We have to be on the road by 9 AM so that Dr. Zampell can meet us around 11 AM at the VA. After the usual "meet & greet" with the son-in-law, grand-kids and two overly-rambunctious dogs, we egress to the driveway, where Annie has prepared our ride - a Jeep Wrangler!! Uh! Annie, the JEEP?  "Sure! I thought it would be nice to drive over with the top down, and it gets a lot better gas mileage than the SUV!" Well, I will agree with her on the mileage issue, but the topless thing...  BUT - I love my kids, and I am overly-appreciative of their offers to drive me back and forth the 100 miles to Manhattan. And I will not rain on her parade this morning (a prophetic choice of words!), and so I amiably chuckle and say "I'm game, Annie! Let 'er rip!"  And about 15 minutes later, we are on the road, headed for parts east.

We haven't even reached highway speeds yet, but I am now certain that the "top down" call was a poor choice. I wear hearing aids, and I'm sitting in the back seat - Annie and her Mom are up front - and all I can hear is a load roar as the wind hits me in the face and ruins my good-hair day. And so I meekly remark that "maybe we should put the top up before we get out on the highway!" No problem! We pull over at the gas station to top off the tank and get some joe for the road, and Annie gets the top back in place. Ah! Much better. Now let me describe what this means exactly: this is a Jeep Wrangler Sport - it is a 2-door, soft-top convertible with a nice back seat. The doors have roll-up windows, and aside from that and the windshield, that's all the glass there is, Jack! With the top up, there is not a lot of wind blowing me around in the back seat, but there are no sides, nor back, to the area. Well, I think, not bad, not bad at all. The Jeep is fun to ride in, and Annie loves to drive it, so we're all happy campers. I sit back and listen to the wind rushing through the back - the only thing I can hear, because my hearing aids have turned into little white-noise generators. I look forward, and can tell that Annie and her Mom are chatting merrily away, because their lips are moving. Every once in awhile, I guess that Annie is addressing me because she turns slightly and smiles at me. I just nod and smile back...I have absolutely no idea what she is saying. Ah! Ignorance is bliss!

As we drive along, it seems like the sky is getting a bit overcast. The weather was mild when we left the Lehigh Valley, but as we head into New Jersey, I look ahead and see clouds hugging the tops of the mountains. Oh, well...good thing we put that top up, 'cause it might even rain! And then it gets darker...and darker, and then the drops start hitting the windshield. Yes! It's very good that we put the top up! But those little drops start turning into BIG drops, and before we know it, we're in the middle of a deluge! Everyone is doing 25 miles per, and the 4-ways are flashing! And I start realizing that putting that top up wasn't going to do a whole lot of good anymore! At first, I felt a few errant drops hitting me from behind - oh, yeah! There's no rear window! And as we continue, more and more rain comes in from behind. Now I'm getting more than a little wet! Well, at least there's no rain coming in from the non-existant sides! WRONG! As we pass one of many 18-wheelers on the highway, about 500 gallons of this liquid sunshine make their way into my back seat shower stall. I am now in what I would call a "cold sauna" - the humidity in the Jeep is around 200% and climbing! Feeling bad for myself, I look forward into the front seats, and the dash is covered in H2O. The steering wheel is sopping wet! There is a roll bar above me, and it is dripping water like a leaky hose! Oops! And there goes another semi, and I watch his wheels as we pass, and I cannot believe the amount of water he's picking up from the road, and "re-assigning" it to the back seat of this Jeep!

And Annie, sweet Annie, who wanted so much to drive her Jeep on this trip, keeps turning to me and apologizing profusely for running me through this 70 mile-an-hour car wash!  I can imagine what she sees as she looks into the back seat, and I feel so bad for her. She didn't know what the weather was going to be when we left, and as far as I can tell, she and her Mom aren't much better off than I am...the entire Jeep is one big rain forest. But to tell the truth, I am a little wet...well, more than a little wet...but I feel sorry for Annie, because she is feeling so bad about this, and there is nothing she could have done. And so I sit back there and joke about forgetting my Dial soap, and wondering why I forgot my dive mask and how I won't have to take a shower when we get home. And I am really not having a bad time. I have been looking at all of these trips as little adventures - even when JT dropped me off at the hospital before my surgery.  I have had the opportunity to bond with my kids in every one of these events, and I count them all as blessings, even this one. Jen is up there, talking to her daughter, Annie is having fun driving her Jeep, and we're all more or less wet and laughing about it. So I'm a little moist? What I keep remembering is that this will probably be my last trip to NYC, and that trumps any inconvenience I may be experiencing right now. Yeah, I'm wet. But I'm happy! Last trip to NYC, and I'm with two of my favorite people - my wonderful wife and my daughter. It's a good trip.

And we arrive alive at the VA hospital at just after 11AM. Annie is exhibiting the best driving I have ever seen in this city traffic! We come in through the Lincoln Tunnel, and she maneuvers that little Jeep in and out of the mess that is E. 42nd Street. This Jeep, I might remind you, is a 5-speed stick, but Annie shifts effortlessly up and down, and before we know it, we're here. I give all of our good fortunes to the Lord, so when Annie pulls up and there is not only a parking space available out front, it is also free because of the holiday. Thank you, Lord. We go inside, get through the security and wait for Dr. Z, who shows up a few minutes later. Jen and Annie settle in the lobby while the doctor takes me up to the 4th floor to look at her work and remove the sutures and drain. She is very pleased at what she sees, and lets me know that everything looks great, and the next visit should be in 2-3 months. Next visit??  After a short consult, it looks like I may be able to do any and all follow-ups at either the Allentown or Wilkes-Barre facilities, so for all intents and purposes, I ain't goin' back to Manhattan.

In less than an hour, we're back on the road. The traffic inbound was a piece of cake compared to the way out, but we are on I-95 headed back to I-78 and PA once again. It's very hazy in NYC, and stays that way as we motor into Jersey. Ah! My stitches are out, the drain is gone, and all is right with the world. Eighty more miles or so, and we'll be back home. There is only one little problem - that storm that drenched us on the way over has decided to wait for our return. As we cruise along, we can see the same clouds hanging over the landscape and then the raindrops start hitting the windshield again. Well, I think, the roof is still up!  And then we're getting pounded and soaked once more. Only this time, we're laughing through the whole thing. Hey! Been there, done that! Got the slicker! And then it's over and we're in clear weather once more. And Annie is once more apologetic for putting me through all of this, but I tell her that it isn't anyone's fault, and that it will make a great story for my blog. After the last 2 months of doctors, hospitals, Manhattan and a major surgery, ain't nothing going to bother me now. I tell Jen that Annie could have taken us to NYC in a rickshaw, and I would have been appreciative. I am so proud of all of my kids for being there for us when we moved, and for being there for me especially during this whole medical situation.

Thank you, Annie! And rest assured, there is nothing to apologize for. We have to make life fun, and you just gave me one heck of a fun ride. What's next?

It's Just a Flesh Wound...

Any Monty Python fans out there?  Let's get into a nice jovial mood, then!

And so I've been away for the past few days, very far from my comfort zone, my home and my wonderful wife Jennifer. If you have been reading along, you'll know that the time had come for me to travel to the Big Apple. New York City. Manhattan. Lower East Side. Specifically, to the Veterans Administration hospital on East 23rd Street. It was time to take care of this melanoma that was previously discovered, down in Orlando FL, on my left shoulder. I am just now realizing that I was extremely naive about this little brown spot - I seemed to be the only one who had no clue as to how serious this was.

It had never really bothered me, aside from some mild itching at times. The first doctor to look at it simply popped out his handy-dandy can of liquid nitrogen and tried to freeze it off. When that didn't seem to have the desired results, I ended up seeing a dermatologist, who did a biopsy and determined that it was a malignant cancer, a melanoma. Which would require surgery to remove. So far, so good. But the ultimate chain of events would stretch across several months and a thousand miles.

Dr. Talley, in the Orlando VA hospital, does the initial tissue removal from the center of the picture you see above. In two weeks we are scheduled to leave for PA. He stitches me up and makes an appointment for the following week, to remove the sutures and possibly give me the biopsy report. During the next visit, I am told that the biopsy results needed further study, and that I should come in again in a week. No can do, doc. We'll be on the road to PA. The doctor takes our new address info down and promises to mail the results as soon as they come in.

Things go into high gear at this point, and looking back at what has happened, I give it all to God, for the miracles He worked and the speed at which it all happened. We're in our new home for only  few days when the report arrives: melanoma - malignant. So many mils deep. Recommend immediate attention when you arrive in PA. The doctor wants  me to see someone ASAP when I check in with the local VA. I call what should be my CBOC (Community-based outpatient clinic) in Allentown, and find out the earliest they can fit me in is August 27th. We're in the 2nd week of July. Not going to work, so I ask them for an alternative. I am given an appointment for the VA hospital in Wilkes-Barre (W-B) for July 26th. Okay, I'll take that.

Now this appointment has nothing to do with the cancer report - it's supposed to be an intake meeting to establish my new residence in PA.  Wilkes-Barre is about 45 miles away, but it'll work. Jen and I drive over, and I finally get to see a doctor in PA. After all of the requisite Q&A, he pulls up my records and finds the melanoma report from Orlando. Looks like there will be another appointment in Wilkes-Barre (W-B from now on) for the dermatologist, to discuss this further. It will be in a week, they'll call me.

And they do, and it's back on the road to W-B. Only this time, I really sense an urgency that hasn't been there before. The dermatologist calls in an oncologist - they have the Orlando report, with details about how wide and deep the cells are. After a consult, it is determined that a whole lot of my shoulder needs to be excised. Probably about 4" across and 1/8th" deep. And because of the scope of this removal, plastic surgery will be necessary to repair the area. Oh, great! I've got this little brown spot on my skin, and they're going to remove half my shoulder. I'm not liking the conversation up to this point, but what comes next is worse: "Mr. Barth, we can't perform this kind of surgery here in W-B, so you'll have to go to either Philadelphia or New York City for the procedure. We'll contact the proper doctors and let you know when we have all of the arrangements made." Philly? NYC?? Whoa, Nellie! How about right here? Nope! Ain't gonna happen, so I say, "Let's make it Philly, since we're in PA right now. NYC is just too flippin' far away!" "We'll do what we can, Mr. Barth. We'll be in touch."

Distance time! Philadelphia is about 70 miles from our home. As far as I'm concerned, even that distance is too far away. It's just me and Jen. We have 2 dogs that need to be walked several times a day. We only have one car, a little Escort. How am I going to get back and forth? Will I have to stay in the hospital? Schedules? On and on... My wonderful wife is nothing but comforting assurance, something that I am supposed to be but am failing at miserably right now. It is times like thins when we have to turn to Him for that assurance, but I am too panicky to be sensible right now. Jen just says, "Let's just wait and see what happens, honey." And I slowly turn down the panic mode. Prayer is a wonderful thing, and right now, we're remembering Philippians 4: 6-7 -  Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. It is precisely times like this when leaning on God is just the right medicine.

Jen is asking me for about the 3rd time, "when are they going to call you about the appointment?" when the phone rings.  W-B VA has made all of the arrangements, and I will be going to the Manhattan VA Medical Center to consult with a plastic surgeon. "Why not Philly?" Sorry, but only the NY center has the doctors that do this work. Oh, great! The hospital is 103 miles from our house, as Mapquest flies. I start doing calculations: I am scheduled for the initial consultation in a week. And then who knows how many more times before this thing is done. Three times? Four? Will I be hospitalized? For how long? And the best part - how in blazes do I get to Manhattan for all of this? On top of all this, I HATE New York City! Send me anywhere but New York City! We have just moved from Florida to Pennsylvania, and we aren't even settled in, and now I have to go to NYC!?!

I get back with W-B, and they have a way to get me there and back. Oh, yes, they do. They just happen to run a shuttle bus to Manhattan for these kinds of things. It leaves at oh-dark-thirty, 4 AM (so they can miss the morning rush hour), and returns after the last veteran's appointment. My appointment is for 1 PM. So - I will leave my home at 2 AM, drive the 45 miles to W-B, take the shuttle bus at 4 AM, get into the city around 6:30, wait around until my 1 PM appointment, wait until the last appointment of the day, ride back to W-B, and then drive back home, probably after dark. And this is just for the consultation. I have no idea what will happen after that.

But God loves to work His miracles, and what would happen from this point on is a testament to His Glory! 

(to be continued...)