The Shadow People

I hesitate to use my real name in this story because I’m sure you will recognize it. Over the years I have become as notoriously famous as Carl Sagan or Mark Twain. A house-hold name like Houdini or Einstien. Names that convey a meaning larger than the person, more legendary than real. So it has become with my name. Of course after several pages you will probably guess who I am due to the subject matter, but I hope not. I hope you are unfamiliar with the events surrounded my life’s work, so that you may enjoy the story. So for now, just call me Fred.

I don’t remember when I first saw them, I was very young I know that. At the time I had no idea what they were. I remember being aware of something just outside my range of vision. You’ve probably experienced it and still have no idea what it is. It happens when you least expect it. You’d be looking in one direction, maybe watching TV, when for one reason or another you turn your head and catch a glimpse of something moving just on the very edge of your peripheral vision. Sometimes I’d pretend deep interest in a book, or feign sleep, then without warning I’d snap my head one way or the other, thinking to catch it of guard. I was not successful. I only managed to glimpse the moving edge of the thing, just the shadow moving away. Keeping my eyes closed and cracking an eyelid ever so slightly didn’t work either. For some reason these entities could not be seen straight on. You had to be looking at just the right angle, and then you’d see something for just an instant. Your next thought would be – what was that? Then common sense would take over as you convinced yourself that it was nothing, just a shadow, maybe an eyelash or a smudge on your glasses, nothing really. Then you’d go back to your activity and think no more about it. I never could turn loose of the idea that something really moved over there. I saw it, then it was gone. Like a vapor, or some night shadow designed to vanish when hit by the light. But this had a shape, it had form and the power of locomotion, it moved. What’s more, it’s movement seemed to be triggered by the act of my looking in it’s direction. I imagined it being aware of my actions and responding to them. Over the years I often tried to catch sight of them, but only managed that fleeting glimpse, just the faintest hint of movement, nothing more.

For years I never told anyone about my experiences. I was afraid they’d send me to the looney bin. My parents frequently used that term when discussing the relative intelligence of our neighbors. Mom would proclaim ever so sincerely that, "Mrs. J belonged in the looney bin." I learned early that was where they sent the crazy people. So I kept my mouth shut, didn’t even tell my younger brothers. For most of my childhood I was actually scared of the things, and could see no benefit in having Bob and Ed scared too. I figured that if they were able to see them they’d come and ask me about them, but they never did. Well, at least not while we were kids.

When I turned 14 I stopped being afraid and looked upon my long running mystery as a scientific curiosity. This was a major turning point and made a huge difference in my general outlook. I had a secret and felt somewhat special about it. Rather nice for a 14 year old to feel special, I liked it. So for the next half dozen years I enjoyed this phenomenon selfishly. Whatever was out there hadn’t hurt me so far, and I became confident that they wouldn’t. After all, in my whole life I had never seen a news story describing the injury or death of some kid by an invisible something.

I was 20 years old and a Junior in college when I finally met someone else who shared my secret. Kurt was a brilliant student, and I was lucky enough to have him as my partner in Physics Lab. I took Physics as a science elective to augment my understanding of the nature of things in general. I majored in math and had visions of being the next prodigy. In high school I read the biography of Einstein, and shortly there after saw the movie, "A Beautiful Mind." From then on, I was hooked on math, loved it. I was also very good at it. However, my dad had serious doubts about my ability to make a living at it. Whenever we talked about the future he’d say something like, "Well, that’s just fine, but you can’t buy groceries with long division." He had no clue about the type of math I did, and it was impossible to explain it. So I let him have the last word. I think he knew that I was on a different level, but it was his way of keeping me in my rightful place as the kid. Not his equal when it came to life’s lessons. Fathers and sons as they say.

Back to Kurt. He was great. Actually, more than great, he was a bonafide genius. He was intuitive and focused, in addition to being knowledgeable. He was one of the few students who could question a professor’s position during a lecture, and actually win a few points. That may not be so special in a music appreciation class, but in Physics that’s unusual, it’s special. That was Kurt, a geeky looking, somewhat overweight, poorly dressed genius in Dock Martin’s. Oh yea, he was rich too. His family owned about half the skating rinks in New England. So my friend ship with Kurt Richtman was very fortuitous for me. Beer money was never a problem. No, no, it wasn’t like that. We became fast friends long before I found out about his bottomless allowance. He was just a great guy.
One day we were in the lab when Kurt grabbed my sleeve as he spun around on his stool. He said, with more than a little agitation, "Did you see that?"

I responded, "See what?"

He said, "You’re not going to believe this, but for some time now I’ve been seeing what I believe to be some type of shadow beings. I just saw one go through that wall."
I was dumb struck. I actually threw my arms around him and hugged him. All the while repeating, "Thank you man, thank you, thank you."

Kurt was temporarily stunned by my sudden outburst, but he quickly regained his composure, and said, "Well I expected a reaction, but not quite so emotional. Damn Fred, why’d you do that?"
I told him that I’d been seeing things like that since I was a little kid, but always thought it was just my imagination, or some trick of light, some illusion. I said, "When you told me that you saw the thing, man, you don’t know what that meant to me. It’s was wonderful to have confirmation that I’m not crazy. That’s why I hugged your sorry ass, you big dummy."
Kurt said, "Let me get this straight, you saw the thing too?"
"No, no, I didn’t see it. At least not this time. But I think I’ve been seeing them since I was very little. You’re the first person I’ve ever met who admitted that they saw something too."
Kurt put his hand on my shoulder, and said, "Damn, you have no idea how glad I am to finally hear someone else admit it too. For years I was the same as you. I thought I was the only nut around who saw things that nobody else could see. But you didn’t see this one?"
"Well no. I didn’t see this one. But I’ve seen, or thought I’ve seen the things dozens of times. I just was never able to get a really good clean look."

"Exactly , said Kurt. That’s the way it’s always been for me. But this time I am sure. This was not my imagination, I saw the thing, and you sort of confirmed it by admitting your past encounters with the same type of sightings."
"That’s fine, I said, but what can we do about it?"
Kurt pushed his hair back, and rubbed his hand across his chin in thought. Then he said, "I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll use all the skills we both have, and take advantage of this fine lab to make contact with whatever it is we just saw. How about that?"
I liked the idea, liked it a lot. At last I had someone on my wavelength, someone I could work with who had the same visions that drove me. Someone smart enough to actually be helpful. I was sure we had just stepped onto the path to greatness. This would be very big, if we could actually find and present something to the world of science. And what better place than Cambridge?

In high school I had this recurring day-dream. Steven Hawking would call me in and ask for my latest thinking on String Theory. I‘d give him my latest opinion, and we’d have tea under the bust of Isaac Newton in his office. My work would be the first to combine and explain the workings of Eienstein’s Universe with the problems generated by Quantum Mechanics when you tried to apply the same laws to both. Until my imaginary paper you couldn’t reconcile the two. It didn’t work. Steven (as I called him) would nod his head as I explained what had to be the long sought solution. That was usually about that time my English teacher would call my name, and ask my opinion on Captain Ahab’s motivation in chasing the great whale around the cape. I’d be lost, and forced to suffer through several more questions I had no clue about, until she gave up and moved on.

However, my grades didn’t suffer. I graduated with a perfect 4.0 from a highly respected magnet high school, and won the senior science fair sponsored by M.I.T. This, and a few influential letters helped me land a scholarship in math and science at Cambridge. Now, I was living my dream. Well, almost. Professor Hawking had not as yet called me to his office. But I had seen him at a distance wheeling around the campus. In my world that was like my mom seeing Elvis in person and catching a scarf. It was a big deal. Well, you had to be a math nut.

But now, the situation Kurt and I found ourselves in was a perfect fit for our skills. I had already begun my life’s work. I was working on a paper that once completed would explain damn near everything. It was as you might expect, a Unified Field Theory. Not to brag, but it looked like I was making good progress. My numbers ( at least to me) all looked correct. I had shown most of my work to Kurt, and from a quantum stand-point he said it looked reasonable. Well, he did say that I probably had too many dimensions, and far too much unexplained dark matter. But hey, it wasn’t finished yet.

You see, one of the basic laws of the Universe states the you can calculate the amount of energy available by using Eienstein’s formula. (Energy equals mass times the speed of light squared) Or more simply E=MC2. It should be obvious then, that if you can get energy from matter, you can also get matter from a known amount of energy. Expressed as M=E/C2. It had to be, but in the actual application there were problems. The measurements of actual fission and fusion devices never produced exactly the expected results. Close as they say, but no cigar. To explain the differences between what happened to the very large and the very small when matter to energy conversion was involved, scientist and mathematicians had devised all manner of loop holes that they had to work into their formulas. The latest of these was a version of string theory with eleven dimensions. I really didn’t think it could be that way, but I had to prove it.

The break through came on the same night that Kurt had seen his mystery being. We were sitting in a pub enjoying a stout, and talking about the possibility of multiple dimensions. Kurt suddenly got quiet. He started writing something on his paper napkin. He kept at it until he had at least a dozen napkins side by side, covered in symbols and notations of all types. When he appeared to finish the task, he leaned back in his chair and grinned at me. Finally he said, "I think I’ve got it, but you’ll have to do the math. I’ve outlined the concept here, but the actual numbers are too much for me."

I looked at what he had, and the little light bulb above my head lit up. It was so simple, so obvious. No wonder all the big names in science were missing it. They were looking too hard for something complicated. Well, this was complicated, but not with eleven dimensions. Kurt had broken it down to only two. The one we were in, and the other one.
I studied his diagrams for a few more minutes, looked up at my friend, and we both laughed. We laughed until we were out of breath and beginning to draw stares from the other patrons. After the euphoria wore off I managed to high five my buddy and congratulate him for his beautiful insight.

I said, "I really think you’ve hit upon the secret. It was hiding in plane sight."

He shook his head in agreement, and took a long pull on his beer. I finished mine and said, "Let’s go back to the room. I can’t wait to see how the numbers play out."

I had intended to only begin some note pad work, and wait until tomorrow before entering the concept mathematically in my lap top. But once I got started, I couldn’t stop.

Kurt had intuitively deduced that string theory was only a patch. An exception developed by well meaning experts to explain inconsistences between general relativity and quantum mechanics. Then when further complications arose, they devised more patches (in the way of extra dimensions) to explain those glitches. It was cumbersome, but workable. So for a while it gained a following. But Kurt was granted that flash of insight allowing him to see the truth. He said there were no vibrating strings of energy making up the fabric of space at the smallest level. At that level matter and energy were one and the same, interchangeable, depending on what force lines were closest to them at that instant. Very much like the electron that appears to orbit, neatly circling the nucleus of an atom, when it fact it blinks in and out of it’s space, only to reappear somewhere else on it’s apparent orbit. It didn’t circle to get there, it just went to the new point while still being held in it’s valence position by the pull of the nucleus. So Kurt speculated that matter and energy did a similar dance. One instant giving you a star-burst of energy, only to change to the smallest building block of matter the next. At the smallest level, energy and matter were indistinguishable. It was both and neither. It depended on what instant you happened to look. I was sure that this feature alone would allow me to develop a formula that explained where the missing matter was. They called it dark matter, and now it was obvious that it shifted back and forth between the two dimensions filling a role in both. As it left one it created a bit of energy, only to become matter on the other side. When it came back, the other dimension got the energy, and we got the matter back. Dark matter and dark energy, it fit so nicely with everything else it had to be true. Nature likes things to balance out. For every yin you need a yang, otherwise it doesn’t work. It took me six hours to convert Kurt’s concepts into equations that I could enter into my computer. I wanted to begin entering the data immediately, but in a rare moment of clear thinking realized that I needed sleep. I had a 10:30 am class followed by a lab, and it was already a little past 5:30 am. I set the clock for 10:00 am, and fell across my bed.

Is there anything so disturbing as the buzzing of a cheap alarm clock? I heard it, but was not willing to believe that it could possibly be 10 o’clock. Not yet, not this quick. I opened my eyes confirming the worst, and shut off the irritating noise. If anything was living proof of time travel this had to be it. I am convinced that when we fall asleep our subconscious brain pulls us forward in time to the next conscious moment. We don’t actually sleep the allotted time, it only seems like it. In truth we travel forward in time completely unaware of the miracle. Only that could explain the short duration we sense between the time we close our eyes, and the time when we are rudely jangled out of a sound sleep. Had to be, there is no way that four real hours had gone by. I made a mental note to do a paper on it.

I rolled out of bed, disappointed that I had not enjoyed the consumption of beer that would normally have taken place in order for me to feel this bad. I shuffled over to the sink, turned on the cold water, and stuck my head under the faucet. The cold water was almost painful, but it helped. I toweled off, brushed my teeth, ran a brush through my hair, and stripped out of my day old clothes. After dressing and grabbing a cold pop tart, I was out the door. Felt pretty good actually. As I turned into the stairwell, I saw Kurt on the landing below me. He was on his way out too. We didn’t have the next class together, but we did share the lab after it. We went down the stairs together, and he asked how it went last night. I told him it all looked good, and I had the formulas ready to input. He responded with a smile and a thumbs up gesture.

"I’ll see you in the physics lab." He raised a hand in acknowledgment, throwing off a half wave as we headed in different directions.

I was always impressed crossing the campus grounds. Some of the more modern universities are like cities. Square brick buildings lacking character without style or class. But here the historic buildings sat elegantly on the ancient landscaped grounds. You could feel the sense of history and wonder as you walked along paths that Newton himself walked along. It always rejuvenated me, and I walked a little taller. I didn’t see him coming as I had been looking around engrossed in my thoughts, admiring the old buildings to my left and right. I glanced back along the path and there he was. Professor Hawking was motoring along the sidewalk easy as you please, coming right at me. Now what? Do I say hello, ignore him, maybe just wave and keep walking, what? I had decided to say good morning, but he beat me to it. As we drew next to each other I heard that tonal computer voice he uses say clearly and distinctly, "Good morning." I mumbled a clumsy "mornin", and kept walking. He must have that salutation on a fast key or something, and just click it whenever a greeting is called for. I took it as an omen. The man himself said good morning to me. This was my day.
I made it to class on time. This was my only "fun" class this semester, Ancient Civilizations. I was fascinated by the ancients, and impressed with the level of sophistication displayed by them in their government and lifestyles. I think most people today have no glue just how smart our ancestors were. They didn’t have our level of technology, but they were just as smart several thousand years ago as modern people, maybe smarter. Anyway, I really liked the class, It was a welcome diversion. The period ended, and I headed for the Physics lab to work with my friend Kurt.

We settled in behind our bench when it happened again. This time there were three of them. They literally glowed, and came right out of the wall. They walked across the lab and out the exterior wall without slowing or looking around. They looked as if we did not exist. They didn’t see us, but just walked on through the lab. Kurt and I must have had a clear view of them for two or three seconds. The only difference was that this time another person in the room must have caught a glimpse of them too. Bill Parsons worked two benches down from us, and he was now standing by the wall where the beings had disappeared. He ran his hand over the wall as if to see if it was really a wall. He did that for several seconds, then walked back to his bench shaking his head while looking at the floor. He turned, looked at the wall again, and sat down at his bench.

Suddenly people from the Hawking project down the hall came running into our lab. They yelled for quiet, and wanted to know if anyone had seen anything unusual in the last few minutes. People turned to look at them, and I started to put my hand up. Kurt saw me, and grabbed my arm holding it down. He shook his head indicating that I should say nothing. Bill also sat on his stool, giving no response to the question. I suspect he was like the UFO folks who know they’ve seen something, but for fear of ridicule refuse to discuss it.

The period ended and we headed for the cafeteria. This was one of my favorite places on campus. I always bought the meal ticket at the start of each semester, as it was impossible to get an equal amount of food off campus. I rarely missed a meal. We took a table by a window in the back and discussed our strategy for bringing our theory to the world. I said that we should just hand in the paper as our midterm project and take the credit that was sure to come our way. But Kurt felt that this was far too big for a midterm project and would settle for nothing less than handing it to Stephen in person. I laughed and said, "You call him Stephen now do you?" He grinned and said, "No, not yet, but when this hits we’ll be regulars on his guest list."

I thought he was stretching it a bit, but I also realized that he might be right. This was much bigger than a midterm paper. I also thought that sitting down with Professor Hawking was our best hope of being taken seriously. Very few others would understand my calculations and be able to relate them to Kurt’s verbal description of the theory. We would have to get an appointment to see the man.

When we got back to our room, Kurt did it. He called Professor Hawking’s office. His secretary answered politely in a well modulated very English voice. "Professor Hawking’s office, Penelope speaking." Kurt and I had our heads pressed together sharing the ear-piece.

It was too easy. I guess I thought we would need permission to even call the man. Imagine thinking that you could call Windsor Castle and have somebody actually answer and ask your business. Which of course you could, I just didn’t realize it. I thought you had to have some dispensation allowing you to call. Anyway, I heard Kurt calmly ask for an appointment to see the professor. Just like that, he said, "My friend and I would like an appointment with Professor Hawking."

I believe I heard Penelope smile over the phone. There was a moment of silence, then she got serious. We must have sounded like the students we were, because she said, "Do you boys have any idea how many people from all over the world want a few moments with the Professor? He has a few grad students he works with as interns, and a few colleagues that are granted access. Other than those few, he sees no one unless he initiates the meeting. Now, do you fit into one of those categories?"

Kurt was undeterred. He slowly and calmly advised Ms. Penelope that the professor would call us requesting a meeting if she would tell him the following . "First, we saw the creatures that left his lab and walked through the physics lab this morning. Second, we have eliminated nine dimensions, eliminated string theory, and developed a unified field theory tying general relativity and quantum mechanics together with no fudge factors. And best of all, we have the math to prove it. Did you get all of that?"

Penelope was not happy, and responded with a warning. "Young man, if this is a joke you will be expelled. We don’t have time for such foolishness. I want your name, student I.D., and dorm room number right now."

Kurt gave her the information, said "Thank you" and hung up, believing I suppose that the next voice we would hear would be Stephen himself.
It was nearly 3:00 pm when the phone rang. It was not Professor Hawking or one of his aids. It was a secretary in the Dean of Students Office. She informed us that the Dean would like to see us both promptly at 8:00 am tomorrow morning in his office. She didn’t sound like this was to be an award ceremony. Damn that tears it.
I said, "Kurt, you don’t suppose we’re in trouble about this, do you?"
Kurt responded, "No, not really. Well maybe some, at least until we can explain everything and show them your work. Oh hell, I don’t know."
"Hey man, that’s not what I wanted to hear. You were kind of rude to Miss Penelope you know. They might just kick our butts out of here and not even look at the work."
Kurt said, "You know, I bet that old biddy didn’t even give the message to Hawking."
I looked at him and said, "You figured that out did ya?"
We both came to the realization that this was not turning out like we planned. Surely when they saw our work we would be rewarded. Professor Hawking would have to be interested if he saw our work, he had to.
The next morning it was drizzling rain and cold. We walked across the commons and into the admin building, rode the elevator up to the second floor, and walked down the hall to the Dean of Students office. This reminded me of grade school. I felt much like the child sent unceremoniously to the Principal’s office for some infraction. But in this case, surely we had done nothing wrong. We called a professor, asked for an appointment, and left a message. What’s the harm in it? We opened the door and went in.
The office was like you’d expect, green walls with lot’s of polished wood, thick moldings with multiple panels below a thick chair rail circling the room, with leather furniture everywhere. The place reeked of pipe smoke and furniture polish. The most imposing thing in the room was the stern looking matronly old lady at the desk. She spoke as soon as we entered.
"Sit down boys, the Dean will see you shortly."
Well, shortly wore on to 40 minutes or more. The must be using the old, "Let them stew a while trick." It was working too, as I was beginning to stew nicely. From the look on Kurt’s face, I’d say he was somewhat stewed as well.
I said, "Kurt, we have nothing to worry about, and nothing to be sorry for. Let’s go in there, state our case politely, and not act the least bit sorry or guilty about anything."
Kurt looked my way and said, "By damn you’re right. We did nothing wrong, and we should act accordingly. They may think their big shot in Newton’s chair is too important to see us, but we thought he’d be interested. If he isn’t, then I guess we’ll have to send our paper over to the folks at MIT. I bet they’d look at it."
"Damn it Kurt, just calm down. We don’t need to admit guilt about anything, but let’s not be offensive either."
About then the phone on the receptionist desk buzzed. The old girl looked at us, and said oh so properly, "Dean Sanson will see you now. Please go in."
We did. The dean’s office was tastefully English. All polished mahogani and more leather. Kurt and I sat down and I said, "Good morning dean."
The dean looked up with a look that said we weren’t worthy of his time, and after a more than normal pause reluctantly said, "Good morning boys."
I thought, well now, that’s not such a bad start.
The dean began, "Boys, I’ll come right to the point. You called Professor Hawking with a request for an appointment claiming that you had solved one of the great mysteries of the world and had proof. Now, it goes without saying that anyone admitted to this fine institution is pretty smart. But I doubt that you or anyone else enrolled here has produced a unified field theory. So let’s have no more of that. Professor Hawking is one of the most respected men in his field, and it is simply inexcusable for anyone to play a prank on a man of his stature. We’ll have no more of it. If I hear anymore bad reports on you two, you will be expelled. I won’t even take the time to talk about it. You’ll be gone. Is that clear?"
I raised my hand, and the dean nodded in my direction, indicating I hoped that I might speak.
"Dean, I assure you that we were not playing a prank. We really do have documentation that shows a mathematical proof eliminating string theory, and resolving the differences between general relativity and quantum mechanics."
The dean looked a bit agitated and fired back at me. "Didn’t you hear what I said a moment ago? We will have no more of it. Whatever you think you’ve written, I am sure it is not the solution to a problem that even Einstein couldn’t solve. Now get out of here, and don’t ever let me see you again until graduation."
Kurt got up to leave. I wanted to say more but thought better of it, and simply followed my friend out. We walked back to our dorm room in stunned disbelief. How could this have happened? We were both so sure that we would be welcomed and admired by the scientific community. So sure that the faculty would bestow honors on us. There would be a plaque in the admin building honoring Kurt and Fred. Talk about dashed hopes and crushed feelings. How could they all be so stupid, so blind as to not even look at the work.
I turned to Kurt and said, "You know what? I bet this is just how Newton felt when he first tried to get some recognition for his work. They probably told him to take a hike, and forget that nonsense about gravity."
Kurt replied, "Yea, so what. How does that help us any."
"Don’t you see? All it means is that we can’t give up. The history of the past tells us that no great break-through was ever greeted with open arms. The establishment has a vested interest in maintaining the current paradigm. It makes them look foolish when long held truths are overturned and proved false."
"So what do we do", said Kurt.
I said, "I don’t know, but we’ll think of something."
We sat silently for a while until it was time for class.
I spent the day mindlessly following my routine. Go to class, eat lunch, more class, back to the room. It helped not to dwell directly on our problem. I needed to clear my head, but couldn’t. Trying not to think about it didn’t work, it was always there, just below deliberate worry, sort of subliminal worry.
That night Kurt and I went to supper and said very little. We ate quietly sharing our disappointment, only infrequently commenting on the injustice of it all. We walked back to my room and sat looking out the window at the crystal clear December night. Damn,it would soon be Christmas. If we didn’t get someone to look at our theory in the next week or so, we might have to live with this frustration for several weeks. Almost everyone would be gone until classes resumed on Jan 7th.







3
That was it! They’d all be gone. I slapped my hand on the desk and exclaimed, "Kurt, they will all be gone! We can see the man during the Christmas break."
Kurt looked my way and asked, "What the hell are you rambling about?"
"Don’t you get it? The campus will be deserted. The students, administration, and most all of the faculty will have gone home. Except of course Prof. Hawking. His family is here with him, and he doesn’t travel much. I bet he goes to his lab as usual."
Kurt was thoughtful a moment and responded with, "You know, I’d bet my lunch money that you’re right. So what do we do with that bit of knowledge?"
We sat at the table and worked out a plan. It was just simple enough to work.
Christmas day dawned cold and grey with a hint of snow in the air. The clouds hung low and had the solid grey appearance that is often a telltale of impending snow. Kurt and I hurried through a full course breakfast of eggs, toast and jam, potatoes, and a side of kippers. The coffee was hot and hit the spot on a cold morning. We reviewed our plan and decided that now was as good a time as any to implement it.
We left the cafeteria and went back to the room to pick up the package. We had wrapped it beautifully. It was about twelve inches square, covered in green foil paper, and tied with a large golden bow. The card said simply,
"Merry Christmas Prof. Hawking.
We saw the shadow people.
We Believe this explains how.
With admiration and Respect,
Fred C. Dobbs, and Kurt Richtman
Dorm 3 , Rooms 24 & 36
As you may have guessed, our completed paper was inside. It included both a detailed verbal explanation of our theory and the math to back it up. It was a thing of beauty.
We made our way to the great man’s residence. We dropped the gift on the porch, rang the bell and ran like hell. We made it around the corner of the building two houses down from the professor’s residence and hid there, only daring to ease one eye around the side of the house to watch for Prof. Hawking’s door to open. It did so almost immediately. His house keeper picked up the package, and after a quick glance up and down the street, took it inside.
Kurt slapped me on the back and we high fived, elated that our plan seemed to be working. We headed for the student center for some hot chocolate as a celebration.
The student center was deserted. Other than a skeleton crew in the snack bar, the place was empty. No wait for a pool table. All the ping-pong tables were empty too. The big air hockey game in the corner was quiet. No slap shots, no constant hiss of air. The stillness permeated the building, and I felt as if the whole place belonged to us. Like they built this huge building just for me and Kurt. We grabbed a table by a window, and watched as the first few flakes of snow began to fall. It would have made a great post card. Christmas Eve at Cambridge with snow.











4
Several days went by and we didn’t hear from anyone. It was New Years Eve and the place was like a tomb. Our excitement had given way to despair. We imagined all sorts of dreadful possibilities. What if he didn’t accept presents, and simply forwarded them to the nearest children’s home? What if he glanced at it, thought it was utter nonsense, and threw it out? What if his house keeper sent it to Dean Sanson with a note about students bothering him again? What if he never opened it? The tension and fear were beginning to play with our minds. We actually thought we would get a call later in the day after we delivered the package, surely by the next morning. But to wait several days and hear nothing could only mean bad news.
New Years Day came and went. The following Tuesday regular classes resumed.
The alarm shot through my head like a dentist drill. After the back to back long holiday weekends, the thought of going back to the daily grind was hard to swallow. I reluctantly got out of my warm bed and set about completing my morning routine. After dressing and nuking a pop tart,I was ready to get the morning started. I opened my door, and literally dropped my books. There he was! Himself - sitting in my dorm hallway big as life. His assistant was reaching for my door buzzer just as I opened the door. I stood there frozen with my mouth open and books on the floor as he asked, "Are you Fred Dobbs?"
I am sure it was only a second or two before I responded, but it seemed like I stood there paralyzed for a minute or two. I managed to squeak out a weak, "Yes Sir, I am."
I heard that tonal computer voice respond in the positive, as in, "Good, you’re the young man I need to see. Is your friend here too?"
Now recovering from the initial shock, I said, "No sir, but I can get him pretty quick."
Again that disembodied voice. It was weird to her the words while watching the professor sit almost completely still. He, it, the machine said, "Good, go get him and meet me in my lab as quick as you can. We have to talk." He motioned by raising one finger slightly, and his assistant responded by turning his chair away from the door, after which he sped off down the hall with his constant companion heeling slightly behind.
I backed into my room, managing to hit the chair by my workstation. Glad for the chance to sit I grabbed it and sat down. I picked up the phone and dialed Kurt’s two digit room number. I punched in the wrong number twice before I managed to get him.
"Kurt, you’ve got to get down here quick. Bring whatever you need for the day, I don’t know how long we’ll be over there."
Kurt, more than a little confused asks, "Over where, what stuff, what happened, you alright?"
I slowly regained my wits, and managed to tell him that Prof. Hawking was just here, and wanted us both in his lab asap.
I said, "He wants to talk with us both. Now get over here, OK?"
Kurt’s room is only one floor up, and it seemed as if he was at my door about the time I set the phone down. He was firing questions at me without taking a breath. I had no chance to answer, so I just let him run out of air. When he finally stopped, I said "Yes to all of the above. He was here, he talked to me, he wants to see us both, and those are my books you are walking on."
"So he got our package?", says Kurt.
"Well duh" says I. "I guess so, unless you think he just stops by now and then to see how I’m doing. Look, we’ve got to go to his lab right now, and act like we’ve got good sense when we get there. So let’s get it together and go make history."



5
We left the dorm and headed straight for the physics lab. The whole west end of the building belonged to Prof. Hawking. We stood there, more than a little apprehensive looking at the large double doors with the professor’s name on them.
"Stephen Hawking - Private - No Entry."
I reached for the door, pushed on the latch, and of course it was locked. Kurt looked over at me and said, "Maybe you better knock first." I couldn’t help but laugh. As I raised my hand to knock, the door opened. A young man in a white lab coat stood there and said, "Come in Gentleman, we’re waiting for you." As I stepped in I felt a strange sensation. It was the realization that this doorway represented a threshold that onced crossed would forever change our lives. Childhoods end so to speak, we would be men, in the company of men - making history.
The room (well it was more like a giant atrium in one of those Marriot Hotels)looked to be about four stories tall. It was filled with electronic gear and large banks of what looked like giant capacitors with oversized copper contacts on top. There was a charging coil with a drop down connection to each of the caps that must have been 30 feet long. All of this was surrounded by a forest of glass tubes that glowed with various hues of plasma, giving the overall appearance of a neon sign factory. In the center of it all was what appeared to by a generator of some sort that was connected to everything else. The wiring and forest of ionized tubes drew your eye up to the the ceiling, a good forty feet above us. This was not what you’d see on a tour of the local power company. The whole place was like something from one of those Star Trek Movies. Banks of computers everywhere, the constant sound of high voltage electricity, and the smell of ozone. The surrounding air literally crackled with static.
The place was full of people in white lab coats. Our guy motioned for us to follow him, and we did. He led us over to a railing that protected the viewer from falling into rather large hole. It had to be thirty, or maybe forty feet to the bottom. Kurt and I grabbed the railing and looked over on a site straight out of the twilight zone. Below us was a dome a shimmering gold light with what appeared to be buildings inside. It was as if the inside of the thing was bigger than the outside. The hole took up most of the floor space in that end of the building, and obviously extended under ground far beyond what would be the normal foundations of the lab. The floors above us had multiple windows all facing the center, I suppose for observation. I thought to myself that this project has been here a while. Kurt had grabbed my arm and obviously was not aware of how hard he was squeezing it. I pulled my arm away, and as we caught each others eye he said, "That’s another world down there isn’t it." I could only nod in agreement. I was quite literally speechless. It was beautiful. We stood and watched as our folks in lab coats walked into the structure as others came out. It was easy to tell who was who, as the beings from the other dimension glowed with a gold aura, while our guys had on the white coats. I shook my head, trying to get a grip. This was real. I was not dreaming, but actually looking down into a different world. Then it hit me, if all this was already here, the old professor must have been way ahead of us. We might not even be in the same ballpark as him.
Our guide put his hand on my shoulder, tapped Kurt on his, and said, "Professor Hawking will see you now." He led us to another elevator that took us to an upper level. It opened directly into what was without doubt an office and second residence for Professor Hawking. He was sitting in his chair looking out of a large plate glass window with a perfect view of the site below.
He turned around and his programmed voice said, "You two are responsible for the success of this project. You should be very proud. Your names will be spoken in the halls of learning forever. School children will have to learn about you. Your paper was brilliant, thorough, and concise. It gave me the equations that allowed my team to modify our warp generator leading to what you see below. Thank you both. For now all I have for you is coffee and pastries, but I am sure that someday the folks who run this place will name a building after you. The Nobel Committee will probably come calling when all this comes out. Please sit down gentlemen, I am sure you have some questions. If not, I have some for you."
The voice went silent and I realized it was my turn to speak. "Professor, thank you. But, how could you possibly do all this between Christmas and now, when we only dropped off our paper at your home a few days ago?"
"Good question. We obviously didn’t build all of this from the information in your work. My team has known for several years about the Shadow People. I’ve seen them all of my life, just couldn’t prove where they came from or went to."
I jumped up and shouted, "Me too! Been seeing em forever." Kurt was laughing and rubbing his palms together.
Our guide who we later came to know as Ben Wakefield, asked us to please let the Professor finish.
He continued, "For years we have had the warp generator operable in this lab. We believed that with the right amount of power and the proper parameter settings we could access one of what we believed to be at least eleven dimensions. Every now and then we’d have some success. Why just before Christmas we managed to generate a field that allowed several of the beings to become visible as they strolled down a street in their world, but looked to be walking through the wall of your physics lab next door. I believe you were in class at the time, but no one came forward to report seeing anything."
Kurt found his voice, and said, "We saw them Professor Hawking, but felt it might identify us as crackpots if we said anything. So we just kept quiet."
The professor moved his head only so slightly indicating that he understood. Then he said, "My team felt sure that someone must have seen them, but we could never duplicate the contact again. Every combination we tried only gave us fleeting glimpses. Our algorithms were too involved, trying to incorporate too many dimensions, too many variables. It was only by accident that we had a few seconds of success from time to time. Then your paper arrived at my home on Christmas morning. I read it, and felt as if Santa had visited me with a present from the Gods. The numbers I had been searching for lept off the pages of your manuscript. If I could have slapped my forehead I would have. It was simple, so obvious, how could we have allowed ourselves to follow that string foolishness and multiple dimension nightmare for so long. The elegant truth was right in front of our nose and we all missed it. But not you two. You saw it and put it in a form I could use. It only took four days to reset our parameters and input your numbers. Thanks to you we have a stable field allowing a doorway between the two worlds. It appeared instantly when we turned on the generator. After aligning it for two dimensions with your algorithms it just appeared. Our warp generator creates a bubble in space time giving the top the rounded dome like appearance. There is no actual top or bottom to it. What you are seeing is the edge of the field where the two worlds intersect. There is no barrier at the edge either. Beings from both worlds can simply walk through and visit. One thing takes some getting used to. When we walk inside the field we literally move into a different dimension. In there, our people can walk through walls just as those beings did when they came through your lab. Of course the same still holds true for them when they visit here. Imagine, it was there all the time, we just couldn’t see it. They have told us about their sun and solar system. Yes, there is a whole universe over there. Similar to ours in size, but different in make up. All the elements seem to be the same, and the physical laws are true everywhere. And now thanks to your work, the numbers work for the very big and the very small in all situations. Einstein’s dream of a Unified Field Theory is a reality. I hope that you both will join my team and continue my work when I am gone. The doctors have been telling me for 20 years that I only have a few left, but I believe they are much closer to being right now. So I am very gratified and thankful that I have found two such brilliant minds to carry on our work here. Newton himself would be proud of you."
Kurt had his head in his hands, and I had tears running down both sides of my face. Imagine being recognized by someone of that stature at our young age. It was too much. It was of course what we had hoped for, but still, the reality of it was just over whelming. A thought popped into my head at that instant that gave me pause, and more than a little concern. What could I possibly do to top this. To reach my peak at 20 years of age would be very depressing. The feeling didn’t last long, and I realized that the professor was waiting for us to respond.
I stood up and walked over to the great man. I knelt down in front of his chair so as to be at eye level with him. Kurt told me later he was afraid I was going to kiss his ring or something. Anyway, I said, "Professor, we would be glad to join your team. I am sure there is a lifetime of work left to do here."
And so there was. Kurt and I spent the next 52 years right there. Our mentor (Professor Hawking) died a few years after we joined the group. Eventually I was named to his Chair in the Math Dept., and Kurt was awarded the same position in Physics. We both spent time teaching, and continued our work expanding the knowledge base through the use of the new math specialty I developed. As you know by now, Temporal Calculus lead to the development of time travel, and faster than light speed. In the 30 years since the production of the first warp drive ship we have established contact with three other civilizations in other star systems, and travel to the other dimension has expanded to the point where it is now a routine destination for vacationers. The understanding of the dimensional matter energy exchange phenomenon lead to the availability of unlimited energy everywhere on the planet, and for our friends on the other side as well. The exchange of information with the "Shadow" people ( I still call them that) resulted in an explosion of knowledge in all areas of science and technology, virtually eliminating disease and hunger from the planet. Oh, by the way, they call themselves the Hamanees. I was struck when I heard that, on how close that is to Humans. But then many things in that dimension are very similar to their counter parts on our side.
And yes, a committee from the Nobel organization did come calling almost immediately after Professor Hawking’s press conference announcing our work to the world. I’ve had that ugly statue on my mantel for 50 years now.
Eventually I was named Professor Emeritus and sort of retired. The title is more honorary than anything else. Which is good, as it has given me the time to finally tell this story. I still attend meetings, give speeches, and dedicate buildings. I have no idea how many warp ships I have broken champagne bottles against. However, all of those honors take a back seat to the joy I experience on my long walks around the grounds. I get the biggest kick from the stares and whispers of the freshmen as I walk by. I am reminded of that time so long ago when I encountered a legend in a wheel chair, and was equally tongue tied as I walked by him. No matter what they tell you, it’s fun being famous. I make it a point to speak first.
So now you know how it all came about. All because a young boy saw moving shadows that he couldn’t explain.

Global Warming

I have to disagree with a recent letter from Dr. Pfeiffer regarding global warming. He credits C02 as the cause, and blames Alabama Power for most of it. He uses an appeal to authority, "The Supreme Court" and compares it’s importance to the shooting of JFK. A bit over the top on both counts.

First of all, C02 is not a pollutant regardless of what the Supreme court says. It is necessary for life to exist. We exhale it, as does every other form of animal life on the planet. All the plant life on the planet need it to survive. Animals exhale it, plants take it in. So if we eliminate it, all life would die. We need it in the atmosphere. It is a natural and necessary gas, not a pollutant.
Second, the earth was much warmer than today during a period spanning the years 800 - 1300 AD. This was known as the Medieval Warm Period. During this time the Vikings colonized Greenland. They traveled the north Atlantic which was free of ice. They established permanent settlements, and grew crops where it is too cold today. The population exploded in Europe due to the excellent growing seasons, and decreased death rates. It was the best of times thanks to nearly five hundred years of good weather with warm temps. The point here is to recognize that during this time there were NO power plants. No automobiles, no factories producing C02. Yet it was warmer than today. A thinking person would have to conclude that C02 and auto’s are not causing the earth to warm. It is a natural cycle. The production of C02 actually follows the warming, not the other way around.

This period ending abruptly. From the 1300's to approximately 1850 the earth experienced what is called "The Little Ice Age". Surface temps fell by several degrees, and the Viking settlements had to be abandoned due to ice and snow and persistent crop failures. The European continent experienced famine and hard times for several hundred years during which time millions died. Again, man and his power plants were not the cause. Beginning in the 1800's the earth resumed it’s warming. Which has continued from the last major ice age that ended about 10,000 years ago. Been warming ever since, with some set backs here and there.

The amount of warming is greatly exaggerated by folks like Mr. Gore and a willing yet ignorant national news media. Scare tactics make good copy. But when you check the facts you find that from 1880 to 2005, global surface temps have increased by only .7 degrees. And that wasn’t straight up. It never is. From 1880 to 1940 temps increased .4 degrees. From 1940 to 1980 they actually went down .2 degrees. Yet this was a time of our most rapid industrialization. Then from 1980 to 2005 temps increased again by .4 degrees. During the last two years surface temps have again decreased slightly.

So, the point is this. Over time, the earth and the sun conspire to change the climate. Man’s influence on the system is absolutely negligible. The termites of the world put more C02 into the atmosphere than we do. I am no fan of the power company, and yes, they should do all they can to insure clean air. But cause global warming? Nope, they didn’t do it, and neither did my jeep.

Common Sense
What has happened to people’s ability to reason? We have become a people willing to believe anything we see or read. Instead of asking if a story could possibly be true, we run around repeating the doom and gloom picture the pundits paint for us. We repeat the statistics with sincerity to our friends, never questioning the source, or the truth of the story. I think the need to fill 24 hours a day with news has promoted a phenomenon I call, "Might be News". Hundreds of stations competing for attention are willing to promote any sensational idea to get viewers. As in "Millions Homeless", news at 11 pm. If that many were homeless, there would be a bum every ten feet all over the country. It isn’t so.

Another big lie is that we are ruining the environment, polluting the water and damaging the air. Maybe at one time we were, but not now. In the 50's when I was a boy, any trip to a large city would get you dirty. I remember visiting New York and looking up at the large buildings, only to get soot in my eye with each upward glance. The Hudson River was so thick you could walk across it. It was devoid of life.

In the 60's, Mobile Alabama smelled so bad that it was embarrassing to have out of town visitors. The drive north on highway 43 was so polluted with chemical smells that it literally made you gag. Mobile Bay was an oily dark toxic soup, and not fit to fish or swim in. Now, the air all over America is much cleaner than it was back then. Even though we drive more today than 40 years ago, we pollute less. Mobile doesn’t smell anymore either. You can see porpoises in the bay, and catch fish in those waters. The Hudson River is no longer toxic. Fact is, you can swim in it. It’s that clean. Same thing for the Great Lakes. As for the woods and vegetation, there are more trees in America now, than when Daniel Boone was alive. More deer too. It’s true, look it up. We are not running out of trees and wild life is flourishing. Even the Caribou in Alaska are doing well. They actually like the pipeline. It’s warm all the time and they congregate underneath it. It hasn’t hurt them in any way, and has actually helped more young Caribou survive to adulthood.

The U.S. has done more in the area of cleaning up the environment than ANY other country. Our industries are the cleanest in the world, and getting better every year. We should be proud. Our news organizations should tell it. Our citizens should know it. We have done very well as a people, and as a country to be admired.

Yet, when you watch the 24 hour news shows they never tell the facts. They blindly repeat any tale from whatever group has the latest forecast of doom. The latest is, "We are running out of oil." Nonsense! The western U.S. and Canada have oil tar sands, and oil in shale rock. Together they equal not billions, but trillions of recoverable barrels of oil. On a recent 20 / 20 show, John Stossel reported that the Canadian Tar Sands have enough oil to power the planet for 100 years. Let me say that again. "One hundred years." We also have oil in the gulf, oil in the rocky mountains, oil in Alaska, and yes, even in Alabama. The waters off the Atlantic and Pacific coasts hold vast quantities, but lobbyist from those states have managed to convince congress to extend the ban on drilling anywhere off the east and west coast. Thousands of miles of potential, going unused. The excuse is that we might have a spill, and ruin the coast of Cape Hatteras or Cape Cod, where old Kennedy lives. It should be noted that modern drilling procedures are so good, that even in Hurricane Katrina, there were no oil spills in the Gulf. The only U.S. waters where drilling is allowed.

When oil was $30 a barrel, it was too expensive to drill and process oil from difficult locations. So we didn’t. But now at $90 a barrel, it is economically reasonable to go after it. And we should. At the same time, we must keep looking at new technology. We can and will do both in a manner that won’t hurt the environment.

These scare tactics come from the folks who think that nothing new will come along, and that in X number of years the world will end. Katie Couric said so. Must be true.

It reminds me of a story that appeared in a New York paper at the beginning of the last century. The columnist stated with all certainty that because of the rising population of horses in the city, a disaster loomed on the horizon. According to experts, the city would be ankle deep in manure in just 15 years if laws weren’t passed to restrict the use of horses in town. Well, it didn’t happen. Who knew, or could guess, how quickly the horse would be replaced by Mr. Fords new contraption.

Every disaster scare is always backed by data from the past. It fails to account for the never-ending genius of people who invent new things as the need becomes apparent. Or more accurately, as they find a way to make a profit. Necessity is said to be the mother of invention. Not so. Actually it is the lure of profit. Profit is a very good thing.

Another big lie is the end of life as we know it due to global warming. I saw Mr. Gore the other night proclaiming that as the ice sheets melt, sea levels will rise twenty feet. I don’t think so. Try this. Fill a glass with ice, then fill it with water. Now mark the water level on the glass, and let the ice melt. After the ice melts, mark the water level again. It stayed the same, or might have gone down just a little, didn’t it? Since about ninety percent of sea ice is in, or under the water, melting all of the sea ice at the north and south pole, would not cause the oceans to rise twenty feet. They would rise very little, if any. Most of the Arctic Ocean (North Pole) is sea ice, with the bulk of it actually in the water. You would need all the ice in the world to melt at the same time to have a rise of twenty feet. The good news is that not all the glaciers are melting. There is actually a net gain of the land based ice and snow at the poles. . But for some reason the folks at CBS only repeat stories about the glaciers that are shrinking. The Greenland Ice Sheet is most often mentioned. A recent Danish Study proved that the Greenland Ice Sheet has been shrinking steadily for the last 100 years. Your car, or your grill, didn’t cause it.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The earth has cycled between warm periods and cold periods hundreds of times in the past million years, and nothing we do will change or effect it one way or the other. One big volcano has more influence on the earths climate in a few hours than all the cars driven around the globe in a years time. The sun cycles between high and low output periods, and I just read where the inner magnetic core of the earth itself has been on the move since 1831. It is still moving, and causing the magnetic north pole to shift at the rate of 25 miles a year. Compared to all that, we just don’t have that much influence. We like to think we do, but we really aren’t that strong.

Remember the hole in the ozone. Well it was always there. It goes through natural cycles, and now it has gotten smaller again. CNN didn’t report that. We didn’t make the ozone hole. We didn’t make it bigger, and we didn’t make it smaller. It just happened. They said we did it with spray cans, and people believed it. In the 50's, polio was to kill us all. Then the Russians and the "A" bomb would destroy our world. Next came the population bomb, causing wide spread starvation by the year 2000. Oh yea, in Y2K all the computers were going to crash. Planes would fall from the sky, the power would go off, and trucks would not be able to deliver food. Now it’s global warming and bird flu. If we escape that, some asteroid will kill us all. I don’t think so.

When you see some story on the tube- - stop. Ask yourself who wants me to believe that, and why. Usually you will find some group with an agenda trying to justify more funding. So the next time some news story says that the world is ending and it’s your fault, just have a good laugh and crank up the AC, you deserve it.

Oh, one more thing. That gas "guzzler" I drive actually gets better mileage than any of the cars I drove in the 60's, 70's, or 80's. It doesn’t pollute as much either. So even though it’s bigger, it is more environmentally friendly. The grand children love it, so I would have no reservations telling them about all the progress we have made as a people, and as a country to be admired. There are people who want you to believe that the United States is a bad country. Don’t believe it. We give more to charity, help more poor, feed more people, and have saved more people from tyrants than any other country in history.

We are the good guys. Somebody needs to tell CNN, and Katie about it.

Help the Poor

May 4, 2007
Can you really help the poor, by taking money from other people? E.J. Dione think so. In his last column he repeats that familiar liberal theme about the rich not paying enough. If only we took more of their money, we could move people out of poverty. He ignores the evidence to the contrary. That being 40 years of failed give away programs proving conclusively that poverty can’t be eliminated by redistributing the wealth earned by others.
The mistake made by do-gooders on both sides of the aisle, is in believing that the poor are only poor because of an accident of birth, and or a conspiracy on the part of the rich to hold them in that position. They reason that if we only gave them enough help, they would become successful. Those of us who live in the world of achievement know that it doesn’t work that way.
First you have to realize that perhaps 25% of the people counted as being poor, chose to be that way. These people include those who’s life work is in the arts. Musicians who never made it to American Idol, or insist on playing the flute for a living. This is not a bad thing. They are not dissatisfied with their life style, and don’t understand why anyone would want a Mercedes. You see them hanging out in Jackson Square or Greenwich Village, painting pictures, or playing the Saxophone. Others in the poor by choice group work for little money helping others. They work everywhere from church offices to outposts of the Salvation Army. They earn little, but can be counted in the low income groups. They like their life, and want it that way. This group also includes all the people who take entry level jobs just out of school, but don’t stay there. They are poor for a while, but move on.

Another quarter of the poor population want to live like celebrities, would like to have money, but don’t have the will power to work hard enough to achieve those levels. They start out with a high school education, take an entry level job, and do nothing the rest of their lives to improve their position. Year after year they offer the same low performance levels to their various employers. They want raises, but offer no reason for their employer to provide one. They take time off because they partied late, and use sick days for trips to the beach. They think nothing of spending $70 for a show ticket, yet refuse to put money aside for health insurance. They end up moving from job to job, never staying with anything long enough to get ahead. If asked, it is always the boss who treated them unfairly, or the "System" was against them. They make bad decisions and blame their lack of success on others. They have money for beer, but expect you to feed their children free breakfast and lunch. They remain poor, and think it is your fault. They are counted in the ranks of the poor each year , and the liberals think that the hard working achievers in the population should open their wallets and give each of them some cash. No, it won’t help.


Another group of poor is represented by those people who for no fault of their own become poor temporarily due to illness, or business closures resulting in layoffs. A short term condition caused by everything from house fires to hurricanes. Some people hit with a family disaster recover quickly. They take charge of their own destiny, and work their way out of it with very little help. Others are content to sit and wait for a free trailer, and then never want to leave it. All of these people deserve help, but only temporarily. There should be a limit to it. If you can’t get back on your feet in 18 months with a little help, you never will. The smart folks prepared ahead for unexpected trouble. They were ready with disability insurance, fire protection, and maybe even had savings for a rainy day. Image that - savings. The dummies thought it wouldn’t happen to them, and failed to prepare. They never learned the lesson of the "Three Little Pigs". Like the last group, they think it is your fault.

The largest, and perhaps the most discouraging group, are those who fall below the level of intelligence necessary for success. Contrary to what you may have heard, everyone was not created equal. That famous saying handed down from the founding fathers referred to the way the new government was to treat it’s citizens. Equally under the law. They were not so naive as to believe that all men had equal skills and ability. The unfortunate truth is that a large number of poor people fall below the minimum level of intelligence required for success in the modern world. That is why they are poor, and always will be. They will need continuous help as the world becomes increasingly complicated and technical. They don’t know what to do, or how to do it. Even worse, they don’t have the ability to learn. Truly a disastrous combination. This group is where the money we set aside to help the poor should go. But sadly, most of what is taken from the achievers of the world is wasted in the government burocracy. What’s left after fueling the payroll of administrators, is given willy nilly to large blocks of the population who don’t deserve help. Sometimes the beneficiaries are fictional people. Does Bishop State ring a bell?

Jesus said that the poor will always be with us. Well, maybe not. Someday we may discover the gene that cause some to be lazy and irresponsible. We might even develop a vaccine for stupid.
But until then we need to take a hard look at how the government redistributes the rightful earnings of those who work hard for years to build wealth. Mr. Dione seems to think that if you have money, you don’t deserve all of it. He suggests that it is right and proper for the state to take it away, and give it to those who don’t produce. I don’t think so. At some point we have to say enough is enough. Today in America, 50% of the people pay no taxes and even get money back when they have paid nothing in. Just how non productive can you get?

The other half (those who work and study) pay all of the taxes. Too ask them to pay more is criminal. You are stealing from one, to give to someone else. With that reasoning, it would be acceptable for your neighbor to come over, and ask you for $50 dollars a week. His reasoning being that you make more than him, and don’t deserve all of it. So why not give him some. That is what the government does now. It is not so direct, but that is the result.

No sir. The so called rich pay far more than their share already. The top 5% of earners pay 54% of all taxes. The top 50% of earners pay 96 % of all taxes. Seems like a lot to me. E.J. failed to mention that revenue from taxes actually increased after the tax cut. The cut by the way was for all income levels, not just the rich. Even after paying the most taxes, the rich still contribute the most to charity. People like Bill Gates and W. Buffett give away millions. Yet some criticize them for not paying enough taxes.

The most efficient charities are organizations like St. Jude, the Salvation Army, Muscular Dystrophy, and Habitat for Humanity. All of these rely on contributions, and most of the money actually gets to the needy. Think of how much more would be done if the so called "rich" could send less to the government. I give to all of the above, and several others. I could and would give much more if the government wasn’t so greedy. I am sure Mr. Gates would too.

The point being, that the best way to really help the poor is to let local private organizations collect funds directly from those who can give. Funneling money through layers of government wastes most of it, and is not likely to ever get to the people who really need it. Worst of all, it is a dis-incentive to those who earn large incomes. It destroys the inner drive that made them successful, and reduces that portion of their earnings that are disposable. People in this group are suffering discrimination when the government takes more from them, with nary a thank you. But they feel great when they are able to give thousands to the St. Jude Children’s Hospital .

So, please tell Mr. Dionne that the worst way to help the poor is by taking money from the rich. They pay the most taxes already. They donate the most to charities. They provide the jobs so badly needed by the poor who are trying to move up. The set up the foundations, and organizations like Habitat that help the poor directly. By over- taxing the rich, you are insuring that the poor will receive less, not more help.

Wise Men ??

We three kings of Orient are, bearing gifts we traveled a-far, daa, da da da, daa da da da, following yonder star. You know the song. But have you ever wondered about it? I mean really asked some hard questions. I did, when I was about eight years old. I began to question the validity of that story, about the same time I discovered the truth about Santa Claus.
First of all, were they "Kings", or "Wise Men"? I ‘ve heard it told both ways. Three kings showed up together, with gifts for the new savior. They supposedly had followed a star across the desert, at night, in the winter, to visit the new baby. Yea right. Were these "Kings" from the same town, or just from the same country? Not likely either way. In those days, kings were pretty territorial. They would not put up with another king living in their territory. So they must have been from different countries. But if that were true, how did they communicate the need to meet up and travel together to visit an unknown child in a distant town or country, as the case may be. After all, they had no telephone, no radio, and no telegraph. How could they leave from different locations, meet up in the desert, and travel together following a star? They didn’t have G.P.S. either. Which brings up another question.

Is it possible to actually follow a star? Ever try it? It’s not so easy. The earth rotates, and the stars move. Even if one did remain directly over one town, it wouldn’t help you locate one building hidden in the low rent district of a sizeable city. Try it. Go outside on a clear night, and pick out the brightest star you can find. Now follow it. If you travel by car for several hours, you will be no closer to it. It will appear to be moving along with you. Not only that, but if you are heading east (as our fabled kings were) the star will be continually moving west as the night progresses. It will be going away from you. Following it would be impossible. But let’s say you picked one directly overhead. Just which building are you supposed to go in? No matter where you stand in any city, the star you picked will look as if it is directly overhead. No way to tell which door to knock on.


All right. Let’s say this magic stationary star had a long tail that reached all the way to the ground, and never moved for as long as it took our kings to meet up, and travel across country to reach the earliest known Days Inn on record. Remember now, our guys are not in a vehicle capable of 70 mph. The star had to stay put a long time. If such a star existed, it would have pulled in thousands of people from all over, just out of curiosity. By the time our kings got there they wouldn’t be able to get near the city, let alone the Inn. The interstate would be backed up all the way to Levittown. Imagine, a star with a bright tail that pointed directly at one poor guy’s barn. Why everybody in the state would be there. And, everybody in the world would have written about it. The Chinese were already avid astronomers at that time, but they make no mention of it. They do have records of a comet about two thousand years ago, but nothing about a stationary star with a tail that reached the ground, pointing to a stable. Not a word.
And yet, our wise-men heard that Abdul’s cousin, was told by a friend of his great aunt, that a group of shepherds told their Mullah, that an angel visited their flock the previous night, and told them that a child would be born who would be their savior. And, based on that clear evidence they set off across the desert, met up by accident, and as luck would have it, they all had brought a present for the new king. He really liked the Myrrh.


Ok, suppose they weren’t kings, maybe just wise men. Now I ask you. How wise could they be to set out on a fool’s errand, trying to follow a star that didn’t move, to a location they’d never been to, to see a baby they weren’t related to. Not too wise would be my guess. Who would do such a thing in the dead of winter, across the desert, on camels? Nobody I know. I doubt that you know anybody like that either. I’ve heard that they smoked a lot of hash in those days, still do. It makes you see things, like angels, and stars with tails.


I am sure, the logic or my argument will be lost to most readers regarding this story. They will believe, no matter what, no matter how silly, how improbable, how ridiculous.


That, is of course not surprising. These are the same people who think an invisible super being made a world in six days. Then, the guy made a man out of dust, and later, took out one of the man’s ribs, and made a woman from that. Does seem kind of strange when you think about it. There are people who really believe that someone is watching out for every sparrow that falls. They waive their right to think, succumbing to the promise of life forever on streets of gold in a magic land high in the sky, or space, or somewhere out there. This all happens after they die too. No kidding, that’s the story. Oh, I almost forgot the topper. If you are bad, you don’t get the streets of gold. Instead, you are sent to live with the devil forever in the center of the earth in his fiery pit. I really don’t think so. I don’t think most of you do either.


People, people, people. It didn’t happen then, it isn’t happening now. Most people realize it, but just can’t admit it in public. Too radical. Oh, there actually was a man named Jesus. He traveled around living off the land, counting on the kindness of strangers to feed his troop, and make a donation to the cause now and then. He used deception and slight of hand to fool the locals, put on a good show, and told a good story. Much like an ancient version of Jim Baker. The myth grew, and lives to this day. Every hundred years or so, another translation and rewrite adds a little more to the tale. It gets bigger and better with each retelling. The rubes still send the money in. Follow the money, I always say.


So, to keep the peace we dutifully bow our heads, put money in the plate, and keep quiet. What would ‘momma-n-em’ think, if you ever let it slip that you didn’t believe a word of it? Just go along to get along, and prevent hard feelings in the family. Streets of Gold? Not a chance.
Hey Abdul, get the camel off the lawn!!

Dobbs

Falling Leaves

It is late summer, 1962. We have been stationed at the Thomasville Radar Site for six months. All of us are getting pretty good at our jobs. Only a few of the techs from Sperry and Burroughs are still here, and in truth we now know the radar system as well as they do. Well, almost. I take and pass my five level proficiency test, qualifying for pro pay - doing good.
For a young airman life is great. I visit Shirl (my new girl friend ) at least twice a week. I work eight hours a day, have enough money to buy cigs, some new clothes now and then, and put gas in the car. Plus, I am trained to work on one of the largest radar units in the world. I tell you, for an 18 year old, it doesn't get any better.

The radar is officially being turned over to the Air Force once we pass the final Beta Test. I have no idea why they call it that, sort of like Zulu Time. Who picks these names? Anyway, during the test, we have to maintain continuous operation for 48 hours. Then we must detect a mock attack on the Southern U.S. by enemy bombers coming in from the Gulf of Mexico. Actually they are B-52's out of Eglin AFB in Fla., but we pretend they are the Russians. The MAJAC room (Master Anti Jam and Control) is where system performance is monitored. As the test progresses we see 11 Bogeys about 200 miles out heading for shore. The PPI (Plan Position Indicator ) scope goes wild with blips every- where. They are jamming us, and masking their real positions. The Majac Console has an analog display that shows us the azimuth, and the frequency that each plane is using to jam our signal. So we program in a frequency change for a few degrees azimuth around the jammer's position, and paint him out again. Then of course the plane changes frequency and we lose him again. The planes are using what is called Electronic Counter Measures (ECM). We are using Electronic Counter Counter Measures (ECCM). The cat and mouse game goes on for an hour or so, until it appears that the B-52's are getting the better of it. Then unexpectedly, we loose transmitter drive. The Amplitron (main transmitter tube ) goes into oscillation. In this state, it randomly shifts from one frequency to another. We didn't plan it that way, but as it turns out we can now see every plane clearly. Our transmitter oscillation is changing frequency so fast that the planes can't adapt to it. However, our receiver automatically tracks transmitted frequency and adjusts our receiver to whatever frequency is transmitted. This allows us to locate the planes and paint them out clearly. (Paint refers to the little blip on the scope indicating the position of a plane ) The Air Defense Command people at Craig AFB know that the planes are now only 30 miles out, and should be able to overload our receiver with false signals. They don't understand how we can still see them. We don't tell them, and enjoy the fun. The squawk box comes alive every now and then with a question from Ops. "Huh T'ville, what's your transmit power, over?" We tell them and wait. "Huh T'ville, what's your range gate blanking frequency at 92 degrees, over?" They are trying to see what we are doing, because it ain't supposed to work this way. "Huh T'ville, repeat your transmit freq, over." We can tell they are going nuts up in operations. We just let them stew about it, and volunteer no usable information. Chalk one up for the radar boys. We pass the test and officially become linked to the Sage Network of world wide radar sites feeding NORAD. However, we did get a very nasty memo from Air Defense Operations after an investigation confirmed that we allowed our transmitter to oscillate, and didn't tell anyone about it.

Note: The main transmitter tube operates at approximately 10 million watts of power, and cannot be allowed to oscillate for long, as it will burn out.

Officially, we are on line, sort of. The radar still only runs properly every other day, if we are lucky. The rest of the time we are replacing those high priced tetrode tubes and magnetic amplifiers. The tubes blow out every couple of days, and the mag amps short out almost as frequently. These particular tubes have gold plated contacts, and are very expensive. One of my co-workers in the transmitter section is a guy my age named Godfried, but we call him Frits. He and I joke that we burn up a good $20,000 dollars a week. When you're 18, government money is not real, and nothing to be concerned with. We just order more.

In early October, 1962, we received word that a special team from Sperry was coming in to extend the range of our receiver by three to five times. This would make it possible for us to see objects up to 1500 miles away. At that range, our beam would be in space due the curvature of the earth. We all wonder what in the world is going on.

One of our buddies is a guy named Norman, who happens to work in the Communications Center. He gets and decodes all the Krypto message traffic. Even though it is Top Secret, he lets us know what is going on prior to the Commander's Call announcing that the Russians have Nuclear Missiles in Cuba. Holy crap! We are directed to get the radar operational immediately, and go to Def. Con. 3. The base is sealed off. Additional M.P.'s are sent in from Craig AFB in Selma. No one gets in the compound or on base who doesn't work there. We are on full military alert status twnety four hours a day, a good two weeks prior to the day when President Kennedy went on TV and told the nation what was happening.

The President said that any attack, on any nation in the western hemisphere, would be considered an attack on the United States, and would be met with a full retaliatory response. Perhaps the strongest direct statement ever spoken by a U.S. President. The guys on the base had considered this somewhat of a exercise up until that moment. Somewhat of a lark. When President Kennedy was through speaking, there was silence in the rec room. None of us knew quite what to say, or do. We just sat there a while. Then quiet discussions began. People speaking in low tones, as if in church. The realization of possible nuclear war sinking in. Damn, this was the real thing.

The radar won't cooperate, the mag amps keep shorting out and we are down to our last four. There is a big meeting that night. The transmitter crew, the C+E Officer and a guy from Sperry are all trying to figure out how to make these things work. Frits and I have an idea, but nobody pays much attention to Airmen 2nd's when all the tech sergeants and officers are talking. I am a little intimidated but I say, "Sir, we may be able fix that." They don't hear me, or pay no attention. I try again, "Sir, Frits and I have an idea that might work." Lt. Mitchell looks my way, and asks the rest to be quiet a minute. He wants to hear our idea. Now I move up and approach the table with Frits. We explain that the terminals on top of the mag amp are too close to the metal case. These things are about 24 inches high and 12 inches wide, all metal with four terminal post on top. The connections are very heavy duty, rated for thousands of volts. However they have been manufactured with the terminals too close together, and too close to the metal case. At least that is what my buddy and I believe.

I tell them that we need to separate the terminal posts from the main case of the unit, and use a piece of phenolic insulating material to make new mounts for the connections. This way the post will be insulated and mounted far enough above the case not to short out. Then when we have a high current situation occur, it will not arc and blow the amp. I see some looks exchanged between the powers that be, and confirmation from the Sperry guy that it just might work. Lt. Mitchell doesn't even talk about it, he just says, "Do it now!" Frits and I work on it, with lots of supervision. Everybody wants to be in on the fix, but they all know who thought it up. I love it when a plan comes together.

After a couple hours we have the modification made on two units, and install them in the Amplitron room. Then it takes an additional 20 hours to get the whole system up and running. Finally we are ready. Everybody holds their breath as we run the transmitter up to full power. We are at two megawatts and holding. Six meg, eight meg, 90,000 volts on the plate, 10 megawatts out the horn, and she holds. The real trick will be when we change frequency and cause varying loads to be placed on the output stages. We test from 400 to 450 megacycles and it holds steady as a rock. All that high priced help, and a couple of 18 year old airmen come up with a fix. The lesson here is this. When you have a real problem, ask the people who actually do the work how to fix it. Needless to say, we are very proud of ourselves. All told, we worked 36 straight hours from the time we got the word about the missiles, until the whole system was totally combat ready. Adrenalin is remarkable stuff.

From that night on, we ran the transmitter for three straight weeks, and never let it go off the air. Prior to then, we were lucky to keep it running two days in a row. But now, with missiles in Cuba, it had to run.

Our beam was sweeping over Cuba first. Then a beam from a Texas radar swept across the top of ours. Finally, a radar in New Jersey was adjusted to sweep over the Texas beam. All of the data from these radars was being fed directly to NORAD Hdqtrs. . In Ops we normally had Airmen 3rd's, and Airmen 2nds. on the scopes. Now every scope had a "Full Bird Colonel" watching the sweep go round and round. A Colonel on a scope, it was unheard of. Our Squadron Commander was only a Lt. Colonel. He was the only one on base before, now the place was crawling with them. Each of them had a headset, and an open mike to NORAD. If they saw a missile lift off from Cuba the word would be given to launch ours. A few minutes after the go command, the U.S. would send a full retaliatory strike not only at Cuba, but at Russia itself. The exciting part was that the first people to know about it would be us. The little Radar Sqd. in Thomasville Al. A missile launch would break through our beam first on it's way up. Then the Texas beam would see it, and finally the folks in New Jersey would track the missile. We were so wrapped up in the technical aspect of the mission, that the reality of what we were doing, or what might actually happen, was somewhat muted. We didn't speak about the gorrilla in the closet. It was too big to deal with.

The transmitter and receiver sections were roped off, and no one was allowed to go in without permission. If something needed adjustment ( we called it tweaking ) one of those Colonels would say, "OK, you got five minutes to tune whatever, but don't knock this thing off the air." Let me tell you, that is a lot of pressure on an 18 year old kid. These guys are talking for real about launching ICBM's, and I'm in there turning dials centering up the transmit frequency, and peaking the power across the band width. Once in a while when you try to change something, it can cause a shutdown. I don't want to be the one to knock the transmitter off the air. Luckily for all of us, everything works fine.

President Kennedy has decided to put a naval blockade around Cuba. The idea being to prevent any additional supplies or missiles from being brought in. Fact is they intended to prevent anything from being brought in. The day of the blockade we just knew that the Russian ships were not going to stop. We were going to war, everybody said so. We all waited and watched as the ships moved ever closer. As the moment of contact drew near, the tension on site was nearly off the scale. What would happen? Those on duty just kept busy. Those off shift were glued to TV sets in the rec room and barracks. No games, no frivolous activity. Just high pulse rates and worry, masked by youthful bravado. It happened - Kruchev blinked. He ordered the ships to stop and turn around. I imagine our Navy had a good deal to do with his decision. Go Navy! Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relieve. We were minutes from an all out nuclear exchange with the Russians, and somehow avoided it. The "Radar Boys" (as we liked to call ourselves) also like to brag that not one Russians made it past Thomasville either. However, there was one night when we thought we were under attack.

I was getting off the swing shift at midnight, and stopped by the main gate to talk with Heiden. (One of the MP's) He said he was just about to ride out back to check on Glen, and take him some coffee. I said I'd go along, always liked a Jeep ride. Due to the crises guards were posted all around the base perimeter day and night. Glen was way in the back by the water treatment facility. We drove up as close as we could, and had to walk the rest of the way. The Jeep would make it, but the Base Commander didn't want anybody driving on the grass, war or no war. (The commander played golf back there) Anyway, it was maybe a hundred yards back to where Glen was supposed to be. Heiden says to me, "I hope that fool doesn't shoot us." He is just kidding, but it's dark, and his comment makes me wonder about it. We get closer and hear Glen say, "Halt !" We think he is talking to us, so we give the password for the day, which is "Red Sox". The MP's had decided to use the name of a different ball team each day. Glen doesn't respond, and we hear the distinctive sound of an M1 bolt being pulled back, and a round being chambered into place. If you've ever heard that sound, you'll never forget it. Heiden says, "Hell, he just loaded up!" We can't see him, but we here him. Glen again says, "Halt or I'll shoot!!" Now we are scared and the thought occurs to us that maybe he saw something outside the fence before we got there. We call out to him, much louder this time, "HEY GLEN, DON'T SHOOT IT'S HEIDEN AND BOWERS !!" This time he hears us, and comes back to where we are. He was part way around the side of one of the big water storage tanks. The rear fence has forest directly behind it, and a big corn field on the left side of the base. Glen comes toward us in a low crouch, like he is afraid someone will see him. We ask in a whisper, "What's going on?" He says that somebody is on the other side of the fence trying to break in. Now all three of us are sort of huddled behind the tank, wondering if we should call for more troops. Just about then, a cow walks into view on the other side of the fence in the corn field. Just doing what cows do best I guess. This one was all alone, and must have gotten out of somebody's pasture. . What cow could resist having a midnight snack in a corn field? Especially if it is someone else's corn. I asked Heiden if he thought we should check her for Russian insignia, we laugh until it hurts.

Glen never lived it down, and by morning it was all over the base. When he came in to breakfast somebody cried out, "Hey Glen, shoot any of those Russian cows lately?" Somebody else would add, "That was probably a spy dressed up as a cow." It went on like that for quite a while. I really felt sorry for him, because out there after midnight, alone, I could very easily have done the same thing. I guess that's why I didn't repeat the tale. But Heiden spread it around as if he knew some secret that he alone was ordained to bring to everyone's attention. He took pleasure in it, one of those people who tear other people down to make themselves look good. Of course the opposite is true, but that type never learn that. Everything looks so easy after sun up, the ghost only show up after midnight.

I don't think I will ever again have a chance to be part of anything so important, with so much riding on what I did, right or wrong. It was very scary, and at the same time terribly exciting to know you were part of something big. I mean really big !

We stayed on alert for a couple more weeks, until it was clear that the Russians were removing the missiles from Cuba. The extra guards left, the Colonels left, and things got back to normal. Well, actually better than our previous standard for normal. The radar ran properly now. A few missiles pointed your way can help you focus.

The 698th was awarded a Unit Citation for our part in "Project Falling Leaves." That was
the code name for the special radar coverage over Cuba. We all felt like we had really kicked
butt. These "Radar Boys" all walked a little taller. Rightly so.

A PARENTS WORST NIGHTMARE

The Good Life

Well here we go again. Another year has started, and I am just getting used to writing the date correctly for the last one. Now, it is 2002. I remember thinking as a young boy how old I would be when the year 2000 rolled around. It seemed so impossibly far away. Now it’s two years past that point. In my mind I am still young, but the reality is that I am 58 years old. A point at which most people have more life behind them, than ahead. A scary thought if you allow yourself to dwell on it. I don't, but it creeps up on me from time to time.

Mark Twain said of aging, "I recognize it, but I don't realize it." I feel that way myself. In my minds eye, I am still the boy wondering what it's like to be old. Modern medicine may allow me to live past the point common to most of the senior citizens I have known, but I don't count on it. As much as I would like to live a long time, I am probably programmed for 75 useful years like most everybody else. If that turns out to be true, it would leave me only 17 more years to enjoy the good life, providing I don't get hit by a bus. Like I said, more behind me than ahead.

This reality faced, does not mean that I am morbid in my overall thinking. Quite the contrary. I really do enjoy the good life. I have a good marriage, that has lasted 37 years. My home is paid for. I have two fine boys, who are both married, with houses of their own. Shirl and I now have twin grand-children, who stay with us several times a week. I have no debt to speak of, and money in the bank. My little business has generated enough income, so that I have not had to use any of my IRA funds. Our family is healthy, and Shirl and I can pretty much do as we please - within reason of course. In other words, we are sailing along with essentially no problems. Life is good, and we expect it to remain that way. Like many people, I feel immune to the problems around me that seem to strike at other families with regularity. I rationalize that we must be spared the trials faced by our peers because we are perhaps better parents. Maybe we have planned ahead better, fore-seeing and side-stepping problems before they strike. Maybe we have trained our children better. Maybe, we are just smarter than everybody else - maybe not.
I have heard other people living through times of good fortune attribute it to God, saying he is protecting them, while allowing disasters to visit others. I totally reject this notion as silly, but would never mention it to those who believe such superstition. The God I learned about does not play favorites, or punish the innocent for the sins committed by others. Whenever the unexplained happens, there have always been those who will quickly blame it on God, in an effort to appear wiser than the rest of us who are comfortable just being baffled by the event. I will remain baffled as to why bad things happen to good people. If God plays such cruel jokes, I shall forever question his judgment, or her's as the case may be. Whatever the reason, our family has been lucky up to now. That has made us comfortable with the status quo. However, it has been my experience, that being too comfortable can only lead to a nasty surprise. It is governed by the natural order of things. This is similar to Newtonian Law, as in, for every up there is a down. Or if you prefer, we may assign the blame to our good friend Murphy, who through the ages has maintained that if a thing can go wrong - it will. Murphy, was about to visit my family.
2
The Call

I have always felt uneasy when the phone rings after nine or ten at night. Something about it feels like trouble. I hold my breath until I hear the gest of the conversation. Usually it is one of Shirl's friends, who forgot to ask what to wear tomorrow during an earlier conversation. Why women feel the need to talk to each other several times a day, about nothing at all, is a true mystery. I shall have to explore that at another time. Anyway, this call was one of those calls that felt like trouble, and in just a few seconds, it sounded like trouble. It was 10:35 PM on a Sunday night, early in February of 2002. The look on Shirl's face told me it was serious, and she motioned for me to pick up on the extension. I did, only to hear Laura (my youngest son's wife), telling us that our son Chad was in the hospital.

He had been to the doctor Friday with a very painful foot. The doctor sent him home with pain pills, and a diagnosis of "Shingles" on his foot and ankle. He spent Saturday and Sunday on the couch nursing his ankle, and suffering with what he believed to be a cold, or a touch of the flu, as he was running a fever. By Sunday night he was behaving erratically, and complained that he could not see the television screen. It was then that Laura knew that they had to go to the hospital, which they did. By the time they got to North Hills Hospital, he was delirious and combative, and had to be restrained in order for them to treat him. They sedated him and put him on a respirator as his breathing and vital signs were not good, and getting worse.

As Laura related these details she tried to remain calm and composed, but the facade crumbled. She began to cry when she told us that he was on a breathing machine, and they did not know what was wrong.

I knew right then that we would be going to Ft.Worth in the morning. I told her that everything would be all right. I suggested that we all wait an hour or so, to see if they knew anymore before we decided on when to leave. Either way, we would be there tomorrow. I was hoping that in an hour they would bring him around, and maybe the situation would improve, but of course it didn't. By the time Laura called back, we had decided that we would not be able to sleep, and had already packed for the trip. We could stay awake all night at home, or stay awake all night in the car on the road, it made no difference, other than we would be there sooner. So at midnight, we left for Ft. Worth Texas, with directions to North Hills Hospital.

The trip from Mobile to Ft. Worth took a little over ten hours. I must admit that starting out, I had my doubts about being able to make it. We had been up all day, and leaving on a 600 mile trip at midnight, with no sleep, did not seem like a good idea. I under estimated the effect that adrenaline has on the body. The thought of our son lying in an intensive care unit, unconscious and on a respirator, gave us both an energy boost that literally made the trip possible. I did not get sleepy, and didn't feel very tired until the sun came up.

The night was clear, with a full moon that lit the landscape for miles around. The interstate was mostly deserted, and the drive actually seemed easy - in a physical sense at least. Mentally it was terrible. The drive time allowed for too much imagination, and not knowing any facts, it was hard to keep from thinking about what might be happening.

Finally around 4:00 AM we could stand it no longer, and called back to the ICU nurses station to see if Laura knew anything else. She had gone home to try and get some rest. We called the house. She picked up, and told us that he was quiet and resting under heavy sedation. The doctors suspected that he may have a touch of meningitis. They had done a spinal tap, and even though the fluid was clear, his symptoms suggested some infection of the covering around the brain. The news was not good, but at least we had something that could be treated. I felt a little better, but not much.

Shortly after dawn we stopped at a Waffle House, and had breakfast and coffee. Lots of coffee. I still felt pretty good, except for my eyes. They were sore, and red. Luckily the sun was coming up behind us, so at least it wasn't in my face for the remaining miles into Dallas. We still had about four hours to go. Adrenaline or not, I would not suggest you attempt a trip like this. By mid morning we were still awake, but very shaky. The world seemed foggy, with an unreal sort of feel to it, even though it was a normal sunny morning. I knew that fatigue was catching up to us, but we had to push on anyway. I intended to complete this mission, no matter what. Shirl had managed to take a couple cat naps, and I think she might have driven for an hour or so, but I am not sure about that. I really can't remember.
3
The Hospital

We arrived at North Hills Hospital around 10:30 am Monday morning. It is a small neighborhood hospital, not exactly old, but not new. It looked well maintained and clean, but did not fill us with confidence. It had the look of a place that would be your second, or maybe third choice of hospitals, if you had time to pick and choose.

As we entered the lobby, Laura and her friend Charlotte were coming out of the elevators on their way to pick up Laura's Mom and Grandmother at the airport. Everyone exchanged greetings and the latest news on Chad's condition.He was still sedated, and still on the breathing machine. Essentially no change, other than he was quiet and comfortable now.

Shirl and I went upstairs to see him. Even though I have seen people in the ICU before, it is a shock to see one of your children lying there with tubes and wires running every which way. It is obvious that he is unconscious, but also obvious that he can here us. When ever Shirl talks, you can see his eyes move behind the closed lids. Also, if you put your fingers in his hand, he will squeeze them, if you ask him to. The doctor says it’s only a reflex. So, now we wait.

Laura's Mom and Grandmother arrived just before lunch. We all went and ate in the cafeteria. After lunch, I left Shirl at the hospital, while I went out to Chad's house. I put our stuff in the spare room, and thought I'd try and get some rest. Linda and Nanna had decided to stay in a motel this trip, so I had the house to myself for a while.

I decided to lie down on the couch for a short nap. I had just closed my eyes, when the phone rang. I answered it, but no one was there. I laid back down. Again, rrrriinnng, it is the phone. This time there is a recorded message urging me to try a new carpet cleaning service. I hang up and lay back down. Once again I shut my eyes, only to hear the door bell. By the time I get there, and fumble with the key, whoever pushed the button had moved on. There is no one at the door. I go back to the couch. I think that now, I will surely get some peace. A few minutes later, I hear the front door knocker, tap,tap,tap. Now I am sure someone is there, and I hurry to the front door in an effort to catch the prankster before he disappears again. Much to my surprise there is actually a worker with a leather tool belt standing patiently at the front door. He is from the cable company responding to a trouble call that Mr. Bowers placed last week. He rang the bell a few minutes ago just to let someone know he was here, then went around the side of the house to check the main connection first. I tell him to come on in. He begins to unravel the rats nest of wires behind the TV, and soon discovers a bad connector. Which he fixes in short order. Now at least I will have TV. After the repair guy leaves I turn the set on to one of the home channels. I try once more for a short nap. Soon there came a tapping, as if someone gently rapping, rapping at my son's front door. I can't believe this. Once again I am foiled in my attempt at rest. I open the door, only to be set upon by the man from the security company. He has stopped by to show us how to use the alarm system. I try to tell him that it is not my house, and that my son is in the hospital. But he is persistent. I let him in.

"This will only take a few minutes, and you can show your daughter-in-law how to work it," he says. I am too tired and bleary eyed to argue, so I urge him to please get on with it. I pretend to listen as he goes through the motions of setting and clearing the alarm system. When he is done I assure him that I have no questions. Thank you for coming and all that. Finally, I am alone again with the couch. This time I think I actually got a minute or two of semi sleep before the phone rang again. It was Shirl, and she had the doctor with her. She wants me to talk with him. Unlike my other visitors, I actually want to talk with this guy.

Dr. Jones introduced himself, and then described Chad's condition. He has a massive staph infection in his blood stream that is affecting his entire system. The worst of which he describes as Endocarditus. It may be spelled wrong, but that's what it sounded like to me. Some of the bacteria have settled on, and partially destroyed one of Chad's heart valves. It is the Mitral Valve, and it is leaking. They are not sure if it is only from a build up of bacteria on the leaves of the valve, or if there is actually a hole the valve. They have taken cultures, and will know in 24 hours exactly what type of bacteria is infecting our boy. Until then they will continue to treat Chad with large doses of six different antibiotics, under the assumption that one of them will be effective. The doctor says that this can lead to liver, kidney, and even brain damage, if not brought under control. He is a very sick young man.

I am in total shock, and so is everybody else. I don't know what I expected, but not something this bad. This type of thing doesn't happen to my family. How could a young guy be reasonably healthy one week, and on deaths door the next. Hell, I didn't even know what to ask. I put the phone down, after mumbling something about thanks for calling to the Doctor.
I don't remember much else about that day. Somehow we all ended up at Chad and Laura's house that afternoon. I think we ate something there, before going back to the hospital that night. I finally went to bed and got some sleep around 10 P.M.

The next morning we were treated to a parade of doctors from just about all the specialties. There was a General Practitioner, who was actually the admitting doctor. A Pulmonary guy, who turned out to be the previous years "Doctor of the Year" winner at that hospital. A young girl who claimed to be a Cardiologist, but who looked more like a cheer leader. Actually she was very good, and became one of our favorites. There was an Infectious Disease guy, and a Neurologist, along with a never ending stream of respiratory people, pulse takers, and various noise makers of all types.

Over the next few days we talked with each one several times. If proved to be confusing, and aggravating. Each doctor would relate what he suspected, and what could happen next, at least from his perspective. The Cardiologist thought that Chad would need surgery to repair a heart valve. The Endocrinologist said that would not be a concern at all for now. The infection must be controlled before anything else is attempted. The pulmonary guy was concerned that the lungs could be damaged. The Neurologist was a nut case who reminded me of Groucho Marx in a doctor suit. He ranted on without looking at you, and seemed to take some gleeful satisfaction in relating that this infection could take twist and turns that no one could foresee. He waved his arms around, and was actually smiling, as he described what damage could be done to the brain. I called his office, and told them that I wanted another doctor assigned to Chad's care. They complied. Another Neurologist showed up the next day. He told us that there was no evidence of brain damage at this time. That's better !

Chad remained sedated, and on a respirator until Wensday afternoon. The drug that they were giving him was particularly effective against this strain of bacteria. His overall condition improved rapidly, once it began to work it's magic. Nearly four days of being unconscious ended when we saw him open his eyes and ask, "Mom, what are you doing here?" He thought it was still Sunday, and found it hard to believe that so much time had gone by, and that his parents were here.

Over the next few days in ICU, he continued to improve. But every doctor who came in seemed to want to mention the need for a heart operation. It had a bad effect on Chad, and on the rest of us for that matter. Whenever some doc mentioned a possible heart operation, Chad became agitated and worried. I could see his pulse rate go up on the monitor, and the fear in his eyes. Personally I didn't believe it. I refused to admit that it might actually be needed someday. I finally managed to get three of the docs cornered in the hallway one morning. I told them not to mention anything about heart operations, until they knew for sure that it was actually going to happen. Even one of the cardiologist had doubts about whether or not the bacteria would damage the valve, or just flake off , leaving the valve intact. His take was that it was too soon to tell, and not a big concern at this time. This guy became another one of our favorites. He was a young doctor, obviously of Indian decent, with a special gift of being able to put people at ease. His manner was just pleasant. He talked slower, perhaps because of his accent. It had a calming effect on everyone. We liked him. For the next couple of weeks I wouldn't let the subject of heart operations come up. I really expected my boy to beat this infection, and go home cured. Besides, my Indian friend said, "It would be foolish to operate at this time." The part I didn't listen to was - at this time.

For the next several weeks someone was at the hospital with Chad pretty much continuously. I think it was Thursday when they moved Chad from the ICU into a regular room. Shirl, (who by now knew every nurse and orderly in the place) had managed to get a recliner moved into the room. One of the chairs also converted into a spare bed. Somebody stayed each night. Not only to keep Chad company, but also to make sure that he received good care. Chad had experienced a very bad incident in the ICU one night, caused by a male nurse who didn't want to do his job. We had him replaced too. Overall, the nurses and orderlies were excellent. But you just can't take a chance anymore. Too much is at stake. One serious error can kill you. Hospitals are dangerous places. On Friday, Linda and Nanna flew back to Montgomery. Shirl and I stayed on. We had all settled into a routine of going back and forth between the hospital and Chad's house. Laura tried to work some each day, and come to the hospital at night. Then we would trade off.
On Sunday, one week after Chad was admitted, I went back to Mobile. Shirl remained in Ft. Worth for the next month or so. I can't remember the exact day, or even the week, that particular events happened. The whole experience seems like time spent in the Twilight Zone. However, I am guessing, that sometime during the second week Chad's knee began to hurt. It was swollen and hot. Now we needed a bone guy, sometimes called a knee and wallet man. Anyway, this guy decides that Chad needs an operation on his knee. He will scrape out the infection behind the kneecap, and repair any tendon or muscle damage caused by the infection. Unbelievable! It is beginning to look as if the crazy neurologist was right. This is taking twist and turns we had not anticipated. The knee operation is painful for a few days, but successful overall. Chad will have to walk with a cane for a couple weeks, but other than that, no big deal.
I am now back in Mobile, trying to run my little business. I keep in touch with the daily events in Ft. Worth by phone. Shirl is really upset about this knee thing. All I can do is tell her that everything will be OK. I am helpless to resolve any of this. After dinner each night I spend a lot of time on the phone, relaying whatever the latest news is to all the relatives. I call Shirl, or she calls me. Then I begin calling the rest of the world. This way we eliminate the aggravation of having all the relations calling the hospital room. Chad is still not able to talk well. We think his vocal cords were damaged during the four days he spent on a ventilator. This makes talking on the telephone very difficult for him. It is simply to tiring to talk to everybody who is concerned about how he is doing. He sounds like a man with permanent laryngitis.

Finally, sometime during the third week after the initial infection, Chad is sent home. Now he will have to contend with a wife, and a mom in the same house. Both dedicated to taking care of him. I am glad to be in Mobile.
4
The Girls

Shirl and Laura have a stressful relationship. Living so far apart, they have not had any time to form a bond with each other. Boundaries are undefined. Laura is maybe a little intimidated by Shirl's ability to get things done quickly and efficiently. Maybe a little self conscious and worried that she will be compared to Mom. Who knows? Shirl is aggravated by Laura's reluctance to accept help with anything, even when it is obvious that help is needed. Laura has diabetes, and it causes her to have weak spells, and mood changes that come on suddenly. All of this is aggravated by stress. The problem only gets worse as time goes on. Shirl is there around the clock. Laura is there at night after work, and comes home for lunch each day. Two women in the same house is never a good idea. Two women in the same house, sharing care giver duties, can become stressful in a hurry. Laura is jealous that "Mom" is there taking care of her husband. She obviously feels pushed out of what she sees as her rightful place. Shirl is continuously frustrated with Laura, because she does not want her help. Simple things, like an offer to make dinner, shop, or just clean the house, are met with negative responses. Even though it is obvious that Laura does not have the time, or the energy, to do all of these things. To try and stay out of the way, Shirl moved a small TV into the guest bedroom. She stayed in there by herself each night after dinner, so that Laura could have Chad to herself, while they watched TV in the den. No problem? Well, it was a problem, but Shirl just tried to ignore it. It was understandable that a new bride, in a new home, would feel a little put out by having her mother in law spend a month with her. All the while sharing in the care of her new husband. Hmnn, I am glad to be in Mobile.

Chad required intravenous antibiotics for four weeks after leaving the hospital. They fitted him with a permanent IV connection, and a pump that provided a continuous flow of the medication he needed. The pump had to be resupplied with a new bag every six hours or so. This went on day and night for weeks. It required that someone get up with Chad to help change the bag in the middle of the night. They girls developed a schedule that worked well. It is doubtful that one person could have done it alone.

Slowly but surely, Chad got better. The infectious decease man said that the blood cultures were almost clear. A couple more weeks of treatment should wind this up.

Almost six weeks after Chad went in the hospital, I drove back to Ft. Worth to pick up my wife. I left Mobile on Friday, stayed Saturday for a short visit with the kids, and we left for home Sunday morning, thinking that this nightmare was over.


5
We Wait

Every few days we would call Texas, and ask the same questions.
" How are you doing?"
" How's work?"
" Do you feel all right?"
" How's your knee?"
" What did the doctor say?"
"When do you go back to see him again?"

I am sure that both of the kids are tired of our constant concern, but we can't help it. Each time we get placated with responses designed to pretend that things are getting better. Each time we pretend to believe it. But in the back of our minds we know that things aren't quite right. You can here it in the way he breaths, and the lack of power in his voice. Something is wrong, and we suspect the worst, but pretend it isn’t so.

After finishing with the infection specialist, Chad had to return to the Cardiologist. It was time to see how his heart was doing after all the bacteria were eliminated from his body. Our cheer leader, Dr. Carla Lee, was happy to see him. She was not happy with the results of the echocardiogram. It showed that his Mitral Valve had a small hole in one of the leaves, causing a leak between the upper and lower chamber in the right side of his heart. This was the reason he remained a little out of breath, and did not have much stamina. He could work at his desk, and walk around in a store, but not do any prolonged physical activity without tiring quickly. Dr. Lee set up an appointment for Chad with Dr. Carter, a heart surgeon. This was scheduled for sometime around the first week in June.

The surgical team at Dr. Carter's office reviewed the charts, x-rays, and echo-grams. They examined him, and reached a conclusion. He would need surgery to repair or replace the valve. Although he could function now, it would only get worse with time. It was better to do this as soon as possible. Chad and Laura were shocked, scared, and disappointed. They had hoped that the leak would stop when the infection was cleared from the valve. It was not to be. There was a hole, and it wouldn't get better.

Friday night, June 7th, we receive another phone call. It is Chad and Laura, and they have something to tell us. I know immediately what it is, but keep quiet. We let Chad explain everything. The operation is scheduled for Friday, June 14th. They will not know whether the valve will be repaired, or replaced, until they get in there and look.

Shirl and I are both upset, mad, disappointed, shocked, all of the above. In the back of our minds we both knew this news was coming. However, when it is actually spoken out loud, it takes on a new reality. This was no longer a possibility. It was going to happen next Friday. We put on our best (not worried, this will be fine voice), and said we would be there to support them anyway we could. "Try not to worry", we said. Yea, right! After hanging up the phone, Shirl went in the bedroom and had a cry. I tried to console her for a few minutes, but there was nothing to say that would make it better. No way to relieve the pressure, or take away the fear. We both needed a little time to shift mental gears. Within an hour we were back in a planning mode. We would leave Wednesday for Texas. We would spend Thursday with Chad and Laura, then be at the hospital Friday morning.

We had previously decided, that when both sets of parents visit, we would alternate hotel stays. Since Laura's mother stayed in a motel last time, it would be our turn to stay at a hotel this time. Then when Linda (Laura’s mom) went home in a week or so, Shirl would move out to the house, and stay to help with Chad's recovery. I would go back to Mobile after a week like the last time. I got on the internet, and did a search for hotel / motel rooms close to Harris HEB Hospital. I found a place called "Studio Plus", that had a very good weekly rate. The rooms were all mini apartments, with a queen bed, couch and recliner, table and desk work area, and an equipped kitchen and bath. This all came for about half the price of a hotel room. I made reservations for two weeks, and felt good about having our plan in place. Plan your work, and work your plan I always say. I am somewhat compulsive about plans and lists.


6
Back to Fort Worth

I am getting to know this drive by heart. It is a sad stretch of road. The reason for the trip put a negative bias on everything, and the road itself offers no incentives to feel good about traveling. Most of the trip lacks any scenery worth looking at. The land is flat and boring. Whether you take I-10 across southern Louisiana, or follow I-20 from Jackson Mississippi west, it is an uninspiring drive, made even worse if you have done it several times already in the last few months.

We arrive about 6:00 PM Wed. afternoon, and check into our suite at Studio Plus. It is really quite nice. The unit has a bedroom area with two end tables and lamps, a couch and recliner grouped around the TV, a separate kitchen area, and a bath. The kitchen is fully equipped, and we have two phones. This is really a good deal, and it is almost across the street from the hospital.

After settling in and unpacking, we call Chad and Laura. They were at home, waiting on the relatives. We made plans to be out there around 7:30PM. At the appropriate time we head out, and spend the evening with them. Well, not the evening, just an hour or so. Everyone has had a long day, so around 9:00 PM we head back to the apartment, and get something to eat at a nearby "Whataburger." We did not eat prior to our visit, and Chad and Laura had already eaten. Now, it was too late for a regular meal. I hate to eat late, but there is no choice. This will make for a good nights sleep, I 'm sure.

The next day we go back out to the kids house. We hang around for a while, talk for a while, and go to a few stores to kill time for a while. I think we hit Target, and Lowes, and definitely visit the local Bombay Outlet.

We also go to the hospital with Chad and Laura to get the pre-surgery overview on what to expect the next day. We get the full treatment. We visit the ICU, and meet the nurses that will be taking care of our boy. We hear all the details about who will do what, where and when. OK, now we are prepped and ready. This can't be real, is played over and over in my mind like a broken record. Thirty year old children should not have heart operations! It’s wrong.
By late afternoon, we are all back at the house. Now we all make small talk, and pretend everything is ok. The real reason for our visit is virtually off limits. We talk about everything but the elephant in the room. After 6 PM slips by with no mention of dinner, I begin to wonder what the plan is. Knowing that Laura is not up to preparing dinner for six, I suggest that we go out, or bring something back. It is a reasonable idea, but Laura prefers that she and Chad stay home. So James, Linda, Shirl and I (the parents), head out for some dinner before it gets too late. We actually have a pleasant time. Laura's parents are good company, and easy to talk to. We have a lot in common, and share the same concerns for the kids. I keep saying "kids". The truth is, they are grown. Chad is 30 years old. However, both sets of parents think of them, and refer to them as, "The Children." Rightfully so I think.

We return to the house, talk, watch some TV, and leave again around 9:00 PM. This time we make plans to meet at the hospital at 6:00 AM. That is when they will take Chad in to do the prep required prior heart surgery.

That night, back at the apartment, we watch some TV and talk very little. There is nothing to say that can make this any easier. We set the clock for 4:45 am, and go to bed. Although we are tired, we wake up every hour and look at the clock. Our minds are too keyed up to allow for good sound sleep. We are both awake at 4:30 am, stealing glances at the bedside clock, waiting for its signal to get up. It is as if some unwritten law makes it wrong to get up prior to the alarm actually sounding. Finally I get out of bed and punch the start button on the coffee-maker. So it begins.

7
Another Hospital

We arrive at the hospital just prior to 6:00 am. Chad and Laura are not there yet. We sit down to wait, and in a few minutes see Chad, Laura, and Linda walking down the empty hallway. James is parking the car. The kids look tired, and stressed. Everyone sits down and makes small talk, as if by consent we have elected not to mention the heart operation soon to take place. It is spooky. The main topic of conversation seems to be the temperature in the building. Simply put, it is freezing. I normally like my environment on the cool side, but this is uncomfortable even for me. There would be no concern about food spoiling in here. I speculate that a bag full of burgers would last almost forever.

A nurse was coming our way, with the air of a person on a mission. She is coming to collect our son, and there is no way to stop this train now. With a feeling of disbelief, we sit and watch, as our son and his wife disappear down the hallway with the anonymous nurse. Now there is silence in the waiting area. We are alone with our thoughts, and afraid to express them aloud. I hate this!

It seems only a short time later when another nurse appears, advising that we may wait with Chad in his pre-op room. She takes us there, which proves to be a tour of sorts. We turn left, go down a hall, then right, only to face a hall that looks to be half a mile long. We walk, and walk, and pass what seems to be an endless supply of empty rooms. At the very end of the hall, our boy is firmly tucked in bed, in the last room they could have selected. My first thought was, "What was wrong with all those empty rooms we passed in order to reach this point?" Surely one of them would have been satisfactory for as brief a visit as this was going to be. It reminds me of some motels I have checked into. Even though you arrive early, they put you on the second floor, at the end of the hall. The parking lot was empty, so why do they assign me to the room farthest from anything? Like this hospital staging room, it makes no sense, yet I resist the obvious comment. There is no point in it. I am tilting at windmills.

We visit a while. Chad is in good spirits it seems, or else it is a great act. He seems calmer than the rest of us, and I think that he is probably ready for us to leave, so they can get on with this thing. The waiting, and the idle chatter about nothing, is getting to me too. I want to scream at these people. "Don't you know that he could die? Why are you asking him about the damn cat, for God's sake?" I am seething on the inside. Mad at everything, and nothing in particular. Yet, I keep externally cool. I maintain that aloof (this is no problem) composure, that I am famous for. It is expected of fathers, and I must stay in character. I feel that somehow it is important to exhibit a kind of stoic strength. I cannot let down now. The kid needs to see that "Pop" is not worried. I do my best, as does the entire troop.

The nurse is back, with two bozo's and a gurney. They are ready to take him to the operating room. With no effort at all, no fanfare, they have Chad on the stretcher, and out the door. The whole gang walks back up the long hall, until we reach a point where the stretcher bearers turn left, and we are directed to turn right. The moms are crying, Laura gets one final hug, and I am giving my son a "thumbs up" sign, as he is wheeled away. This really sucks.


8
The Wait

We are directed to the surgical waiting room, which by now has quite a few people in it. I head for the free coffee, and pick up a magazine. I am trying to act as if I am waiting on someone to have a mole removed. Shortly after arriving I check in with the volunteer at the patient info desk. I tell her who we are, and who we are waiting for. The lady informs us that we may wait in a special waiting area downstairs, set aside just for relatives of heart patients. I suppose that is to keep all the crying and wailing out of public view if something goes wrong. How nice. So, we pack up the gear, and head downstairs. Actually we take the elevator, not knowing at all where the stairs might be. The waiting area has two couches, and four chairs, and is centered in a large lobby with essentially nothing else in it but a small table and a phone. A corridor leads off to the right, which we learn later, goes directly to the cafeteria. Very handy. Now we wait.

The surgeon promised that someone would call when they started the operation, and again when they had access to the heart valve. This was obviously to let us know how things were going, and also whether or not the valve would be repaired, or replaced. The operation was scheduled to start at 7:30 am. As you might expect, the appointed hour came and went with no word from the operating room. I truly hate it when people don't do what they say they will do. By 8:15 am, I am becoming agitated. I am sure they must have started by now. But what if they hadn't? We are expecting the operation to take about four hours. Is it to be four hours from 7:30 am, or four hours from 8:30 am? That last hour could be hell, if you didn't know that they got started late. Don't these people understand the concern, the stress that family members go through? Don't they care? I think not. I can't wait any longer. I tell everyone that I am going upstairs to check with our candy-stripper. Maybe she has a line to the operating room, or something. Besides, I need to get up and move around. I tell Laura and the moms that I am going to find out what the hold up is, and head for the elevator. Damn, I hate this.

The old lady on the desk is very nice, and informs me that, yes, she can check on it, with someone off in the magic kingdom. She didn't actually put it that way, but I forget what she actually said. I was somewhat spaced out. In short order she has the answer. "They just started." Yea right. I am thinking that this is a standard line they give to every pain in the butt who asks about the goings on in the operating room. I thank her anyway, and decide to call the grand-parents in Grove Hill. I also have to call Tony and Ann(son and daughter in law). So I find a bank of phones, and get out the credit card. I am much better at dealing with crisis, when I feel that I am useful and have a mission to accomplish. If you need something done, I am your guy. Just don't ask me to sit and wait. I make the calls, and everyone is glad to hear from me, and full of confidence that all we be well. I agree with them, but the worry remains all the same. It is time to go back down to the lower level. The girls are still there (as if anyone dares to move). I inform them that the operation just started at 8:15, so it will be a little later than we expected before we hear anything. Now we wait some more. Linda and Laura decide to head down to the cafeteria. Laura needs to eat regularly to keep her blood sugar regulated, and it is time for a snack. We don't need another child down, that's for sure. We wait some more.

I guess it was around 10:30 am when the phone rang. Laura jumped up, and ran for it. We all put our magazines down, and tried to listen as inconspicuously as possible. She said, "Yes, ok, yes I see. Uh huh, O, that's great. Right, we'll be right here. Ok. Thank you."

As she walked back to the circle of chairs and couches, I could see that she was happy, and relieved. The news was obviously good. Now we just had to let her tell it. I am all ears as she begins. "The doctor said that Chad was doing great. They repaired the valve, and were just watching it for a while, before they closed the chest. In another hour or so, it should be over." We are all so incredibly happy, and worn out at the same time. I feel mentally better, but now I realize that I am physically deflated. It is like someone let the air out. I need some coffee, I need to make some phone calls, I need some relief.

I head back upstairs, and spend the next twenty minutes on the phone. Everyone at home can quit watching the clock, and go back about their business. I promise to call again later, hopefully after Chad is awake.

We still have to wait for the operation to be really over. It was well over an hour before they operating room nurse called again, and said that we could proceed to the second floor ICU waiting room. They were bringing Chad up in a few minutes. We would be able to see him after they finished setting up all the high tech stuff in the room that he would be connected to.
Finally, just after noon, we are led into the ICU. The room is freezing. The doctor is there, and he is all smiles. Everybody seems very up. If it is an act, it is a good one. Dr. Carter makes everyone feel better immediately. Everything went well. The heart even started on it's own without being shocked. Couldn't be better. Chad is semi conscious already. He opens his eyes with flashes of recognition, then closes them again for several more minutes. Each time he spends more time looking around, almost aware of what's going on, then out again. We ask him if he can hear us, he shakes his head yes. I tell him to squeeze my hand, and he does it. Even with his eyes closed he knows what is going on. By now, I am familiar with all the monitors, and understand what the squiggley lines mean. It looks good to me. Heart rate in the seventies, temp just a little elevated, blood pressure normal, breathing around 16 times a minute, with good pressure. He is already overpowering the respirator. It will stay in for a few more hours, but it is not actually needed. For the first time in weeks, I feel the heavy hand of anxiety lifting from me. Time for lunch. ( I have never been so worried that I couldn’t eat )

Shirl and I head back to our little apartment. We make sandwiches and eat lunch watching some home show on the tube. After lunch Shirl makes some more calls, and then we both take a short nap. Actually it was a long nap. When I wake up and look at the clock, it is pushing 4 PM. It is almost visiting time in the ICU. We freshen up and head back to the hospital. A quick turn under the interstate, and a few blocks down the service road and we are there. Our location is great.

9
Recovery

The ICU keeps regular hours and we try to follow the rules. They prefer no more than two people at a time back there, so we trade off during visiting hours. Shirl and I usually get there just as visiting hours start, because we are so close. We go in and visit a while, then go out and sit, while Laura and her mom, or dad go back to see the boy. It develops into a smoothly functioning routine, executed several times a day. Morning, afternoon, and night, we make all three periods everyday.

This first visit after surgery is special. We ride the elevator up with great anticipation, and no small amount of fear that he will not be awake, or that something will have gone wrong since we were here only a few hours ago. It must be OK, we didn't get any phone calls. Unspoken thoughts. Unspoken fears.

We hit the button on the wall, and walk through the opening double doors of the ICU. As we enter the door to Chad's room, we see that he has his eyes open, and has his bed slightly elevated. The breathing tube is still in his mouth, so he can't talk yet, but he half raises his arm in greeting. There is a light in his eyes, that transmits a signal of well being. This is much better than the last time he was in ICU. I am not a doc, but I know that this is a good sign. We visit a while, and communicate with yes or no questions that can be responded to with a gentle head movements.

Chad, does it hurt? This results in a slight side to side motion, indicating a no. Somehow I doubt that response, but then again he is still pretty medicated, so maybe he doesn't feel it yet. He looks good, and only shows signs of discomfort when he coughs. They have provided him with a medium sized stuffed bear to be hugged tightly against his breast bone whenever he has to cough. This, we are told, helps prevent damage to the incision, and helps the breast bone to knit back together sooner. The beeps, clicks, bubbling and sucking sounds of the equipment is distracting. There seems to be something connected at every point that you could possibly connect something to the human body. Even his feet are covered with pressurized stockings that extend nearly to his knees. About once a minute they inflate with a noticeable click, and then the sound of air being compressed. The socks constrict, and after a few seconds deflate with the hissing sound of escaping air flow. On the floor are two gurgling devices that seem to be half full of watery looking bloody fluid coming from tubes in his chest. The doctor says it's normal. Doesn't look like my idea of normal, but here I am out of my element. I am at the mercy of people who seem to know what they are doing. I shake my head in mock understanding as different nurses come and go. Each in turn answers a different question from one of our group. It seems the timing of their visits neatly coincides with our ability to think of something else to be concerned about. It works out nicely. It is obvious that our guy is still very drugged, and very tired. He naps for five and ten minute intervals, then opens his eyes and responds to his surroundings, then he is out again. His eyes are closed, and I am standing next to the bed holding his left hand. I tell him we are going to leave, but will be back about 8:30 PM for the last visit of the day. He squeezes my hand, and we leave.

Walking back to the elevator, the sense of relief, and pleasure at the positive outcome to all of this is over- powering. We are so happy that this day is over. That this operation didn't kill our boy. That he is going to be all right. That maybe we will sleep tonight. We don't say much, don't have to. The thought we share is that the worst of this is over. After the emotional coaster we have survived, that rest should be easy. We go to dinner, but I don't remember where.
When we return for the 8:30 PM visit, the vent tube has been removed, and he has his bed up a little higher. This is better than we had hoped for. Shirl's first question is, "Can you talk?" Chad responds in a loud clear voice. Much different than the last time he came off a ventilator. The voice is normal. The heart beat is normal, the breathing is normal, and he has had some fluid and jello. My eyes tear up a little, but I deftly adjust my glasses allowing for a quick eye wipe, without letting on that this has beat me up emotionally. Dads don't do visible eye wipes. Hey buddy, how ya doing?

We visit for a few minutes, and go out. Laura and her mom go in. During each visit for the next several days, we usually get there first, spend 15 minutes or so with our guy, then go sit in the waiting room reading mags and drinking the free coffee. Then towards the end of the visiting hours we go back in for another ten minutes or so. It is only right that Laura sit with Chad for most of the visiting period. We make a real effort not to be in the way. Plus, he is more at ease with his wife, and not so inclined to put on a good show for Mom and Pop. No matter how old boys get, they never get over trying to impress their parents. With his wife, he can go to sleep and just rest. With us, I get the feeling that he tries to put up a good front, so as not to disappoint. This is more so with fathers, than mothers. Boys don't want dad to think them weak or in need of help. They continue (even as adults) to solicit dad's approval. Even after a heart operation. We keep our visits short.

The next few days go quickly. We have a routine. Get up, eat, go to the hospital. Leave for lunch, go back for the 3:30 PM visit, stay until Chad gets his dinner tray, go have supper. Then we come back for the 8:30 PM visit. In between visits and meals, we go to the mall, shop for groceries, visit furniture galleries, and even get in a little touring. Not much, but a little. We visit the Home Depot Expo store several times, and drive out to Gravevine. We also manage to visit a Southern Living Showcase house. Didn't like it, but it was something to do.

Chad is moved into a regular room in the cardiac wing on Sunday. The whole wing is new, and they have all the latest gadgets. The nurses are good, the food ain't bad, and the furnishings are comfortable. The place has a good feel about it.

He is sore, and it hurts him when he coughs, but other than that he seems in good spirits, and happy. The specialties all visit a couple times per day. The pulse takers and pill pushers start the day, followed by the respiratory people. Then rehab comes in and takes Chad for his morning walk. He is not allowed to walk alone yet. During the day at no particular intervals, we are treated to an ever changing stream of doctors. All of these guys seem to be part of a team. You rarely see the same one more than two days in a row. Regardless of what they specialize in, they all listen, tap, go through the, "How ya doing bit," and make notations on the stack of papers clipped to the chart. Dr. Paramundi, seems to be the most caring, and patient one of the bunch. He takes the time to explain what is happening, and what is likely to happen tomorrow, without being asked too. Most of the others seem a bit hurried. Competent enough for sure, but ready to move on as quickly as possible.

Chad walks well now, and can make it up and back the entire length of the hallway. He is allowed to walk on his own, but we always have someone there with him, so he doesn't get much chance to wander around without one of us in tow. The reports from the doctors are all good. His lungs are clear, he has no infection, and he eats well. He can move around without assistance, if we would let him. Dr. Carter thinks he will go home Thursday morning, or maybe even Wednesday afternoon. Shirl and I can't believe it. Less than a week after major heart surgery, and he can go home. Somehow, it doesn't feel right. I am no doc, but it seems to me that he is more out of breath walking the hallway now, than when we started our walks a few days ago. It must be just parental worries, all the docs say he is ready to go. What do I know?

At this point, I must admit that I don't remember if it was Wed., or Thurs., when he was allowed to leave the hospital. Whenever it was, I thought it was too early. I think that is because as parents we still have doubts about our offspring's ability to care for themselves when they are well. I am sure of their incompetence when they are sick. I miss the days when I could by edict, direct them to do what needs doing. Now that they are adults, we are forced to watch our children stumble through the day without the benefit of good direction. I have talked with other parents about this, and find it to be universally true. The kids have no clue. Hell they don't even eat dinner the same time everyday. What is to become of them?

Anyway, as sure as we are that they need help, Laura is sure that they don't. She will take Chad home by herself in her car, and we can come out to the house after they get settled. Her mom would also like to drive them, but Laura and Chad are intent on doing it themselves. Maybe they can. Leaving the hospital is not really too complicated. They do know the way. Well, ok, do it yourself. Shirl and I leave the hospital and head back to our little apartment. We are glad this is over, and we began contemplating that we can both go home this weekend. It looks like they will be fine. Chad can move around by himself, and unlike last time, needs no complicated medical pumps and procedures. Just pills at various intervals. They might be able to handle it after all. Maybe.

We go out to the house later that afternoon, and all is well. Chad is settled on the couch, has his video race game working, and looks for all the world like a normal person in PJ's. Except for the ever present huggy bear companion, you would not suspect that he just had heart surgery. We have to warn him to move slowly. Each time he gets up, two moms and a wife, all crying in unison, "Slow down, don't forget your bear, let us get that." I can see where all this help could be a real pain in the butt. I remember when I had my gall bladder out back in 79. I deliberately snuck into the hospital the day after Christmas, and took vacation time through New Years, just to keep everybody in the dark about what I was doing, until I felt strong enough to deal with people. I suspect that Chad and Laura are probably ready for both sets of parents to leave. I would be. We are planning on going home Saturday. I am ready to be done with this too.
Friday, and we are somewhat concerned. Chad is bloated, and he says his chest is heavy. Two days out of the hospital, and he has gained ten pounds. It is not possible to eat that much. I tell him to increase his Lasik. (water pill). My dad took them for years, and I know the symptoms. They won't do it without talking to the doctor. All right, call him now. We do, and the diagnosis is as I suspected. Water retention, so increase the Lasik. What a surprise! A new prescription is called in, and we go to pick it up. While in Walgreens, I spot a digital scale, and buy it. Water retention can be real trouble for a heart patient. I tell Chad to weigh himself often, and let the doc know if he gains more than a pound or so. You cannot let the fluid build up. The next day he had lost most of it, and was almost back to normal. We decided to leave on Sunday. James and Linda left Saturday morning. We will hang around today, and go home tomorrow. With the fluid under control, his breathing is much better. They should be OK.

The remainder of Saturday is uneventful. I think that we cooked something on the grill, and watched a little TV. In no time it was dark, then past nine o'clock, and approaching that time when everyone knows it is time to go. We don't want to go, and leave them alone in Texas, but we have too. We all have our lives to lead, and this little episode looks to be about over. After a prolonged hug and good bye session, we are out the door and on our way back to the little rented apartment. After a half mile of crying, Shirl begins to settle down. She is soon talking about the trip home, and looking forward to seeing her big fat cat. (We have a 16lb cat named Millie) We found out on a recent vet visit that Millie is a Willie. But that is another story.
The next morning we are up early, and away from the hotel by 5:30 AM. Before 7:00 AM we are on the east side of Dallas streaking toward Mobile. No matter where I go, I always look forward to getting back in Alabama. The rest of the country can say what they will about it, but those of us that actually live here, know it is a fine place. I will be very glad to be home, and very glad this ordeal is over.

11
Maybe Not

Remember the previous mention of my friend Murphy? It appears he was not done with us yet.
After getting back in our daily routine, we called to check on Chad and Laura no less than three times per week. I told my wife that she was making a pest of herself, but she was determined to see how he was doing every other day. I operate under the premise that no news is good news. That, however, is not good enough for mom. She has to hear him say it's ok, live and in person. Each conversation is the same.

"How do you feel? Is the fluid building up? What did the doctor say? When do you go back to see the cardiologist? Is the blood thinner working? It sounds like you are coughing more now. Does your chest hurt? No really, how do you feel?"

I am sure that the kids are sick of it, but it turns out that mom had reason to be suspicious. After a couple weeks, we began to detect a weakness in Chad's voice. A breathless quality to his speech, like he is not getting enough air. They have increased his Lasik dose, but he admits that he is feeling that full feeling again. Shirl says he doesn't sound right.

Three weeks and it is obvious, he is not getting better. Damn, this is not going the way we planned. We had visions of him working in the yard, and taking long brisk walks by now. Instead, short walks tire him out, and he coughs way too much. It is Sunday, and he is to see the cardiologist again Tuesday, for an echocardiogram. Picture taking time.

Tuesday night we get the phone call. The valve is leaking, the repair did not work. This explains the fluid build up, the coughing, trying to keep the lungs clear, the weakness. We are back at square one. He will have to see the surgeon again for a consult, but there can be only one out come to this. The operation will have to be done over, and this time the valve will be replaced. Should of done that the first time. Who knew?

After seeing the surgeon, it is decided that the surgery will be done on June 14th., Flag Day. It is a little over a week away. Here we go again. The dispair we feel is crushing. It presses down on us, and envelopes us like a heavy fog . I can't stand the thought of that kid having his chest ripped open again, and his heart cut and sewn on - again. It is too much, way too much. Emotionally I feel that we can't do this, they can't do this. None of us can stand it again. Especially my son. Imagine, two heart operations a month or so apart. I feel so bad for my kid. Rationally, I know that we will do what is necessary, no matter what. Emotionally it is a killer.
After the initial shock runs it course, and the denials, accusations and finger pointing is exhausted, we get down to planning our trip. Once again, mom and pop will be heading to the metroplex of Dallas / Ft. Worth. According to plan, it is our turn to stay at the house, and for Laura's folks to go the hotel route.

We decide that we actually prefer the little studio apartment. It is just so convenient to the hospital, and so nice to have your own kitchen, TV, and recliner, and most of all some privacy. A few days as a guest in someone's home is fine. But for an extended stay, you can't beat separate living arrangements. Besides, the last few visits have resulted in too many strained moments between the girls. Mom wants to cook something, and Laura doesn't want anyone moving things around in her kitchen. We get up early, they like to sleep late. I want to stay up and watch TV, they turn in around ten. We like to eat supper sometime around six, they might let eight o'clock slide by, and never mention what the plan is for food. You hate to say, "Hey, how about somebody cook something." No, it's better if we stay in our own place. Plus, Laura should have her mom with her. The health situation is stressful enough without your mother in law under foot.

12
Again

We arrive at our little studio apartment around six o'clock. We have this drive down to ten and half hours. That seems to be about the best you can do, providing you stay reasonably close to the speed limit. I do. If the sign indicates 70 mph, I set the cruise at 75. At that speed I can count on lots of folks passing me, and making a target of themselves. Those doing 80 plus, become my personal insurance that I will not be stopped. I appreciate it.

I think they gave us the same room as last time. If not, it is very close to it. Shirl says it is not the same one. I have my doubts, but let it pass.

We unpack, and then head to the kids house. This time Linda has driven out by herself in a new Toyota Camry. Very nice, light green, four door, good looking car. We are all standing around on the driveway, saying hello's, giving out hugs all around, and once again trying to put a positive feel on this get-together. If only it was for a birthday or something, but no, it is for another operation.

Chad is much worse than the last time we saw him. This time he looks somewhat pale, and literally has to cough after speaking a sentence or two. It is painful to watch. With each cough, I hope that it will be the one to finally clear his throat, to finally bring up the fluid. But, it doesn't. The lasik and the coughing, can't quite keep up with the hearts inability to clear his lungs. This time we all realize that the operation is really needed. Even Chad is ready to go in. The fact that it is the second time, no longer matters so much, this has to be done. The sooner the better.
Friday morning, and it's deja vue all over again. Here I sit in the same chair, in the same hospital, in the same waiting room, waiting on the same son, to do the same thing. It is just as cold, and unreal as before. It is 6:05 AM. I see them coming down the hallway, so Shirl and I stand up, and go to meet them. Again, hugs all around. We are more experienced at this now, and the girls have all brought blanket throws to wrap up in. They also have books, magazines, knitting tools, craft patterns for something or other, and various snacks, all stuffed in a couple of large tote bags. I have a book, and my wallet. Maybe they will give me a cookie later if I look pitiful enough.

The routine is the same. We wait, the nurse comes and takes Chad to a room. We go down there and fill the air with positive platitudes, and everyone pretends not to be upset. All except Shirl that is. My wife is not good at deception, and has no use for hiding her feelings. If she is upset, or doesn't feel good, or just doesn't care for your shirt, you will know it. This time is no exception. She says very little, but the tears, and the look, let you know that she is very worried, very upset, and not just a little mad at the whole deal. My reinforcement of the positive is of no use. The misery associated with all of this is just to good to let pass, without savoring every second of it. I am convinced that some people actually thrive on situations that allow them to wallow in depression. They refuse to see any positive outcome, and wrap themselves in a barrier of negative energy. Then they feed on it. The women in my wife's family (bless em all) are very much like that. Except Nanny, who could handle any train wreck that came along. The rest love to cry and ring their hands, fully expecting the sky to fall. I give her a look and a head nod, that says, "Straighten up." It does no good, but I feel better.

All too soon they come and take our son away. We watch him roll down the hall, and the crying starts in earnest. I really am not that worried about the operation itself. It's the week after that concerns me. I know that they can keep you alive with the machines during the operation. It is when you get off all the hook-ups, that it falls on the patient to survive and get well. This time he will have a more difficult recovery due to the fluid build up already present. He didn't have that problem last time.

Once again we head for the heart surgery waiting area. We have it all to ourselves, and we each take a compass position around a small coffee table covered with magazines, and hospital literature. Let the reading begin.

Somewhere in all of this we received word that Laura's dad, "James," was taken to the hospital, and would be undergoing a catheterization this morning, at the same time as Chad's operation. Now dammit, this is too much. Now there are three women, all with either a husband, or a son, undergoing a heart procedure, on the same day. The tension in the waiting area is too thick for me. A good med tech could read the hormone level in there without any blood tests. I head upstairs to make some calls, get some coffee, and generally de-stress as best I can. Sitting there doing nothing , well I just have to move around, that's all. As I said before, give me a mission and I can do anything. Don't ask me to sit and let events unfold by themselves. I need to be in control.

I stay gone for perhaps twenty minutes or so, and head back down to the waiting area. As the elevators doors open, I hear my wife in a heated discussion with Laura. Oh,oh, this can't be good. She is saying something like, "Let me tell you one thing, as long as I think Chad needs me, I'll stay and take care of him, regardless of what you think." She had previously let it be known that she would stay at the house, and help care for Chad after he left the hospital.
Laura responds by telling Shirl, "We don't need you there. I love him enough to care for him, without your help." Shirl continues with, "You don't love him as much as I do. You have no idea what it's like to be a mother. You don't even cook for him, how can you take care of him?"
Laura comes right back with, "I love him more than you do! We don't need your help." I expect to hear, "Oh yea, well you're one too." But it doesn't happen.

Linda is quiet, and I am sure like me, cannot believe what she is hearing. These two women are obviously stressed out, and with hormones running wild, they are attacking each other. I suppose because they have no other outlet. I get quiet, and reserved in times of high stress, my wife lets it out.

I am disappointed in my behavior during this, as I said nothing. I should have told them both to stop and think about what they are saying, and how it is just the anger and frustration of the situation talking. Then like small children on the playground, have them shake hands, and make up. Instead, I didn't even stop at the chairs, I kept walking right past them, and went out the back door into the parking lot. I stayed there awhile, afraid that what had been said, would have a permanent effect on our two family's overall relationship. It was too late to undo it. The dogs had been let out, and could not be called back. In hindsight, it had to happen. But right then it seemed an impossible hurdle to get over.

Finally I went back inside, and all was quiet. The war was over, but the air was still thick with the echoes of the battle. Everyone sat quietly, and read their books. Once again, civilized behavior demanded that certain rituals be observed. Linda did comment that she didn't think that any of that was necessary. Of course she was right.

Another hour must have passed, maybe two, when the phone finally rang. Laura jumped for it, and once again we could tell that the news was good. Her face lit up, and after another series of OK's and head nods, we knew that the worst was over. They had replaced the damaged valve, with a new titanium (never need another) valve. They would have Chad in ICU in thirty minutes, and we were to go up there.

The truth is, I don't remember when we learned of James need for an operation. I am writing this one year after the fact. However, I think it was later that day when we were in the ICU waiting room. Linda got word that James would need a triple bypass to correct blocked arteries. My God, will this never end? She flew home, either that night, or the next morning to be with her husband. I thought then, that if anyone wrote this up, no one would believe it. Now Laura has a husband and a dad in the hospital with heart problems at the same time. Little wonder nerves have been on edge.

13
Recovery

We sat in the ICU waiting room for an hour, after we were told that Chad would be up there in thirty minutes. For those of you planning a trip to the hospital, you need to get this through your head. They have no concept of time. They also have no concern for the worry they cause by not giving out accurate information. You see, I operate by simple rules of behavior. If I tell someone that I'll be there in thirty minutes, you can count of it. If for some reason I am going to be late, I'll call you. Not at the hospital. While we waited, I began to feel this dread that something had gone terribly wrong. When I went back to the ICU nurses station and asked if my son had been brought up yet, the answer was, "No, not yet, but we're expecting him." I should hope so. I am expecting him too. I expected him thirty minutes ago. Having serious doubts that a kidnapping had occurred, I could only assume that something had gone wrong with the surgery. I asked what the delay was, and the little girl in the flowery uniform behind the desk said she did not know. She volunteered no additional clarification. Damn, do I have to ask for everything. I try again. "Miss, could you call down to surgery, and see if maybe they lost their way trying to reach this floor?" I get a look that says I am being a pain, but she reaches for the phone anyway. As she is dialing someone in never land, the double doors open, and my son is wheeled in. He is accompanied by an entourage usually reserved for heads of state. Actually it was the doc, a nurse, two cart pushers, and two other guys who just happened to be coming in at the same time. I am relieved, he is covered up with tubes, wires, and beepers and bags of all kinds, but to me he looks great. About that time a very determined and competent looking nurse asks me to please wait outside until they get him hooked up to all the gear in ICU. I can take a hint, and head outside to tell the girls that he is actually up here, and looking pretty good. We never did find out what took so long. I suspect that the cart pushers were probably at lunch, and the union wouldn't let anybody else roll a Gurney upstairs.

After another thirty minutes the nurse signals that we can go in to see him. We make sure that Laura goes first. I am a stickler for protocol. This again is very much like the last time. The surgeon is there, and he is very pleased with himself, and with the operation. "Everything went great," said the illustrious doc. "We replaced the valve, and it should last a lifetime, and then some." I am thinking to myself, "Why didn't you do that last month?" Then none of us would be here again. But I keep quiet. No use to spoil a fine moment like this with the truth. Chad is not awake yet, and it will probably be several hours before he is really aware of his surroundings. We all stand around and watch him sleep, and listen to the sounds of intensive care. Whooshing air and a clicking sound from the left, beeps and squiggley lines from behind him. A constant gurgle from the foot of the bed, and the sound of a small air compressor hissing air from around his feet and lower legs. Every-now and then, an alarm sounds and some nurse comes on the run, only to find that a tube is crimped, or a lead has come off. A readjustment, a look at the dials, and she is gone.

This is just awful. Very likely the worst thing I have ever had to endure. Basic training was emotionally and physically tough. But this is worse. I had an operation once back in 79, but I was drugged, and out of my head for a couple days. My memory of it seems less real, and therefore less severe. This is different. I am awake, and this is my kid. We have to endure this day after day, fully conscious, fully aware of every twitch, every grimace, every pain our son has to struggle through. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. I want him to wake up, smile, say everything is fine, and go home. If I could just trade places, do something.

We leave. Once again it is time to eat. Lunch is at the deli a couple of blocks from the hospital. They have large sandwiches just stuffed with meat, that remind me of my early years in the northeast. No place can quite measure up to an old fashioned New York Jewish Deli, but this place does a good imitation. After a good sandwich we head back to our rental, and realize soon after sitting down how sapped we are. The emotional high has worn off, and fatique resumes control. My intent is to watch "This Old House", but it seems reasonable to close my eyes, just for a minute. Somehow it is 4:30 PM. If you were to ask me if I actually went to sleep, I would say no. I just closed my eyes for a minute or two. Consciousness is a strange thing, as is time, and the sense of it. The afternoon is gone, and it is time to go back to the hospital. "Shirl, wake up." She is on the couch, also just resting her eyes for a minute or two.

We go back up to ICU, and since visiting hours have started, we go right in. He is awake, and has the bed tilted up very slightly. The breathing tube is still in, so he can't talk, but he makes a weak but definite thumbs up sign. The nurse said he will come off the vent before dinner. He is actually breathing on his own, but they want to see the back pressure reading on the air machine a little higher before they take the tube out.

Ah yes, dinner. I believe the Bill-of-Fare after surgery will be bullion, with a green jello chaser. We stay only ten minutes or so, and leave when Laura comes in, to give them some privacy. We take our usual spot in the waiting room, and hit the books one more time. After a while Laura comes out, and says they are doing some procedure. After that they are going to remove the air tube. In other words, everybody out. Laura is in good spirits, and everyone pretends that the blowup this morning never happened. It is ignored, and replaced with an air of exagerated politeness all around. Fine with me.

We wait another thirty minutes or so, and then decide to go back in, and see what's what. As we round the corner and get sight of his cubicle, we see that the curtains are still drawn. Which means that the nurses are still in there. Back to the waiting room for us. The talk centers around how this recovery will be. After all, we are experinced heart people now, having gone through all this just a little over a month ago. The main topic at the moment is about his vocal cords. Will the problem from his first time on a ventilator return, and cause him to loose his voice for a week or two. Our diagnosis is no. Then he was on the thing for nearly four days, this time it was only for eight hours or so. When we go back in, the tube will be out, and he will be able to talk. I hope so, anyway.

We wait the required thirty minutes, and then head back in. Just as I thought, jello for everybody. Well, not everybody, just the patient. Although I am sure our nurse could scare up some if we really wanted it. They are all very helpful.

Chad is awake, can talk, and is doing his best to get a little jello in his mouth. It is a struggle, but he makes it. One spoonful at a time, ever so slowly. It is obvious that he is still sedated from the drugs, and not fully in control. He says a few words, responds when spoken to, then closes his eyes for five minutes or so. He opens them again, responds, has a bite of jello, helped by his mom, then off to la-la land again. The nurse says he is doing great, and that rest is what he needs right now. Hmmn, I can take a hint, visiting hours are almost over, and we decide that it is time to leave. We say good-bye, the boy raises a hand slightly, but doesn't open his eyes. He nods his head just a little, to indicate that he heard. We'll be back later.

We eat, rest, and head back to the hospital for the late night visit. No change. He is still hooked up to all the bells and whistles, and more asleep than awake. We stand by the bed, expecting I don't know what. We are anticipating some activity to begin just any second. But of course it doesn't. He sleeps mostly, opens his eyes now and then, responds to one of us, and is out again. It seems only an instant has passed when it is time to leave. We head back to the apartment. We call it home without thinking. Strange how easily you can adapt to new surroundings. We have settled in, and soon have a new routine for our daily activities. It all seems normal now. We are hospital people, this is what we do. I think there might be a viable business in it. For a fee, we will visit people in the hospital. If a family lives too far away, or is simply to busy to visit an ailing relative, just give us a call. We are very good at it. I'll look into it.

The next morning we are back again, and our boy is sitting up in a chair, and eating breakfast. He is out of bed, looking good, and smiling. This is more like it. This is what we have been waiting for. This is very good. Well, not quite, he is still coughing. It hurts me each time I see him grab that bear and hug it to his chest. The coughing is necessary to clear the lungs, but I hate that he has to endure it.

The next couple of days our routine doesn't vary. We visit in the morning, the afternoon, and again after supper. In between we shop for food and supplies for our place. Visit furniture stores and antique shops. Go to the malls, have coffee, and wander around with no particular purpose in mind, other than killing time. However, I do know my way around the DFW area now. And, after seeing large sections of the county, I can honestly say, that I wouldn't live here if you gave me a new house for free. The traffic makes most outings more of an adventure than I care for. The interstates don't work at all. For a minute or two you might be going 70 mph. Then with no warning everybody will slow to a crawl that may go on for several miles. Then you get to speed up again, only to wonder what that was all about. Just as you get comfortable, it slows down again, and stops completely. Sometimes, all four lanes in both directions stop, for no reason at all. The restaurants are good, but don't plan on going at dinner time, unless you like waiting outside. Housing is expensive, and the half acre lot with a new home is a thing of the past. They build houses out here with literally five feet of clearance to the lot line. Hundreds of roof-tops nearly touching, as far as the eye can see. If you are eating breakfast and run out of milk, just raise the window and knock on your neighbors kitchen window. He'll pass some over to ya. I have to admit that the people are great, and the crime rate is low for a metro area this big. However, it just ain't for me. I hope all these folks never visit Alabama. We’ll never get them to leave.









14
Recovery Some More
After a few days in ICU, Chad is moved into a regular room. They say he is doing fine, but Shirl and I have some doubts. The cough is bad, and there is obviously fluid in the lungs that he can't seem to get rid of. I knew going in this time that the fluid build up and coughing prior to the operation was going to complicate things afterward, and it is. The docs listen with studied sincerity, nod and raise eyebrows. They make all the necessary doctor moves to let you know they are on the job. But, to get anything done you have to almost demand it.

It is Friday, the weekend is upon us and the regular docs will be off. The junior member of the firm will be on call, and our guy is still coughing. He weighs more than yesterday too. It is time for action. The lung guy's first suggestion is to wait and see if the fluid levels and coughing improve. I don't think so. If we wait until Monday, it will be really bad, and we'll be that much further behind in trying to clear things up. The parents demand that something be done now, and not wait until Monday. After some lip scrunching and chin rubbing, the doc decides to act now. Well glory be, he calls the nurse.

The nurse brings a large shot of lasik which is to produce a dramatic effect over the next couple of hours. She informs us that the doctor also increased the maintenance dosage to almost double what it had been. Before the night is out our boy is better. The breathing is easy, and he has literally lost a couple of pounds by the next morning. If I hadn’t complained, he would have suffered with fluid build up all weekend.

It is a mystery to me why these doctors want to wait on conditions to improve before they will act. Logic and Newton prove that when things go wrong they tend to stay going wrong, at least until acted upon by an outside force. That force being a mother who will put up with no more nonsense from the "Let's wait crowd."

By Monday the kid is much improved. The coughing is still a problem, but much better. He can walk the length of the hall without stopping to rest, and he eats with enthusiasm. Always a sign that a boy is ok. Once again, the proof is indisputable. If you have someone in the hospital, you better stay and see to their treatment. Without supervision, the docs come and go, generate bills, try one thing and then another, and wait until you heal yourself. They seem to actually forget that these are real people in pain. Instead they become chained to the process, and focused more on what they expect to happen, than on what is really happening. I am stretching it a little, but they do drag their feet when it comes to changing the protocol they had previously decided to use. Even if it isn't working, they want to keep on doing the same thing. Every now and then you find a few who will listen to what the nurses and the relatives are observing, and take action based on the input of others. We had a few of those, and they made all the difference. Many in the med profession develop the idea that they are smarter than everybody else, when in fact they are just educated in a different field. The average man on the street doesn't need a degree in medicine to recognize that his son can't breath properly. My motto is, "Fix it now dammit." You can wait a while, when it's your kid.

15
It's Over

By the following Tuesday, the change is remarkable. The fluid is gone. The coughing is gone. The weakness is gone. He can walk the length of the hall and back again. without holding on to anything. Our son is back, mostly. Physically he can go home tomorrow. Mentally he will be affected by this for a long time. So will we.

All the reports are excellent, and his doctors have all said he will go home in the morning. Shirl and I have decided to head for home too. There is no need to drag this out any further, and no reason to intrude on their privacy, by going out to the house with them in the morning. So tonight’s visit is very tough. He is aware that we will be leaving in the morning, so are we. There is tension in the air. You can feel it. He obviously doesn't want us to leave, but knows that we have to. We live six hundred miles away, and his work and wife are here in Ft. Worth. Our life is in Mobile Al. I have neglected my little retirement business long enough. He is ok, and it's time to go. I think it is the seriousness of the hospital setting, that makes this parting worse. This could have been good-bye forever, and I think that is on our minds as we prepare to leave. Separations can no longer be treated casually. You never know when a visit, may turn out to be your last visit. The ordeals of the past six months have made that point all too realistic for our family. We watch TV until 9:30 PM in the hospital room with our son and Laura. Small talk and comments on the sorry state of TV dominate the conversation. The girls have made up during the week, and although all is forgiven, all is not forgotten. It only adds to the overall sense of stress.

Eventually we can drag it out no longer. We have to go. It is not that hard really. You get up, take turns with the hugs, tell each other to call, be careful, drive safe, we love you, all of that, and you walk out.

Shirl and I make it to the elevator before either of us can find the strength to speak. She asks me if he'll be ok. I croak back a less than confident "Sure." No talking again, until we reach the car. By now we have both regained our composure and rebuilt the posture that we all like to project to the world, in case someone is watching and scoring our behavior. We can see his room from the parking lot, and he has three nurses for company. They are tidying up, and giving night meds, setting up the water pitcher, and preparing the room for the night.

I start the car and we head back to our little apartment. The next morning we don't stop at the hospital. It is a long way, and the car is up to speed and heading east. Ten and a half hours from now I plan to be home.

We wait until 9:30 AM, and call Chad in his room. Imagine life without cell phones. How did we do it? Anyway, he answers, and sounds great. He is going to be discharged around noon, and he and Laura will be going home too.

We are confident that he is in good hands. Over the past few months we have observed the relationship these two have with each other. He watches out for her as closely as she looks out for him. She protects him like a momma lion with cubs, willing to take on all comers, parents included, to protect her guy. They are us thirty eight years ago, asserting their independence from the previous generation. Our son will be well cared for. He tells us that his company has agreed to set up a computer system at his house, so he can work from home. It aint so bad.
Shirl pats my hand, I look at her and smile. We have done our duty. I glance over at my wife and ask if she wants a coffee or something? We have been driving for three hours already. I need a break. Mickey D is not good for much, but they do have great coffee. Where are those damn arches when you need them?

16
Maybe Not

A little over a year goes by, and we have gotten used to the idea that all is well. Until one of those special phone calls shakes us again. Chad went to see his cardiologist, and he heard a sound he didn't like. A murmer, a slight gurgle, something not quite right. They have scheduled an echocardiogram. They place a probe down his esophagus until it is just behind the heart, and then use sound waves to produce a clear picture. Well, relatively clear. The doctor says it looks like a septal defect between the chambers, at the point where the division between the four chambers of the heart is the thinnest. In this case it is between the right ventricle, and the left atrial, on a slant. Very rare.

The cardiologist makes an appointment for Chad to see the surgeon again. We know what this means, and don't like it one bit. I try to maintain a positive outlook, telling people that surgery may not be necessary. New procedures are now available that make it possible to repair a hole, without opening the chest at all. In my heart I know this won't be what happens, but I hold on to that thought just the same. I am also concerned about having my son use the same surgeon. They like the guy. But I am very concerned. He has had two chances at my sons heart, and it still isn't right. I express this feeling as gently as I can, but the kids don't take the hint. I don't want to press it, and cause more anxiety than everyone already has. But I am convinced, that they shouldn’t use this guy again.

The visit to the surgeon is about what we expected. There is a hole, and it is between the chambers of the heart. However, the location is so unusual, that he wants Chad to see a special guy. He recommends Dr. Ryan at the Presbyterian Hospital in Dallas. He is the doctor that other surgeons send people to see when they have a problem they don't feel qualified to handle. Dr. Ryan has done over a hundred of these, while most surgeons may have done a few, if any. He has written books on specialized surgical procedures, and been featured on the Discovery Channel. He is generally considered to be the ultimate authority in this part of the country. Sounds like the right man to me. This is more like it.

The visit to Dr. Ryan results in essentially the same diagnosis, with one major difference. He is confident that this can be fixed so that we won’t have to worry with it anymore. He feels sure that to do it properly he will have to open the chest again. However, he intends to scope the area just before the operation, so that he can see for himself what the area looks like prior to starting the operation. I am getting this information second hand from Chad, but even that way, the confidence and knowledge of this man comes across. We all feel better. We are all still upset, still worried, but not like before. Dr. Ryan it seems, casts a giant shadow. It has a calming effect on us all. We are confident that he can fix this.

The operation is scheduled for Friday, July 9th. We decide to spend the 4th of July at home, and travel to Dallas on Wed. the 7th. I make reservations at an Extended Stay Hotel that is located just two miles from the hospital. We will arrive on Wed. afternoon, visit with the kids that evening, and spend the whole day Thursday with them. Of course Friday we will all meet at the hospital, and relive the agony of waiting out a heart operation for the third time on the same child. I keep referring to the kids and the children, even though they are both in their thirties. Sorry, can't help it. The parents out there know what I am talking about. I have seen 90 year old guys refer to their 70 year old son as, "The boy". I am guilty along with the rest. To me, they are just the kids.

Thursday we tour the hospital, and spend nearly an hour getting checked in, and having blood work done. This was the fast lane process. Chad was supposed to be pre-registered by his doctor. The staff is mostly foreigners, and some can barely speak English. If I am lying I'm dying. Seem to be a lot of Jamaicans at this hospital. I hope the surgical team, and floor nurses are more dynamic than this bunch in admitting. It is like watching the olympic fast walk competition, only in reverse. It looks as if someone let it slip that the slowest performer gets a raise. I may be hyper sensitive to the normal routine followed by big bureaucracies at the moment. It all seems very silly and unnecessary. The surgery patient check in window is on the fourth floor. That is where the doctor told us to go. But upon arriving there, the less than cordial little blond at the window said that she had to have a sticker, and a form from first floor admitting before she could process our boy into this great center of healing. The computer on her desk evidently can't talk to the one downstairs. It appears that none of them can receive data from the various doctors who have privileges at the hospital either. So off we go, back downstairs. At admitting, we are told that they have no info regarding pre registration, and need to get some. The doctor sent it already, but they don't have it. Name please? Chad and Laura follow a pleasant if slow clerk to a cubicle and begin the agony of filling out the forms. Finally, the task is done, and we have in our possession the much valued "sticker", that indicates we have been through the mill at admitting. Up to the fourth floor we go with the magic sticker in hand. We deliver it respectfully to the little sticker clerk. Urecka, everybody is happy. We are to report back to the first floor lobby at 6 AM tomorrow.

On our way out we learn that it cost $3.00 per day to park at this fine establishment. I am sure they will be charging several hundred thousand dollars for their services to my son, and yet they still want $3.00 to park. I guess it keeps out the riff raff. We discover that you can buy parking tickets to offset the cost. Ten tickets for ten dollars. That's better, but since we will be coming three times per day until he gets out of here, it still works out to $3.00 per day. The ticket is good for one parking episode only, not all day. If you leave, it starts over. This is a friendly little place. Actually it is monstrous. Which I think contributes to the general feeling of being in an institution. The HEB hospital over in Bedford was smaller, and really made you feel welcome. This is just another big place, going out of it's way to act like one. My first impression is not so good. They may have the best heart surgeon in Dallas on staff, but the place doesn't make me feel good. It's like going to a fine restaurant, only to have everybody make you mad before you get any food. Trouble is, we can't get up and leave. Chad needs this done, and the guy that does it - is here.

We leave and head for Chad's house. From this location it is maybe 35 miles away. Doesn't sound so bad until you consider that the only way to make the trip is to follow the 635 loop heading west until it ends. Then you get on 121 to 114, and finally exit on to South Lake Blvd to Keller. This trip with no traffic would take 30 minutes or so. However, between Dallas and Ft. Worth there is always traffic. The trip routinely takes well over an hour. Sometimes over an hour and a half. The traffic tears along at 70 plus miles per hour for three or four minutes, then suddenly comes to a stand-still. Then you crawl along for several minutes, then it speeds up again. Where-ever there is an intersection of two major highways, the traffic backs up for miles. Laura and her mother will have to fight this mess twice a day. They will have to stay on this side of town around the hospital all day. It is too far, and too dangerous to travel home and back more than once per day. It is simply awful. I wouldn't live here even if somebody else paid all my expenses.

Finally we make it to Chad and Laura's, and crash in front of the TV. Laura's mom and sister arrive about an hour later. Hugs all around, and then we all go out to eat at a little place close to the house. No one is up for more driving around, so we head for this new place Chad and Laura know about. Turns out it is one of those franchised "Wings" Sports Grills. It’s crowded and noisy, but the food is good, and they have a trivia game that you can play electronically from the table. The answers appear on monitors around the room. You can't hear yourself talk, but the young people like it. The dinner does us all good, and we head back to the house.

Chad and Laura have had a cat for some time. A few months ago they got a little Pomeranian. A pure white fluff ball of a dog. Laura's sister (Lindsey), just got a new puppy too. And to add to the confusion, she brought the dog with her. His name is Fritz. He is about as hyper as the rest of those little mutt dogs so popular with the ladies. The two dogs chase each other around the house, yapping and barking continually as they are programmed to do. . The cat ignores them. Laura's little dog is house trained, the other pup is not. Sooo, they buy pampers. That is not a typo, they actually diapered the mutt to prevent accidents around the house. I am glad we rented a studio apartment two miles from the hospital. I don't think I could take the action around here for the next week or two. I am really not a pet person, so I guess I just don't understand. Don't want to. This period of time will be stressful enough without having to worry about dogs peeing on the carpet. We stay and talk for an hour or so, then leave early so that Chad can get some rest. Besides, they will have to get up around 4:00 am, in order to make it back to the hospital by 6 am. So we say goodnight, and leave. Even at 8 PM, it takes us over an hour to make it back to our rented apartment. It is not really an apartment, but it does have a little kitchen area with a table, bedroom and desk area, and a TV area with a couch and recliner. There is a second TV in front of the bed. It will do just fine. Almost an apartment. We are close to the hospital. We can return here several times per day to cook, relax, take a nap, watch the tube, and make calls. We have no dogs.

The sense of deja vue is over-powering. We have done this same thing on four different occasions already. Once for the staph infection, and this will make the third heart surgery in two years. I am not what you would consider an old man, but I am too old for this. I seem to be in a perpetual state of worry. The anxiety associated with the situation in general makes the world around us seem not quite real. Sort of dream like I guess. We are somewhere we shouldn't be, doing things we shouldn't be doing, over and over again. Like one of those nightmares where an unseen danger keeps chasing you. You don't ever really get caught, but you can't get away.

Tomorrow morning I will go to the hospital, meet my kid in the lobby, and watch them take him away - again. I can't stand it. But then, the logical part of the brain kicks in, and you tell yourself that somehow you will. We try to go to bed early, but sleep just won't happen. Every thirty minutes or so, one of us raises up on an elbow to check the clock. Not time yet. We fluff the pillows, adjust the covers, turn over and try again. I would guess that we probably got two or three hours of actual sleep. The trouble is, it was in twenty minute segments. A little here, a little there, but not enough at any one time to do any good.

Even though we are only five minutes from the hospital, we are up and making coffee at 4:30 am. Time to have a cup or two, watch the early news and weather, toast a bagel, and get dressed. We take our time, and pack our survival kit for the day. Books, magazines, Gas-X, Advil, extra sweater and a small blanket. The waiting rooms and lobbies are usually very cold, so we are prepared. At 5:45 AM we head for the hospital. We are seated and waiting in the main lobby ten minutes later. The kids are not here yet. Very few people are. Only the unfortunate few who have an operation scheduled this morning. Wives sitting with husbands holding hands. Worried Moms and Dads with a kid sitting on Mom's lap. An old man by himself. A steady stream of employee's in scrubs and street wear, walking briskly to some duty station in the hospital. We watch as the place begins to wake up. Chad, Laura, and her Mom are just coming in the front door. So it begins.

17
The Longest Day

We are all here with bright shinny faces. Actually it is a rough looking bunch. It's obvious that no one got a solid nights sleep. Small talk about the traffic and heat consumes a few minutes. Laura has a carry-on bag with her supplies for the day, and some time is spent comparing blankets and magazines.

A nurse is heading our way. We watch her as she comes up the hall and anticipate that she will call Chad's name. But this one is not for our boy. I take a deep breath, glad for a few more minutes. It doesn't last long. Our girl is here soon enough. Chad and Laura are taken to a prep room where they get an line started. They change our guy into one of those gowns that open down the back Laura comes out, and says we can all wait in the room with Chad until they come to get him. Now I think back to the last time. His room for that wait was at the far end of a long hallway. Never mind that there were lots of empty rooms available on the way to his. I wonder if they will do it again. Different hospital, and different people, and yet, they do the same thing. We walk past room after empty room, only to find Chad at the very end of the hall. There must be reason for it, but I can't imagine what it is. Maybe it's a fitness program for the staff. No matter what you're doing, take the longest route possible.

Anyway, it is all just like the last time, only a different hospital. We spend about thirty minutes in the room with Chad, waiting on the gurney master to take him away. Then, all too soon it happens. A nurse comes in and takes vital signs again. She is immediately followed by a couple of wagon pushers, who wheel our guy out the door and down the hall. We follow along, resigned to the fact that every thing from this point on is out of our hands. We are powerless to influence the outcome. The fork in the road is soon reached. He goes one way, and the rest of us head for the waiting room.

The waiting room is built after the plan of a submarine. Narrow, and long, with no windows. It is divided into half a dozen smaller areas walled off from one another. The center section is open from one end to the other, and they have free coffee. Not very good, but free non the less. We settle in the first section. Which at first seems like a wise choice, as everyone who comes in the door, walks on past. I guess they are looking for a better location, or maybe don't like our looks. This suits me fine, as I find most people somewhat of an irritation in this context. If I am to be mad, upset, nervous and scared, I'd rather do it alone. Or, maybe with just a few family members. So spare me from some kibitzing stranger.

I should have known that our peaceful location was not to last. The talkative stranger showed up in the form of an elderly 'holiness' lady. She babbled on about her family, and family trouble for a good thirty minutes, until she finally ran out of diseases to thrill us with. Just before lunch time we were assaulted by a family that obviously considered the waiting room their own private club. They brought all the relatives. Even cousins, and kids from other marriages, all intent on talking louder than anyone else. These people even brought a picnic that consisted of trays of deli sandwiches from Jason's, along with chips and dip, a salad plate and assorted drinks. They then proceeded to eat and talk, just as if no one else existed. At least two of them were on the phone at any one moment in time. Since all their relations were busy talking, they had to talk even louder to be heard on the phone. I have never been exposed to such a rude, and inconsiderate group. The sad thing is, these were obviously well to do, educated people. But they didn't have a clue on how to behave in a public place. I understand now, how some poor guy can be driven to pull a gun and shoot into a crowd of strangers. I wouldn't, but I can see how some guy might. We had to move to another location.

I skipped ahead a bit. Sometime around mid morning we got a call from the operating room with an up-date on the procedure. They did find a hole between the chambers of the heart. They also had to remove some scar tissue from the previous operations. Dr. Ryan was not going to replace the valve again, as it was in good condition. They were going to put in a mesh of some kind to cover the hole, and would call back when they were done. Everything was going fine. Good news ! More waiting.

Sometime around noon, the phone rang again. Linda and Laura had just gone to get something to eat, so I got the call. It was the operating room nurse, and they had repaired the heart, he was off the pump, and they were closing him up. She said to meet them at the 4th floor ICU in about an hour. I managed a few Uh huhs, and thank yous, and hung up. I had a lump in my throat, and my eyes watered up a bit as I tried to tell Shirl that it was over. Once again our youngest child would live. He was going to be all right. It was never mentioned during any of our hospital trips, but the thought that our boy could die during one of these operations has always been with us. I think it is just too scary to bring up, or to actually say out loud. The relief we feel when we know that it hasn't happened, is such a rush of emotion, that it can't be controlled. It is too big, too over-whelming. It is a strange thing to actually laugh and cry at the same time. But we do. Can't hold it back.

Laura and Linda walk in, and have a freight when they look at me, knowing immediately that something has happened, but not what. We quickly tell them about the call, and now everybody is happy. We all decide to make a few phone calls, and meet up at the ICU in thirty minutes. Don't want to be late.

Of course we are not late. I call Bob and Tony. Shirl calls her Mom, who in-turn relays the good news to the rest. Then we head to the 4th floor ICU waiting room, and waited, and waited some more. This is just like the last time. Different hospital, same routine.

Meet them at the ICU in an hour they said. It is now one and a half hours, and like last time, no kid. This is where your imagination kicks in, and you begin to suspect that something has gone wrong. They haven't left the operating room because his chest blew up. Well, I don't know, something happened. Crazy thoughts run through my mind, and I am hesitant to speak them out loud for fear that everyone will get panicky if I do. They should be here by now. What if --- the elevators doors open, and it's him. We watch, as they wheel him through the double doors and into ICU. We have done this several times before, so we know not to get up. They have a good twenty minutes of set-up time in the ICU room before they will let anyone in. So we check the clock, and go back to the reading material.

It is not over, but it feels like it is. The knowledge that the operation is over is a powerful moral booster. We are pros at this, This is the third time we have endured this agonizing wait, and felt the pain of nagging fear that lurks just out of reach. Out of our control, unmentioned raw fear that your child will die. That point is past.

Now we have another week of ups and downs. Good news in the morning, replaced by a set back in the afternoon. Yes, we know the drill. Two steps forward, then one back.

I suppose it was around 1:30 pm when we were allowed into the ICU, to see our guy lying there asleep. Drugged into unconsciousness is more accurate, but asleep sounds so much better.
This time it seems that he has less paraphernalia around him, or stuck in him. There are no air driven boots, no blood filled gurgling boxes on the floor. He has fewer lines and hoses attached. He even looks better than last time. The respirator is still on, but the nurse says that it will be removed in a few hours. He is actually breathing on his own, overpowering the pressure the machine is currently set at. All the vital signs on the monitor look good. Ox is around 90, pulse rate is 86, and waveforms look good. I have done this enough now to know what I am looking at, and what to look for.

The doctor came in with a mixed bag of news. Mostly good, but there is a "but", always a but. It seems that the location he had to operate on was directly in the path where the electrical signals travel down through the center of the heart. He was afraid that when the area was repaired, that the heart signals would be interrupted. Chad might need a pace maker if that happened. However, so far, he is pleasantly surprised. The heart is beating on it's own in a regular steady rhythm. Everything looks good at the moment. He warns us that there could be some swelling of the heart tissue over the next few days that might cause some irregularities. "We will just have to watch it", he says.

We hear this, and yet we don't. We discount it as the usual doctor CYA prattle. After all, he looks fine, and the surgery is over. This is so much better than the last time. I am very confident, and on a happy high. Things are good, and getting better. We hang around a few minutes more watching him breath. By consensus, we decide it is time to go. So we do. Lunch and a nap is called for now. After supper we will come back, and maybe he'll be awake and have the respirator tube out. We hope so anyway.

18
Visiting hours

Six thirty pm, and we are back at the hospital. Laura and Linda are still here, and have news for us. He is awake, and the tube is out. I knew this was better than the last time. We head on into the ICU.

He is sitting up. Well, the bed is in an upright position, so by default he is too. Yet, that is a significant step considering that a few hours ago they had his chest open. Chad is happy and alert, and I think genuinely pleased to have survived another round with the reaper. Just glad to be here. Me too.

He has already had some jello, and a little chicken broth. Now all he wants is cold water. But of course it is rationed. They will let him have a few ice chips at a time, but limit the water for half a day after surgery. I suppose to reduce the possibility of retention, and fluid build up in the lungs. They want to have all systems go, before they let him have all he wants. I guess that means the Whopper is out of the question. Maybe tomorrow.

We stay a while longer, talk some, ask a dozen different ways, "How ya feeling?" He nods, opens his eyes now and then, and even mumbles a few answers. The drugs still have control. Our son will remember none of this visit, or this night for that matter. We say our good-nights, and head for the barn. I am tired, emotionally as well as physically. To paraphrase Scarlet, tomorrow will be a better day. We go back to our little leased suite, and crash.

The days go by faster than you might expect. The sameness of the routine dulls the senses, so that you don't realize the passage of time in the same way. We get up, make something to eat, shower and get dressed, and head for the hospital. Before you can turn around, it's twelve o'clock, and time for lunch. Then we visit for another few minutes, and then leave the hospital for an afternoon break. We go to various tourist traps. Maybe take in an Imax show. One afternoon we went to the infamous book depository and stood at the window used by Oswald to shoot President Kennedy. At least that's what all the reports say. We visit little towns like Grapevine, and Denton. Stop in and check out all the malls in the area. I even managed to drag my wife through the Bass Pro Shop. The days go by. After our little outing we go back to the hospital for a late afternoon visit. We stay for an hour or so, and then either check out another restaurant, or go back to the suite and cook something. Then it's back to the hospital around 8:00 pm for our nightly visit. Another day gone by.

Chad was moved to a room on the cardiac floor with all the other old guys. He looks out of place walking up and down the hall. Everyone else is thirty years older than he is. Every now and then I will catch someone giving him that "What are you doing here look." We wonder the same thing. He doesn’t belong here. I don’t know how many times I have thought to myself that it should be me. I am the one who is approaching 60, and spent a large portion of my life smoking. I am over weight. I still eat steak at least once a week, and still have a smoke after dinner. I don’t drink, but I don’t exercise either. Yet, compared to most, I am healthy. Six months ago I passed a stress test, and have low cholesterol. Go figure.

His operation was done on Friday. By Wed. of the next week he was doing really well. That afternoon the nursing supervisor came in, checked him over, and said, "Well, looks like you'll be going home tomorrow." Oh my, this seems fast to me, but he is doing good after all.

The next morning we wait, thinking that he will be discharged at any moment. It is 9:30 am or there abouts. I walk past the nurses station to stretch my legs, and see Chad's doctor sitting there looking at charts. I think to myself, won't be long now.

Several minutes later the doctor comes in and informs everyone that it will be a few more days. The heart wave-form is missing an alpha loop, or something to that effect, just prior to the main pulse. This thing triggers the heart, and without it Chad may need a pace-maker after all. But, most likely the cause is some swelling putting pressure on the nerve bundle that this signal travels on. So, he prescribes some medications for inflammation, and tells everybody not to worry. It should correct itself, but if not it can be controlled. Great! I am so tired of being lifted up, filled with hope and joy, only to be thrown to the ground again and stomped on. That nursing supervisor yesterday must have thought she could play doctor. Now we have a totally demoralized young man on our hands, not to mention his wife and parents, who currently seem struck dumb with incredulity. I want to go up to the nurses hang-out and tell that old girl what I think of her. I ought to report her to the hospital administrator. What she did was inexcusable. I am irate and ready for a fight, but I behave. Chad is handling it better than his mom, I can tell you that. Time for me to put a positive spin on this, as best I can. Which ain't easy under the circumstances.

All I can do is remind everyone that this is exactly what Dr. Ryan said would happen when we first met him in the ICU. He said that the site of the operation was on a signal path, and if it swelled some, we might see some irregular wave-forms. If it was severe, Chad might need a pace-maker. His best guess was that it would be all right, because the heart was beating properly immediately after the operation. This is probably just some swelling of the heart tissue. Everyone seems to latch on to this ray of hope, and we now start reassuring each other that this will pass.

A strange thought crosses my mind, but I keep it to myself. After the discussion dies down, I wonder why the boys heart is not missing beats now? OK, the wave form that triggers the beat appears to be missing, but the beat itself is not missing. He is not on a pace- maker now. So I have to conclude that even though the little pre bump they are looking for appears to be missing, something has to be getting through to trigger the heart beat. The old technician in me wants to trouble shoot the equipment. Discretion and common sense win out, and I have to conclude that Dr. Ryan knows what he is talking about. I let it pass. But it makes you wonder how much they really know, and how much is just guess work.

The next day there is no change. But the day after there is. When the doctor comes in we can see it on his face. This guy doesn't smile much, but he is smiling now. He says, "Everything looks fine. The wave-forms normalized yesterday afternoon, and they've been good all night. No skips, no bumps, no errors. You can go home."

So, one week after he was admitted to the hospital, they send him home. The hole in his heart has been patched, and now he has a month of recovery to look forward to. Laura and her mom drive Chad home, and we wait until late afternoon to go out there.

Chad is doing great when we arrive at the house that afternoon. We all take turns reminding him to move slowly, take it easy, don't bend over, don't pick that up. He doesn't act, or look like he had heart surgery.

Charlotte (Laura’s bosses wife ) brings dinner for everyone. It is a chicken feast from that restaurant Chad wanted us to visit the first night we arrived. I can't remember the name, but it's good chicken and you lots of it. It comes with salad, mashed potato's and gravy, string beans, cole slaw, and biscuits. I am hungry and eat my share and then some. Shirl doesn't think it is so good. The beans are mushy, the potato's starchy, the gravy is a flour paste of some sort, and the chicken in truth is just average. KFC on a good night is just as good, maybe better. But it's here, all prepared, and delivered with loving care, so we enjoy the heck out of it. I did anyway. Chad did too. We ate with the intent of doing serious harm to the poultry industry.
The next morning Linda and Lindsey head for home. They have been here the whole time, and like us are ready to sleep in their own bed.

We stay one more day, spending all of Saturday with Chad and Laura. He is O.K., and I am sure they are both ready to be alone. I don't remember what we did for dinner that night, but I know we stayed until around 9:00 pm. Then it was time to go. Once again, hugs and teary eyes all around. Then we are out the door. Sad to leave, but glad it's over. It takes about thirty minutes to bring about an attitude change. By the time we are back at the apartment we are ready to pack, and looking forward to heading east. The ordeal is over, our son will live. Now maybe we can too.

For the next couple of months we jump whenever the phone rings. We are gun shy. Worried that something will slip. Something will come undone. He will bust something loose by working around the house. It is too much to hope that all will finally be completely and permanently well. But it is. Each call is good news. Each day without a mishap reinforces our optimism. This time I think it really is over. It's has to be.

Ordeal is too light a word for the last two years. And that's from my point of view. For Chad, I can't imagine a word strong enough to describe this part of his life. Nothing I can lay my tongue to has enough impact. So I won't try. Suffice it to say, it's over.

This all started some time in February of 2002. Today is the day before Thanksgiving 2004. His last operation was in July of this year. A little over two and a half years of physical and emotional turmoil for both families has come to an end. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving . Chad and Laura, Laura's mom and dad, and her sister Lindsey, will all be here. Laura and Lindsey will bring the dogs too. My brother and his wife will also be here. It truly is a day of Thanksgiving. Nobody sick, nobody in the hospital, nobody planning on going in the hospital. It should be a great day. James is bringing a smoked turkey, and we just took another bird out of the oven.

Oh yea, I almost forgot. James bypass operation went very well. He too, is doing fine. I ask ya, what could be better than two turkeys, and a healthy family? Nothing.