Category Archives: It’s My Life

All Things Worked Together for Less-Bad

This morning, from the comfort of home, I was reviewing my past week in the hospital, my bout with pancreatitis and having my gall bladder removed. Was there some higher purpose, or did it just happen? Where might I find the intervening hand of God?

I’ve never doubted God’s goodness.

I’ve never doubted that God is for real, that I’m his child, and that he loves me deeply.

I’ve never doubted that he sometimes injects himself into my life circumstances for my benefit.

And I’ve never doubted the promise, “All things work together for the good of those who love God” (Romans 8:28, KVJ). The NIV version gives the verse a slightly different meaning: “In all things, God works for the good of those who love him.” But though I read mostly from the NIV, I memorized that verse as a kid in the King James, so that’s usually how I think of it. Either way, it’s a good promise.

At the same time, I’m not one to find God’s hand in every change of the wind. Some people see God “working all things” no matter what they do–traveling, buying groceries, selecting a cable company– and are very quick to claim divine intervention. Not me. I believe we live in a fallen world where things happen for no other reason than, well, that’s just the way it happened. Hurricanes and tornadoes strike, car accidents happen, and people get pancreatitis. Sometimes bad people prosper, sometimes good people prosper, and that’s just the way it worked out. God had nothing to do with it.

And yet, I’ve never doubted that God does, indeed, inject himself into my world. Because I’m His Child, he pulls strings for my benefit. I’ve seen it way too much. If I tell you about it, it might sound like mere coincidence–as it would sound to me, if you told me the same story. I give much leeway for coincidence and circumstance in my life. But other times, I just know it goes beyond that.

This morning, as I reviewed the past week, God suddenly pointed out an area where, “Here’s something I did for you.”

I have Meniere’s Disease, which brings on vertigo, imbalance, occasional vomiting. But in April, I had an operation, a shunt placed behind my ear to relieve pressure. This procedure has a high success rate. By the end of May, I was experiencing practically no symptoms of Meniere’s. Not that it had gone away or been “cured.” It just minimized all affects. During the past month, I’ve felt as if Meniere’s had been vanquished from my life. That’s how effective the surgery was (though Meniere’s is tricky that way, and it’ll raise its ugly head down the road).

In the past, it didn’t take much to trigger Meniere’s. When I tried drinking that nasty stuff for a colonoscopy a while back, vertigo kicked in and laid me out for the next day; the procedure had to be cancelled (and I’ve never retried it). So I can only imagine what the trauma of the past week would have done.

And yet, throughout my stay in the hospital–the four-day IV-only diet, the meds, the inflammation, restarting my digestive system, everything else–I felt absolutely no symptoms of Meniere’s. No vertigo, no dizziness, no nausea. Nothing. Even when I drank some really nasty stuff prior to a test, Meniere’s stayed at bay.

That’s what God pointed out to me this morning.

“I knew this gall bladder problem was coming. Adding vertigo would have been a nightmare. So I got that out of the way.”

Back in January, when I was in Honduras, vertigo kicked in one morning and I slammed backward onto a hard tile floor, hitting my head terribly hard. I haven’t been able to find any reason God would let Meniere’s arise while I was out of the country on church work. But now, I view that as God getting my attention. I’d been putting off this surgery for a year, and would have kept putting it off. After hitting the floor in Honduras, I knew it was time to get the operation done.

In addition, I needed knee surgery to repair torn cartilage in my left knee. That was done in early May, and by mid-June, all the pain was gone and I was biking and walking again. I wouldn’t have liked facing both vertigo and knee pain, along with pancreatitis.

God knew all that. When pancreatitis hit, he intended to make it less-bad than it could have been. All things considered, my “best good” would have been to not experience any of this. But again, we live in a fallen world, and things break down, especially the body.

Now that I’ve explained it, you can easily dismiss it as a lot of coincidence and circumstance and reading of tea leaves. And I realize that, in the grand scheme of things, my ailments are puny. But I’ve lived way too long as God’s child not to recognize when he gets involved.

God knows the “all things” part of my life, including what lies ahead. Sometimes he works them together for my good. In this case, he worked them together for my less-bad. I appreciate it.

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My Past Week at Lutheran Hospital

Pam and I had been walking at least 30 minutes a night for 25 straight days. We entered the 4-mile-walk of the Fort4Fitness event in late September. You’re supposed to be able to walk the four miles in at least 80 minutes.

On Thursday night, July 15, we did walk four miles–our longest jaunt yet–and did it in 76 minutes.

Back at the house, I drank a Gatorade on the back screen-in porch and was watching Jordi in the yard. Around 10:00, I felt a tightening sensation start around my belly and begin working itself up. It reminded me exactly of what I experienced last September, when I woke in the middle of the night with a tightness around my chest, and assumed I was having a heart attack. The pain dissipated in about 15 minutes, but I was still taken to the ER and checked out. Everything about my heart was fine. It was probably just acid.

So this time, I figured the acid was returning. I writhed on the bed for a bit, then on the floor, but it wouldn’t go away. Nothing would stop the intense pain. Finally, Pam insisted she drive me to the Lutheran ER, and I was in no state to protest.

They put me in a room, did an EKG, took a blood sample, took my vitals…and left me there, writing in pain. Somebody would be along, they said.

The intense pain, the cramping, finally stopped after an hour. Things felt better for a bit. And then began what I can only describe as the worst-ever case of indigestion. I writhed in agony until about 3 a.m. “Someone will be along,” I kept hearing, then that person would disappear and nobody would come for an hour.

Finally, I just insisted, “I MUST get out of here. I’m dead serious!”

So finally, a doctor from the hospital showed up, said she was finally able to shake free (after only five hours, how nice). Suddenly, things started happening. Other people were around me, an IV was inserted, pain drugs were given, and I was wheeled to a room on the third floor. Relief had come at last.

My experience in the ER was terrible, just terrible. But in that third-floor ward, I have zero complaints. The nurses and staff were fabulous. They know how to take care of patients at Lutheran. I’ve heard that from many people who have been patients there.

I was diagnosed with acute pancreatitis. The best treatment: let the pancreas rest. No food, no liquids. So from Friday morning until Monday night, I was fed only an IV drip. There was also strong suspicion that my gall bladder might need to be removed. A scan and an ultrasound showed “sludge” (as opposed to gallstones) in the gall bladder. This could be pouring across the pancreas, causing inflammation.

On Monday morning, they were going to run one more test, but a surgeon showed up and said, basically, “This test won’t show us anything we don’t already know. We need to just remove the gall bladder, and I can do it this afternoon.” That sounded great to me.

Ever four hours, they would pump new painkillers into me. By Monday night, the painkillers (Zophan) wore off after three hours, and that last hour could be tough. Before the surgery, I went an extra 45 minutes beyond the four hours without any painkillers; that time in pre-op was reminiscent of the ER–writhing in agony. But finally they wheeled me into the OR, and I woke up without a gall bladder…and with a definite feeling that a center of pain was gone. I also had four holes in my abdomen. (The gall bladder was removed from a hole just below my belly button.) 

Tuesday morning they started me on a “clear liquid” diet, which meant I had three containers of Jello and a grape popsicle. I had a lot of gas. Wednesday they bumped me up to “full liquid,” which provided a few more options, including a vanilla milkshake which really hit the spot (twice). Today, Thursday, I was on the “transitional” diet, which allowed me to order scrambled eggs, oatmeal, and a slab of turkey for lunch. Plus another milkshake.

After lunch, I was released. Pam was already on her way to the hospital. I gathered up my stuff, and around 3 pm was home.

Right now, Pam is making some Spaghettios. That’s about all I can eat right now. Ironic, that this will be my anniversary meal for 2010. Pam and I were married 21 years ago. I couldn’t be happier to have her at my side.

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So Long, Mr. Chipmunk. You’ll Be Missed.

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Mr. Chipmunk, who inhabits a woodpile against the north side of our house, died tragically late Wednesday or early Thursday, June 10. He was less than 5 years old. 
Pam found him Thursday morning floating in a bucket near our back door, a bucket which had filled with rainwater. Mr. Chipmunk apparently drowned after climbing into the bucket and not being able to extricate himself. However, the circumstances of his death are still under investigation.
Mr. Chipmunk had confounded our cats, Jordi and Molly, for the past ten years. They continually stalked and chased him, but the little guy was way too elusive, way too clever. He toyed with them, walking right past them to get their attention, then scampering into a bush or into one of his favorite escape hatches: a downspout or a sump pump tube. 
Just the other day–Tuesday–Mr. Chipmunk teasingly strolled past Jordi, who was then laying beside a bush out back. When Jordi arose, his ancestral hunter instincts fully aroused, Mr. Chipmunk positioned himself directly on the other side of the bush. As Jordi slowly crept around the bush, Mr. Chipmunk likewise moved, to keep the bush between them. 
Tiring of this–it was just too easy for him–Mr. Chipmunk ran around the porch, and Jordi gave distant chase. They continued playing “cat and chipmunk” for the next hour, until Mr. Chipmunk headed to the woodpile to check on the family. 
Only once was he caught–last fall by Molly, who is much faster than her lumbering brother. She trapped him just shy of a downspout…but only for a minute or so. Then Mr. Chipmunk escaped back to his woodpile, an impregnable fortress.
Since the lifespan of a chipmunk is 3-5 years, Mr. Chipmunk–like Lassie–is obviously not the original who began tormenting Molly and Jordi 10 years ago. Chipmunks give birth twice a year, so the Mr. Chipmunk in question could be the second, third, or perhaps fourth generation. Who knows how many babies lie in their woodpile nest, waiting to grow to adulthood and assume their father’s stealthy place. 
Mr. Chipmunk will be greatly missed by Jordi and Molly. But perhaps, soon, another will take his place, and the games can resume. 
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Jordi, a Bird, and No Escape

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I was sitting out on the screened-in porch, keeping an eye on Jordi, who was laying outside in the grass. I had the door propped open, so he could come and go.

Suddenly–there was a bird. A wren, or sparrow, or something tiny like that. Right there in the porch, trying to figure a way to escape from the enclosure. I saw an opportunity to give Jordi some exercise and high excitement. So I closed the door, then brought Jordi inside, so he could try to catch the bird.

It was lots of fun. The bird flew from one side to the other, with Jordi following closely. It would land on a low ledge, and Jordi would carefully peer over the top, then maybe lunge.

He finally did catch the bird. He grasped it gently in his teeth and then walked to the door, wanting to take his prize inside to show to his sister. Which is when I went to get the camera.

When I came back, the bird was loose again. More fun followed. Jordi didn’t catch the bird a second time, though he came close. The bird discovered some high beams it could rest on, and that’s when the fun pretty much came to an end. I eventually got a broom out and ushered the bird to the door, thanking him for his unwilling participation in our afternoon amusement.

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Now Proud Owner of an Endolymphatic Shunt

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Jordi helps me display my big bandage.

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Jordi and Molly kept me company throughout the night (click to enlarge).

On April 16, I had an endolymphatic shunt placed behind my left ear. The operation was done by Dr. Jerry House at the Carmel Surgery Center in Indianapolis (by St. Vincent’s Hospital on Meridian, just a couple miles north of the I-465 bypass).

The surgery was done at 2 p.m. and lasted about 70 minutes. Everything went great. We were on the road back home to Fort Wayne about 4:45. Hopefully, the operation will eliminate most of the vertigo and other symptoms of Meniere’s Disease, which I’ve battled since around 2003.

Thus far, I’ve been spared three common side-effects:

  • The operation can trigger severe nausea and vertigo which can last a couple weeks. I’ve had zero nausea.
  • The ear, or whole side of the face, can be puffed out significantly. I have very little swelling.
  • I was warned that there can be significant pain the first day or two. I’m taking Vicodin, but I’m not sure I need to. The discomfort is minimal.

I came home with a big bandage, which we removed Saturday morning. We had to remove the left arm of my glasses in order to fit them on around the bandage.

I spent the evening on the couch in the living room, alternating between dozing and reading Robert Parker’s “Stranger in Paradise.” Since it was plenty comfy, I just stayed there throughout the night. Besides, my sleep patterns were all messed up. I ended up watching “Bangkok Dangerous,” a Nicholas Cage movie, in the early morning hours. Pretty good movie.

The symptoms of Meniere’s Disease started around 2003, though it was a couple years before it was diagnosed. Meniere’s causes frequent vertigo and hearing loss. It only affects my left ear; I’ve lost about 60% of my hearing in that ear and have tinnitus, a constant background roar, which I’ve learned to not really notice.

There is no cure for Meniere’s. However, several surgeries can offset the symptoms. The endolymphatic shunt is the least invasive. When pressure builds up, which brings on the vertigo, fluid (only a couple drops) will now be diverted into this shunt and then absorbed into the surrounding membrane. The surgery is 90% successful immediately, and about 70% successful after 3-5 years (2 out of 10 people revert to how they were before the surgery).

I could have had the surgery done here in Fort Wayne. However, I didn’t have confidence in the doctor here. He’s good, and lots of people speak highly of him, but he didn’t seem to pay much attention to things I told him, and kept prescribing more and more pills. I wrote about that experience.

My family doctor, John Carnes, tracked down the name of Jerry House, whom one of his other patients had used. Pam and I immediately liked him. He’s very personable, quickly acknowledged my symptoms as Meniere’s Disease, and pulled out great metaphors to clearly explain what was happening. He’s done zillions of these operations.

When the nurse at the surgical center was prepping me, I asked, “Do you always work with Dr. House?”

She said, “It just depends on who they assign me to. But when we get assigned to Dr. House, we know it’s going to be a good day.”

She then sang further praises–he was kind, considerate, professional, and was always the same. “With some doctors, you’re not sure what you’ll get that day.”


My various posts about the surgery:

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On the Phone with Anthem

Anthem Insurance sent me a letter authorizing my MRI. It said that if the date of the MRI changed, I needed to call them. They gave a number to call.

So I did. I listened to the phone options, and took a wild guess about which one applied to me. A Real Person soon came on the line, and I explained my situation.

“I’ll need to transfer you to the department that deals with that,” Real Person said.

A second later, a phone rang, and a woman said in a tentative voice, “Hello?” As if she’d looked at the caller ID and didn’t recognize the number.

I began explaining my situation. “I had an MRI scheduled last Friday, but it had to be rescheduled, so I’m calling….”

She cut me off. “I’m sorry, but you have the wrong number.”

Anthem had transferred me totally out of their system to a private citizen.

So I tried calling the number on my card. After several transfers, each preceded with me explaining why I was calling, I finally reached someone who told me this:

“There was no need for you to call.”

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The Brain Game: Using My Trivial Mind

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L-r: Stephanie, Luke, Jeremy, and me.

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The group of teams competing just before us. (Click to enlarge)

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There we are, ready to flaunt our trivia knowledge in front of 500 people.

Tonight I participated in The Brain Game, a big fundraiser for the Fort Wayne Center for Learning. It’s a trivia contest. Companies and organizations and anyone else who wants to can sponsor (for a cost) a team in The Brain Game. Pam’s CPA firm, Christen-Souers LLC, entered a team this year. Jeremy and Luke, two of the four partners, along with one of their employees, Stephanie, agreed to be on the team. When they couldn’t think of a fourth, Pam suggested me. And so, this guy who is the total pits with numbers spent the evening representing a CPA firm.

There were over 40 teams. They divided them into groups of about 7, and the winner of each group made it into the finals. Our group went fourth (which means we got to hit the buffet before heading into battle). We were not expecting to do very good, and we started out in line with that expectation.

Our grouping was called the “Bora Bora Brainiacs.” The other teams were from C. Henry Discount Steel, Fort Wayne Metals, Lifeline Youth & Family Services, OmniSource, the Chef’s Academy, and radio station WMEE. Each team member held an electronic device on which you could punch in your answer–A, B, C, or D. There were ten questions, all multiple choice, and a team could gain a maximum of 4 points per question. We had ten seconds to record our answers, and could talk amongst ourselves. After each question, they showed the team standings on a screen.

After the first two questions, we still hadn’t scored. The name “Christen Souers LLC” was nowhere to be found. But we got on a roll, and suddenly, we were in second place. The question that jumped us ahead was one I knew: “Where was Microsoft founded?” Most teams picked Washington or Massachusetts, but I knew it was Albuquerque, NM. We knew what TARP stood for. We knew that Norway had won more gold medals in Winter Olympics (over the years) than any other country. And suddenly, we were in first place, and remained there through the last four questions or so.

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Two of the team members from Lifeline, who beat us. They had wonderful outfits, and went around the convention hall campaigning to get votes as the Best Dressed.

Going into the last question, we led by three points. The most points you could get on a question was 4. We knew that if we cast a vote on each answer on the last question, the worst that could happen is that we would be tied for the lead. The 10th question asked what Space Shuttle astronauts lost during a spacewalk in a year I can’t remember. The answer was “tools,” or a tool bag, or something like that, but the other answers sounded convincing, too. We cast one vote for each answer. Unfortunately, our closest competitor, Lifeline, gave all four answers on “tools,” and they caught us.

Overtime! The other five teams were dismissed, leaving just us and Lifeline.

Question 11: still tied. Question 12: still tied. Then question 13: “What was the first face to appear on metal school lunchboxes?” Or something like that. The options: The Lone Ranger, Gene Autry, Hopalong Cassidy, and I can’t remember the fourth. We put all four votes on “The Lone Ranger.” The other team put all four votes on “Hopalong Cassidy.” Drum role. Pregnant tension.

It was Hopalong.

We had expected to get trounced. But now, having come so close, we felt really really disappointed. But hey, that’s how it goes. Life is filled with disappointments. But we could at least hold our heads a bit high.

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The Spanish Inquisition guys would have had my vote for best costume…if I had voted.

The teams all came wearing costumes of some kind. There was a beach theme to the night, so we made it simple: matching Hawaiian shirts, khaki shorts, and sneakers or sandals. We had the most basic outfit of any team. There were some very, very elaborate and clever costumes. You could vote on your favorite, and that team automatically made it into the finals. I didn’t vote, but my vote would have gone to The Spanish Inquisition, four guys who represented…well, I have no idea what they represented. I think they were just four guys who pitched in the money to field a team. They wore long, full red robes. But they didn’t need my vote, because they won their “heat” and made it into the finals that way. I think they ultimately placed third.

The final round was a mini program in itself, with dancing acts, jump-roping, a girl ventriloquist, a high school choir, and other things interjected between questions. For a while, I thought the team from Shawnee Construction & Engineering, wearing hardhats, would win. Imagine that–construction workers winning a trivia contest (though they were probably from the engineering wing). But a team called “Parents and Teachers” ultimately won. 

Altogether, it was a very fun night. Definitely the most interesting fundraiser I’ve ever attended.

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My Articles on UBCentral

I administer the United Brethren denominational news site at UBCentral.org. I wrote a number of articles regarding my recent trip to Honduras. In case you’re interested.

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Breakfast with Roger and Marilyn

This morning five of us–three Americans and two Canadians–are having breakfast with Roger and Marilyn Reeck, missionaries here in Honduras. They were instrumental in helping me write the book Tio Archie, the story of Archie Cameron and Honduras Conference. Archie is Marilyn’s dad. He pretty much founded the work here, which now includes nearly 100 churches.

The book was unveiled at the end of the Sunday night service which opened the General Conference. A number of people asked me to autograph their copies. That’s always a joy and a privilege to do.

This meant leaving the hotel at 6:45, instead of 7:45, but I think we’ll manage.

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Missing the Bus in Honduras

We ate breakfast Sunday night (January 10) at Pizza Hut, next to our hotel here in La Ceiba, Honduras. I left early, so I could post some news online. But before leaving, I asked Brian Magnus, the chairman of the General Conference, when the meetings started the next day.

“Nine o’clock,” he said. “We meet in the lobby at 8:45.”

Okay. With that information, I left for the hotel.

Sometime after that, it was announced that the conference was providing breakfast. The bus would come to pick us up at 7:45.

However, I blissfully missed this memo. I went to bed thinking 8:45 was my deadline.

The next morning, I arose early to write some news and process photos. I took a shower (no hot water), then grabbed my laptop and headed for what I called the “dlink” room at the northwest corner of the hotel. That’s the only decent internet connection, and it clearly comes not from the hotel, but from a neighboring business.

I posted some news, sent an email to Pam, and then made it to the lobby promptly at 8:45.

Nobody was there. But they’d been looking for a gringo, and I clearly fit the bill. I spotted our friendly Honduran bus driver appeared. He ushered me to a small van, in which I was the only passenger, and whisked me to the Bethel Institute. All the time, I was wondering what had happened. Did the bus leave a few minutes early?

Turns out the bus left at 7:45, and they didn’t miss me at all. Which does nothing for my self-esteem. It finally dawned on somebody that I was missing. They envisioned me lying dead or dying on the floor of my hotel room, remembering the bad fall I’d taken the day before from vertigo (which I told about on my personal blog).

They sent the driver back to the hotel to find me. He had the desk clerks call around to various rooms where members of our group were staying. Of course, nobody answered in my room, because I wasn’t there. I was in the Dlink room. But then I magically appeared on my own.

Tomorrow I will get up a little earlier–not only to catch the 7:45 bus, but to get hot water. 

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