“Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.”
Mark 4:38-39 NIV
We, like His disciples, often feel that the Lord is asleep and unconcerned. It is our unbelief not He who fails us in these moments…His Love never dies…
After reading the inspirational book “Fire Road” which was the story of Kim Phuc, I decide to tell the story of my accident and that accident’s impact on my life. Kim Phuc was ‘The Napalm Girl’. Her photo during the Viet Nam War made her an instant world-wide celebrity. Her book was described on the cover as ‘her journey through the horrors of war to Faith, Forgiveness and Peace.’ Identifying with Kim was easy for me since I too was burned severely at two months old. At that age such a severe burn can be life threatening.
Hopefully telling the story will be cathartic for me and will offer hope to others. Hope that, in spite of life’s trials and the wounds we receive, with God’s help tragedy can be turned into good. Yet I must be careful in the telling least my ego distorts the true message. How do I begin? Should I start with now or with back then? In a way I will do both.
This past summer our family travelled to Montana. The occasion was our fiftieth wedding anniversary. However, deep down I wanted to go back and see where I came from. We had visited Montana before when we lived in New Mexico and later as a family to snow ski. Montana’s majesty and beauty somehow was written on my soul. It was part of core being. In my bedrooms growing up in Jacksonville and Winter Park hung prints by Charles Russel and Fredrick Remington on the wall. These two men were the state’s famous artists. All along Dad assured me that I had a back and white pinto pony back in Montana that a Blackfoot Indian was dutifully caring for. My memories of those early years were few and vague. Feeding ducks and geese on a pond in Great Falls were among the most vivid. I had not set foot in Great Falls since I was four.
At four years old we have few memories if any. I suspect that our memory is limited because our language skills in early years does not allow us to express what sensations we may have had. Most of what I know of the actual event and the early years following come from what I was told and photos I saw. That too was limited since the trauma of the accident was a devastating memory to my parents. Mom never wanted to talk about the accident. Dad focused on putting it in the past. Both of them trying to do what they thought was best to repair the damage that had been done. Self pity was never an option for them or me.
(It is time to review my parents notes they kept regarding the accident. Fifty or more years after the burn Dad gave me the records he had kept.)
As I reviewed my Dad’s ‘Log’ of the events that happened back in Montana, I realized the telling of the story would be more difficult than expected. I discovered surprising and unappreciated facts concerning what happened. First and foremost was how devastating and traumatic my burn was to my Mom and Dad. Second, how my perception was distorted. In telling this story I will either quote directly from Dad’s Log or put into my own words what happened.
In March of nineteen forty-four I was back in the Columbus Hospital where I had been born in January. The hospital was operated by the Roman Catholic Sisters of Charity of Providence since 1894. They moved into the new building in 1930. Dad entered this into his log:
Dad’s Log…
On the night David was admitted to the hospital for the treatment of his cold slightly deflated lung, we told the nurse that he was a very energetic child and that he crawled a great deal. She put a small harness on him at that time.
That evening when we arrived at the hospital he was fussing and Sister Miriam D. came into the room and removed the harness commenting that it made him cross and unhappy. We told her then that he crawled considerably so she put a pillow at the head of the crib to keep him from hurting his head on the bars should he crawl.
Thursday, March 16th, the date of the accident
We had eaten dinner out and arrived at the hospital about 6:30 PM. As we entered the Pediatric Ward, we were met by Nurse O. who stopped us saying, “they are working on your boy now you can’t go in.” We became apprehensive because upon other occasions we had gone right to David’s room when we were early (before visiting hours). Sister Miriam D. had given us permission to visit him at any time in as much as he had a private room.
While waiting directed by the nurses, we could hear David screaming and crying hard as if in great pain. This made us more concerned.
Dr. Bob Mc. arrived shortly after we had and his face bore a very worried expression. He remarked, “I’ll have to see what’s going on here.” With this he hurriedly went right onto Dave’s room. In a few minutes he came and told us that, “Your boy has met with an accident, he fell from his bed and burned his leg.”He told us to wait before we could see him as he was dressing the burn. About 5 minuses later he called us in.
We went into David’s room and the burns had already been dressed but David screamed and cried very hard. Dr. Bob Mc. said he had given him a sedative a to make him sleep. For about a half hour after we arrived he cried hard and even after the sedative had taken affect and he quieted down, his sobs were so hard and often that they kept him awake for some time after.
We both asked to stay with him that night but on the advise of the doctor, who said a Special Nurse was being called in, we went home (to the Toy Apartments). We stayed until 11:30 PM and met Miss W., the Special Nurse. When we left David he was asleep and quiet.
He had not taken a 10:00 PM feeding as per his schedule because he had been doped and was soon asleep. The doctor said he needed rest more than food. It came to our attention then that he had not been given a 6:00 PM that night also. The reason given by the Sister for this was that he had been fed late for his 2:00 PM feeding.
When we were called into the room for the first time after the accident, the following people were there:
Dr. Bob Mc.
Mother Superior, Sister A.
Sister Miriam D.
Nurse O’B.
Sister A., who is the Mother Superior of the hospital, stated at that time it was pure carelessness and that the girls had been instructed repeatedly to be sure the sides were up on the cribs when they left the room. She admitted that some careless nurses had left the side down and that David had apparently crawled to the edge of the bed and had fallen out onto the heater which was a next to the bed burning his leg.
Sister Miriam D. also stated that it was carelessness on the part of some nurse and that in spite of her frequent instructions, some girls had neglected to put the side up. She also related these facts us: She said she came to David’s room about 5:00P PM and found him fussing so she put him on his stomach believing he would quiet down. She said he was apparently in this position when the nurse left the crib side down. Sister D. also told us that the accident occurred just before we arrived which would put the time of the accident at 6:15 to 6:30 PM.
Dr. Harry McG. came into the room after the leg had been dressed, I assume that Dr. Bob McG. called him to look at it, his comment was “Damn Carelessness.” There were six nurses on duty when we arrived (Named by Dad).
Next Day, Friday March 17th
We arrived at the hospital at about 9 AM and found David sleeping. The nurse and the Sister told us that Dr. Henry McG. had been and dressed the burns. He was not the doctor on the case and I assume that his reason for dressing them was merely to see the extent of the burns.
We remained with David until noon during which time he slept continuously except for time to feed. He was still under the effect of the sedative.
When we returned from lunch to the hospital about 1:00 PM we found Dave asleep at the head of the bed almost completely uncovered. We covered him as best we could without moving him. He slept continuously except for his feeding at 2:00 PM at which time he appeared to be doped quite heavily. At about 5:00 PM he began to fuss so Bette felt his head and remarked to Nurse McT. who came into the room, that he felt warm. The Nurse asked if his temperature had been taken at 4:00 PM and in as much as we were in the room and had seen no one take his temperature, we remarked that we had seen no one take it while we were there. The nurse went out to the hall and remarked to someone out there that 637 (which was David’s room number) had not his temperature taken at 4:00 PM.
He spent the greatest part of the day sleeping and when awake he cried as if in great pain.
Nurse B. told Bette that she was the one that discovered David on the heater and picked him up…
Dr. Bob McG. dressed the burn later in the day and we saw it for the first time. It looked very raw and sore. An area approximately 2 x 4 inches on his calf looked very deep. The imprint of the heater grill were very clear in this area. This area looked to be the most serious part of the entire burn and was very white in color…(My comment: I believe the worst area of the burn was at the knee and the white was actually the fascia below the skin that covers the muscles, blood vessels and nerves.)… I asked Sister Miriam D. about this area later in the night and she said that was not serious. I later learned from Dr. Bob McG. that the area which was white was the most serious. This area appeared to have some sort of white ointment or powder on it.
In describing the burns I would say that most of his entire left leg outside portion from his hip to the tip of his small toe was burned. There was also a burn about 1and 1/2 inches square on the left side of his hip bone. The heel of his right foot was also burned and blistered.
That night Una McGarvie came up to the hospital with us and I lifted a corner of the towel which was wrapped around the leg and showed the leg to her. She was nurse and her opinion was that it was very deep…
That night also I called Dr. McG. and told him that we would feel better if there was a Special Nurse on with him from 3:00 PM until 11:00 PM. He said that he would inform the Sister to acquire other nurse as soon as possible.
Tonight I picked off the heater several pieces of flesh which were apparently from David’s leg. The imprint of his leg formed over the grill of the heater and clearly showed that his calf had laid against the grill.
Asked Sister about the white appearing substance on the deep part of the leg commenting that it looked like powder or ointment. She stated that it wasn’t powder but dead skin. “Dead skin similar to that sustained from a cigarette burn.”
Continuing Dad’s Log…
Saturday, March 18th (Day three)
We arrived at the hospital at about 8 AM this morning and found David sound asleep. He did not awaken until time for his bandages to be replaced, he cries very hard when they were being changed.
He slept all morning again as if influenced by the sedative. I contacted Mr. Wuerthner this morning and engaged him as our attorney. He asked me to get another doctor to come into testify as to the extent of the damage done by the burns (such as the degree etc). He also asked me to contact Dr. McG. and advise him of my intentions. I did so but found that no the doctor would come in on the case, some because of personal grievances against the Drs. McG. and other because of the delicacy of the case.
When I visited Dr. Bob McG. he told me the following facts which at other occasions he seemed reluctant to answer:
1. The burns would leave some scarred tissue how serious he could not estimate.
2. The serious area was 2nd degree burns and for the most part the remaining part of the burns were 1st degree.
3. He said then that how long it would take to heal was not known but he would estimate about 3 weeks.
4. He also made the statement that he was our doctor working for us and was in no way influenced by the hospital connection he had. He said this because he was obviously distressed at our action of consulting an attorney and the advice of consulting another doctor.
We returned to the hospital Saturday afternoon about 3:00 PM and David was still asleep as if doped. We remained until about 6:00 PM and then went out to dinner. We returned about 7:00 PM and stayed until 9:00 PM during which time he slept for most of the time.
(Although the BATTLE with Columbus Hospital had begun before this point, this seems to be a turning point. Since from the beginning the hospital and staff (most not all) in spite of admitting carelessness, they continued to minimize the seriousness of the burns. They also began to shirk their responsibility.)
Sunday March 19th
We arrived at the hospital early and noticed immediately that the heater had been removed from the room. I went to the desk and inquired about he heater and Nurse S. took me to a closet marked ‘C’ on the same floor of the hospital next to the desk, where I found the heater. I examined the heater and it still had some flesh stuck to the grill. I had previously removed several pieces of David’s leg from the grill and saved them.
I gathered the following information from the heater. It is a small electric heater Model 101 made by Arvin and colored light green. It is marked with a black (4) paired on top. The overall size of the heater is about 9 x 12 inches. This heater was located approximately 6 or 8 inches from the right hand side of the bed. A table was about 16 to 18 inches from the right hand side of the bed and so the heater was in between the bed and table.
This day we observed an odd attitude around the hospital on the part of the nurses and the Sisters. I was told by Nurse S. when talking with a small body down the hall that the Sisters would rather that I didn’t’t talk with the other patients. Her attitude was very cool and haughty.
We had to, on several occasions, call the nurse in to have David’s pants changed. In my estimation, they failed to come into his room to check his condition often enough.
David cried quite often today and seemed to be in more pain than any other days since the accident. His burn looked very raw and sore today. He was still very dopey today as if under the influence of some sort of sedative.
A little more from Dad’s Log, then I will give my perspective…
The period from March 20th to March 27th
During the week that following significant things happened:
- David developed a bad cold which Dr. McG. stated that it was due to the toxic poisoning which was the results of the burns. (Of course it was due to the weakening of my immune system due to the physical trauma.)
- The doctor started applying a splint to the leg in an effort to keep David from bending the leg. This was necessary to heal the burn around the knee. (This from my perspective was the worst area of the burn.)
- He was also given blood plasma for several days in an effort to combat the toxic poisoning. (This in reality helped to hydrate me since severe burns cause dehydration.)
4. His appetite was not good for several days this week. It was in general a bad week for him.
5. Dr. McG. has used Moruguent and Colient on his leg so far. He claims it has a cod liver oil base and should prevent scars.
6. Sister Miriam D. told us that she questioned each of the girls who were on the floor that night and they all told her that they hadn’t left the crib siding down. She also told us that one nurse, Miss L., had seen a Camp Fire Girl in David’s room when she went by. She explains that these girls are volunteers to help with the evening meal and that they have been given specific orders not to enter any of the rooms except to give meals to the patients. The next day when Sister brought up the fact that the Camp Fire Girl in question said that she didn’t remember, I asked the Sister why the nurses who saw the Camp Fire Girl in the room hadn’t gone in the room to find out why she was there. The Sister then changed her story and said that the nurse saw her leave the room. I maintain that was the nurse’s duty to investigate the situation when she saw the young girl in David’s room. Sister Miriam D. maintained that it was the Camp Fire Girl who left the siding down.
Circa 1948
2017
2017
The Toys Apartments where we lived – Then and Now
Dad continued his Log of The Accident for months. He left me his original hand written log which was in pencil on paper. He later transcribed these to a type-written log. The handwritten log’s showed his penmanship deteriorating over the days and weeks following the accident. I suspect this was due to his shock as to the seriousness of the burns. Also he and Mom became frustrated and angry with Columbus Hospital. The leadership at Columbus despite admitting ‘carelessness’ on their part refused for nearly two years to take responsibility. The Log is difficult for me to read, digest and accept.
Here is my impression of what happened. You must remember I was pre-language when the accident happened so what I related comes from my core feelings formed by looking back over the years. Nurse Barke heard my cry, came and lifted me off the heater. She saved me from burning more and probably saved my life. I believed all the Nuns and Nurses in Columbus Hospital were praying for me. That may or may not be true. This past summer I entered the Chapel of the hospital and believe I felt their long ago prayers. For me it was over. I survived. Let’s move on. Yet I felt partly responsible for my burn since I had crawled to the edge of the bed and fallen out. I had mixed feelings for sure but I thought ‘that what happened was in the past, now let get on with living.’
Probably not everyone in the Columbus Hospital was praying for me. Some wanted for me to just go away. ‘The Accident’ scarred their image of Charity and healing. Sadly the way the hospital handled my accident was out of character with all the good they did. It is said that ‘even the best of intentions fall short sometimes.’ As a result, the hospital’s actions forever spoiled my parents love for Montana. As much as they wanted to live in ‘God’s Country’ it would never happen. I surmise this since my Mom and Dad never told me that.
Back to that time in Great Falls just after the accident, it became obvious that Drs. McG. diagnosis’ and prognosis’ were wrong. In an effort to minimize what happened and to shirk responsibility, the doctors and the Columbus Hospital administration called the burns first or second degree. They predicted that the healing time would be in a short three weeks. In fact it was almost three months before the wounds were healed enough for me to leave the hospital. Soon it was evident that the only first and second degree burns were on my right foot and left hip. Those places healed without any scarring. The main wound was a very deep third degree burn. So deep that my last orthopedic surgeon (world-renowned Dr. J. Dean Cole) comment that it was one if the worst scars he had seen. Dr. Cole is a traumatic orthopedic surgeon who deals with cases other surgeons can’t handle. After studying human anatomy I conclude that the burn went through the layers of skin tissue into the subcutaneous layer of vessel, nerves and fascia. They (the Mayo Clinic, the Cleveland Clinic and Buffalo’s doctors) later decided that no muscle was damaged but I’m not sure of that. In an effort to protect the hospital and their reputation, the diagnosis and prognosis had been minimized. This battle with Columbus Hospital about the truth went on for two more years.
About a month after leaving the hospital Mom and I flew to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. (Dad saved the North American Airline ticket.) It was there that the truth began to come out. The burns were really one major area from high on left thigh to the tip of the little toe on the lateral surface of the left leg. The burn was deep that the scar was already keloid in nature. The keloid tissue being thick and tough would cause significant problems. Later the Cleveland Clinic and the doctors in Buffalo, New York, concurred with this. Actually the doctors (not associated with Columbus Hospital) in Great Falls had told my parents the same thing. Now the burn became a living problem not a life and death issue.
The medical recommendations and treatment options in the forties remind me that medicine is still an evolving art and science. Each medical center offered essentially the same opinions and options. Whether it was in Great Falls, the Mayo Clinic, the Cleveland Burn Center or in Buffalo they all were in agreement. It was agreed that the scar tissue was keloid, therefore very tough and fibrous. Thus believing the scarring would inhibit or deform the growth of the left leg. Unanimously they recommended ‘filtered radiation’ to soften the scar. That term was repeated by Dad in his notes. Whether that meant ultraviolet radiation, ‘filtered radiation’ or something else is questionable. Future surgery would be necessary. Something had to be done to the scar. Other prognosis was that at age 25 to 30 the scar would become cancerous. Of course there is a correlation between the scar and common radiation treatment since now medicine knows that radiation in excess causes cancer. Burn wounds during WWI may have been treated this way with radiation. During WWII burn wounds were very common so new research and development was happening after the war. Lastly so-called ‘toxic poisoning’ was thought to be the result of burns. In fact what was happening to the body was the immune systems response to trauma and that response to burns dehydrate the body tremendously. That dehydration often resulted in death.
Mom and Dad choose not to have radiation treatments done on my burn scar. For that, I am eternally thankful. Now the story gets a little lost. My folks did not talk about the treatment with me. So the story now depends on my recollection. Living in Great Falls was not an option any longer.
Although Mom and Dad loved Great Falls, Montana’s beauty, the accident altered our future living choices. The battle with Columbus Hospital lasted for more than two years. Dad hired an attorney in Great Falls another in Buffalo. The powers at Columbus Hospital admitted ‘carelessness’ but refused to accept financial responsibility. The institution was so stubborn that they even forced Mom and Dad to pay for the Special Nurse required to take care of me because of the burn in their own facility. Still I refuse to believe that all the Nuns and Nurses acted this cold and callous. Many of them prayed for my life and my full recovery. I know that in my soul.
Here is how the battle went. The Columbus Hospital and Aetna Insurance Company called my folks demand for financial accountability ‘foolishness.’ They basically threatened to take the case to federal court where they assured us we would lose. The battle dragged on and on. By this time (1946) the war (WWII) was over. Uncle Frank was out of the Navy. He lived in Ohio where he was good friends with US Senator Bricker. Frank, Dad’s older brother, had lived with the Brickers while he attended Ohio State University. While attending OSU Frank was employed as a tutor, companion, mentor, caretaker for the Bricker’s son. He was very close to the Bricker family. Senator Bricker intervened for us. He contacted Federal Judge Bricker in Montana, who I assume was related. The Judge brought the case to a conclusion in 1946. Aetna and the Columbus Hospital settled for a minimal amount in light of the severity of the damage and the surgeries that would be required over the years. This was more than two years after the accident.
Here are some interesting developments I believe resulted during these two years. Mom and Dad became Episcopalians. I believe it happened about his time. Mom was raised Methodist. Her mom, Flo, was a life long devout Methodist. Dad was raised Presbyterian (The Church of Scotland). He attended the University of Buffalo on a National Presbyterian and football scholarships (He was a running back for UB). Later in his life dad told me, “I wanted a denomination that kneeled when they prayed.” Becoming Roman Catholic, who also kneel, was probably never an option. Also later in life Aetna Insurance Company, their bitter opponent, became on of Dad’s top companies for his agency. In fact he was one of their top producers nationally. There are no coincidences in life.
The significance of this professionally taken photo was that I was walking by Christmas of my 1st year. There had been predictions that I would not walk. Dad’s said the photo was taken because I had learned to snap my fingers. Notice if you can the birthmark on my forehead. It was in the shape of a ‘V’. This appeared soon after the burn and the Nuns and Nurses at Columbus Hospital called me the ‘victory baby’ in keeping with wartime sentiments.
Here Mom and I are at about age two…
Florida…
Mom and Dad finally got their footing. We ended up in Jacksonville, Florida, in 1948. Other places Mom and Dad had apparently looked into were: San Antonio, Texas, and Jackson, Mississippi. There may have been others but those are the two I heard about. Great Falls was not an option any longer. They seemed to be looking south. Dad took a job with Travelers Insurance Company. Our first home there was in an apartment near St. Lukes Hospital in downtown. Later we lived in the Arlington area of Jacksonville. Finally into our house on Lakewood Circle we moved. Debbie, my sister, was born before we got to the Lakewood circle home, in Arlington I believe. So until 1954 Jacksonville was home.
It was here the surgeries on my leg began and mostly took place. The first surgery was not in Jacksonville but in Durham, North Carolina, at Duke University Hospital. I remember Dad and I traveling to Duke by car. I remember the children’s ward with a wall that separated the girls from the boys. The morning of surgery I was desperately thirsty and begged for water but of course no one gave me any. Prior the surgery the stomach must be empty to prevent nausea during the procedure. I remember being extremely nauseous after every surgery back then when ether was the anesthetic. Recovering for a couple of weeks I was eventually allowed to have a wheelchair which meant an opportunity for adventure. Buddying up with a new friend we raced around the hospital and into the girls ward. I believe I lost that privilege. I also remember Dad taking me to a movie theater carrying me to the car, into the theater and back again. I was in a plaster cast from my ankle to my hip. The surgery was plastic surgery designed to ‘break up the scar tissue.’ The scar was indeed stunting and deforming the growth of my left leg as predicted. This was the first of eleven surgeries on the leg from about age of 5 or 6 until the summer of 1959 when I was fifteen years old.
The rest of those surgeries were preformed at Hope Haven Hospital which was a children hospital. My surgeon was Dr. John Lovejoy. I learned later through my friend and surgeon Dr. Joe Visconti that Dr. Lovejoy was the first orthopedic surgeon in Florida. Joe had known and gone to school with Dr. Lovejoy’s son who was also an orthopedic surgeon. Memories of those surgeries are all mixed together. Here is general what I remember as significant. The first and maybe a couple other early surgeries at Hope Haven, I was in the children’s ward with the boys, most of them were polio patients. I was comfortable being with others who faced what I faced. I seemed to avoid getting into trouble there, mostly in hind sight because my hospital stays were short. However, staying in the ward stopped and I believe I know why. The why is one of my strong memories.
Here is that memory. During this surgery the bed I was in was in the back corner of the small room which held maybe ten to fifteen beds. A television was near the entrance to the hallway close to the nurses station. The TV remained until bedtime. The night before my surgery a young boy had been brought to the hospital who had been severely burn from head to foot. Debris from construction sites were routinely burned in those post-war years when there was a huge building boom. A large burning appliance box from a fire had blown over the boy and he was severely burned. In fact he died. I remember Mom rocking him in a rocking chair in front of the television sing to him. Praying for him too I’m sure. After that I was always in a private room.
Being in a private room brought back other memories, memories of being alone. One room in particular where I felt God’s Presence. Again it was the night before surgery, my folks had left as visiting hours were over. Alone in the room at dusk I recall looking out he window at the wall. It was white. I suppose I was praying but I’m not sure. In one of those moments of clarity when time and space seem suspended, the warmth and brightness of that wall engulfed me with the Peace I needed. The room was filled with that peace. I wasn’t alone. I believe this happened in my first private room.
Music became a survival mechanism. Music was a way of not being alone. About this time I begged my folks for a ‘portable radio’. In these days every house had a large console radio in the living room when televisions were rare. So a portable radio for myself was an extravagance. My folks consented and gave me one. Those radios weren’t small and cordless but the one they got for me fit nicely on the table beside my bed. I listened to all the radio serial series of the day. We all remember: ‘The Lone Ranger,’ ‘The Shadow,’ ‘The Green Hornet,’ ‘Dick Tracy,’ ’The Cisco Kid,’ ‘Dragnet,’ ‘Fibber McGee and Molly,’ ‘Jack Benny,’ and list is endless. There was also musical programs including opera and classical music. Music was an escape that I still appreciate. That radio kept me company until television became common and was in the private rooms too. That is where I first watched the ‘Micky Mouse Club.’
Biking and Girls…
After my surgery at Duke Hospital, it was recommended that I use an exercise bike to rehabilitate my leg. Dad built one for me. In his records he reported spending five dollars for the bike. This is a description of that bike which was kept in the garage through my high school years. It was a 26 inch bike that of course was to big for a six-year-old. Dad attached 2 by 4 blocks to the left pedal with a strap of old tire-tube to hold my left foot. The right pedal was removed. The front wheel was taken off and replaced by a forked devise to elevate the front of the bike. The back wheel was lifted with supports above the ground. A roller with springs put friction on the back wheel making pedaling harder. I was supposed to ride this daily. Being ‘energetic’ it must have been hard to get me on that bike. Riding on the streets on my ‘real’ bike on the other hand was exhilarating. You know wind in your face, speed and thrills. That was the push and pull of biking. Later in my life it became a daily ritual and still is to this day. My indoor bike (Schwinn Airdyne) is back in the garage.
Tommy and Susan were our across the street neighbors. Susan was the same age as me and Tommy was a year younger. Their house was catty-corner from ours. About this same time, after my surgery, we were playing in their yard with other boys and girls. I wore only shorts and was barefooted which was the way we mostly dressed in Florida’s summers. After playing we were sitting on the ground in a sort of semi-circle with the boys on my side and the girls on Susan’s. We were talking and being silly. At some point I felt like the girls were staring at my scar. They began to giggle. They may not have been staring at the scar but that is what I felt. I was embarrassed and mortified. It hurt me to the core. What did they think when they saw my scars? Oh well, my girlfriend in second grade was Sonya and Janice was my girlfriend in 3rd grade…
Recently in books I have read, characters I can related to expressed the same fears. In the ‘Outlander Series’ the main character, Jamie, was horribly scarred on his back. He stated more than once that he did not want anyone to see his scars. He believed that after seeing the scars that would be what and how people thought of him. More recently Kim in her book, ‘Fire Road’ shared the same fear especially when it came to men with her. Men would never love her she believed. So she and Jamie covered their scars. Me too. I wore long shorts if I was to be around girls. In high school I owned a pair of jersey type of swimming trunks that came to my knees. Those trunks covered the scars at and above the knee which were the worst looking. Girls and women could not see my scars! Since then wisdom has taught me that we all are scared, wounded or damaged. Some scars are visible some are hidden. We are all called to be “Wounded Healers” as Henri Nouwen wrote.
Playing, Sports and Athletics…
I was called energetic as an infant. I was told that my folks harnessed me when we were out and about. Never miss a thing was my natural attitude. So energetic that first grade started at age 5 to keep me busy. That was only possible at a private school. The public schools required a child be 6 years old before January. So I was a first grader at ‘The Little Red School House’ in Jacksonville. From the beginning I loved school. Not necessarily to learn but for all the social reasons. Although I was a good student it was rare that there was not a comment about ‘conduct issues’. That’s what they called behavior problems back then. I suspect that I was ‘hyperactive’. Now I’m in school with plenty of playmates. What could be better!
I always thought that my first surgery at Duke University Hospital occurred in 1951 when I would have been seven. I learned that it was before that. So I guess I was six. That surgery accomplished two things. First, it broke up the scar tissue with plastic surgery. Second it removed calcium deposits (bone spurs) from behind the knee. That second procedure left a long scar behind the knee from high calf to low thigh. Remember plastic surgery for burn scars was developing because of WWII.
Upon return from Duke my best friend, Bobby D., dared me to jump off the roof of our house. Which I did. Bobby and I were inseparable but a dangerous duet. We constantly dared each other to do scary and dangerous things. He also dared me to jump across a ditch which I failed to do completely. I fell short and chipped my two lower incisors which require repairing to this day. Another time he and I and his sister, Sissy, were in a tree on the wood when he dared me to jump from one limb to another. I missed falling to the ground with the wind knocked out of me. Sissy ran to my house telling my Mom that I was dead. Once I challenged Booby to eat a ‘rat poison’ pill which resulted in him being rushed to the hospital to have his stomach pumped. I dared Bobby to do other equally dangerous things. Our Moms (bless their hearts) often banned us for each others’ yards. That of course was only minimally effective. We were indeed a dangerous duet. Mom had a Halloween Photo of Bobby, Debbie, others and I, where Bobby was dressed as the devil and I as a pirate. I heard later that Bobby graduated from the USAF Academy and flew fighters in Veit Nam. Sissy was later crowned Miss Jacksonville. Again God was with us in spite of ourselves, thankfully!
In addition to the ugly look of the scars there was also pain and stiffness. Soon it was evident that the scars had deformed my leg, stunted and altered it’s growth. My left leg was shorter than the right leg even at age six. That meant wearing shoes with ‘lifts.’ It meant have my pants altered since one cuff needed to be shorter than the other. All of which I took in stride as normal. The pain and stiffness that resulted from the burn and resulting scar tissue was not as easy to take in stride. As was His plan God had made me energetic and playful. That was His saving Grace. Tough, playful and always pushing the edge He had built into me. It was not of my own making which took decades for me to appreciate. To Him goes all the credit and glory. What that meant was that despite the pain and stiffness I would play. In fact it is now obvious that the playing and moving relieved these maladies of pain and stiffness. So I was moving until I dropped which is still my nature.
Games and playing from breakfast until dark became my daily routine. Athletic men were part of my genetic being. Grandpa Kirck was a semi-pro baseball player, Dad was a college football running back and other men in my family are and were good athletes. As a result I was good at sports even with a short leg or as I called it ‘a bad leg.’ Most of the time I was pick for teams at the very start. In Jacksonville at The Bolles School I have memories of running for touchdowns as a ‘half-pint’ football back at age six to eight. In Little League in Winter Park I made the ‘All-Star’ team every year from age ten to twelve. However, I never played in an ‘All-Star Game’ because at the end of each summer I had surgery on my leg just after baseball season and just before school started. I went on to play football into junior high school and baseball until high school. What I confess now but was never known by another soul, not even my parents. (If Mom had known she would have tried to stop me.) Practices were painful! Especially ‘wind-sprints’! When running these sprints I was not about to be beaten to the wall or finish line except by one or two runners. These sprints were at the conclusion of practices. My leg would hurt so badly that I could barely pedal my bike home. I choose routes home with the most hill I could ‘glide down.’ No one knew. As long as I played I was happy. By high school I realized that I was probably not going to be a starter on the football or baseball teams as a sophomore or junior. I was not willing to pay the painful price of practice just to sit on the bench.
At this time Coach Dean G. was my biology teacher. He was one of the baseball coaches who expected me to go out for the baseball team. Coach G. hired me to work at his summer camp as a counselor. He would refer to me as a ‘country club’ athlete since I choose golf and swimming above football and baseball. That of course was only part of the story. Yes, I was a good golfer and eventually swam in college but it was really a matter of not wanting the pain. I lettered in golf and eventually swam distance events at Emory. When sandlot football or baseball games happened I was usually a captain or one of the first picked, because in sandlot it all about the playing. Later in the USAF we officers never lost to the enlisted airman in our sandlot football games. I was an excellent passer and pitcher. Part of that I credit Dad with. He spent hours with me pitching to him in our yards. At Emory my need to play brought me to the swimming pool to burn off afternoon lethargy and frustration brought on by the intense study required at an academically demanding college. I usually swam a mile. Coach S. recruited me to swim which I did for several meets if those meets did not interfere with my party plans. Even though swimming practices can be intense and demanding there was no leg pain.
At about the age of fifteen my friends and I discovered alcohol. Drinking alcohol had become a solution to my leg pain and stiffness. It also helped me cope with my social awkwardness which was there since childhood.
In college at Emory in Atlanta I stayed physically active. I participated in fraternity (Sigma Chi) inter-fraternity sports. Handball and later racquetball became regular weekly or more activities. Back then like I said I swam nearly daily in my junior and senior years. Emory was academically rigorous and demanding. Which also meant it was tedious and boring. Mainly I focused on academics and ‘having a good time’. Being so good at ‘having a good time’ that I was social chairman of my fraternity for two years. I enjoyed that sort of playing. I rarely had a girlfriend except in my sophomore year. That is another story.
I entered Emory as a pre-med student who wanted to become an orthopedic surgeon. That desire stemmed from all the surgeries as a child. All those hospital stays with other children had instilled in me a desire to help. I was breezing through the pre-med curriculum with excellent grades until I took organic chemistry. I made a ‘C’. Now what? My life had gotten a little tangled during my sophomore year. Which is part of another story. Call it what you want to: youthful indecision, immaturity, foolishness or whatever. I was adrift. Yet in hindsight it was all part of God’s Plan for my life since I believe there are no such things as coincidences.
Now I think I’ll go to law school. So I changed major as I began my junior year and switched my focus to pre-law. My new major was English. That meant taking almost nothing but english courses for the rest of my Emory College education. Coincidentally my roommate changed his major too but did however go to medical school, became a successful physician and professor at the University of Florida’s medical school. I guess it was a time of questioning and growing up. In hindsight those college years were difficult, exciting and even painful but like I have learned and is often repeated ‘life’s greatest lessons can be difficult.’ God teaches us even when we are stubborn and it takes a while for the lesson to sink in.
During the summer between my junior year and senior year my wisdom teeth were surgically removed by a fraternity brother’s Dad who was an Orlando Oral Surgeon. Wilbur was my Sigma Chi brother who was following in his father’s footsteps. He was about to enter dental school. Wilbur was cool, smart, good-looking, and engaged to the Sweetheart of Sigma Chi. I rode back and forth to Emory with him a couple of times. This was in the days before the interstates. Once time on our way back to school on some rural stretch of road we came across wild hogs rooting in the ditch alongside the highway. Wilbur pulled over got out his pistol then proceeded to kill one of the ‘good sized hogs’ (a large shoat). He said that it was the perfect size to Bar-B-Q. Now I began to rethink my career path. Entering my senior year I was still a pre-law english major. During this period I had wondered if I could ‘stomach’ surgery. I had been allowed to observe a couple of surgeries in Winter Park. Both times I had to leave the operating room. How could I be a surgeon? I didn’t have the stomach for it…Literally! Besides could I stand at the operating table for hours doing surgery? Doubts were there! Dentistry offered an alternative.
In October of my senior year I applied to Emory University’s School of Dentistry. I was immediately accepted. All the acceptance required was for me to take a pre-med (pre-dental) courses and graduate. Interestingly my academic advisor suggested that with one more course in biochemistry, I think, I could graduate with double major. That idea ignored the plan of study and play. So the pattern continued. Works and play which I had become good at. From that fall until graduation I studied, swam and played. In reality I never would have been a good attorney or would I have enjoyed it. However, I appreciate the fact that I studied english so intensely. I became a reader and it fed my ‘energy’ and tendency toward drama. Once again I thank God that is the path He led me down.
During my Emory College years I was heavily involved in my fraternity, Sigma Chi. As a freshman I also was involved in campus politics but that only lasted for one year. My sophomore year I lived in the Sig House with my roommates, Gordon and Mike. Gordon went on to medical school and on to become a successful nephrologist and professor in the University of Florida Medical school. Mike was an exceptional scholar who could have gone to any law school but choose the University of Virginia and went on to become Assistant Attorney General under Griffin Bell as a young man. We all worked hard at our studies but I made sure we played hard too. I became the Social Chairman of the fraternity for two years because I was good at ‘partying and playing’. As a sophomore I had my only college sweetheart. That is another story. Working and playing hard continued to be my focus. Drinking caused problems in college both in my freshman and sophomore year. I got away with the binges because I was a good student. God watched over me and those around me during those growing and painful days.
The summer before dental school I worked as a lifeguard and swimming instructor at ‘Dinky Dock’ for the city of Winter Park. That summer many of my childhood friends returned home for a last summer before we all (mostly) went to graduate or professional schools. It was a party hard summer. The space program that year was in high gear in Cocoa Beach and Cape Canaveral. Those engineers and space workers loved to party too so we either partied at home or drove to the beaches. Soon I developed a bleeding ulcer (duodenal) due to my heavy drinking, I now believe. The treatment back then was copious amounts of milk, cream or other dairy products to sooth the ulcer and help heal it. My solution was not to moderate my drinking but to drink everything with milk, especially scotch. So during the day I taught swimming, lifeguarded but ended the work day swimming around Lake Virginia from Dinky Dock to the Rollins College pier with the girl lifeguard who work with me. She was an Agnes Scott student. We would dive off the ten meter platform on the Rollins pier then walk the Dinky rail line back to our cars. All that milk and alcohol added nearly forty pounds to my previously slender build. That was the most I have ever weighed. Yet that summer I do remember feeling rewarded by having taught many children to swim. I still remember two kids in particular. One was a girl who had cerebral palsy. She and her twin sister were about five years old. That was satisfying. Another was a back boy who was about six. After I taught him to swim he became my daily shadow, following right beside me everyday. I have a little guilt to this day because of the one time I teased him unmercifully, all the while he looked up to me. Some sins are so long past that I can only ask God’s Forgiveness and hope my offenses caused little permanent damage.
Dental School was on my fall agenda for 1965. When I got there I thought that it would be easy. I figured Dental School would be less demanding than Medical School would have been. That was bad thinking. The first two years of dental school studies were basically the same as the medical students were taking. In fact we had the same professors, the same course work and the same labs. The basic medical science courses were identical. Grade results were posted on the professors doors with the dental students’ grades on one sheet and medical students’ grades on another. My mind-set was stuck in the work and play mode with play being more important. When the year ended the Dean of the Dental School called me to his office. The dean basically said how disappointed he and the faculty were in my performance. Since in spite of being one of the first accepted after this first year I found myself in the bottom fifth of the class. That year I had spent many of the fall weekends at the University of Florida watching Steve Spurrier win the Heisman trophy, chasing women, partying and of course drinking. The rest of the year was the same. Work hard but play harder that was the theme of the year. By the end of the year I was living in the Psi Omega Fraternity house with two of my good friends, Branch and Bob. It was nice and reasonable with room and board included so Dad was happy. I was not the social chairman but I did stock and maintain the beer machine and was responsible for the beer kegs we had at our parties. The dental parties were far less frequent than college fraternity parties but had, like medical school parties, the reputation of being ‘wild affairs.’ In fact the Psi O house had a large party room the floor of which had a drain in the middle so that after each party we only needed to hose down the room to wash away the spilt beer and smells of the night before.
Here are other highlights from that first year in dental school. In October most of us went to the military recruiting facility on Ponce de Leon Avenue to sign up for military service. It was actually a medical examination to see if you could physically qualify. I knew I was 4F in the general draft. The Vietnam War was heating up and the threat of the draft was on all young men’s minds in those days. So I asked before I began the exam, “If I pass this physical it means that I could be drafted into the Medical/Dental Corps?” The answer was yes, I could be drafted. The thought of establishing a dental practice, purchasing equipment then having that all interrupted by the draft was scary. I passed the exam. I signed up with the United States Air Force (USAF). Which meant I would spend the next four years in the USAF active reserve while I got my dental education then two years on active duty. Later in the year I injured my left knee. Remember I am now over weight. Dental school was a 8 to 5 curriculum with study and lab work after that. That left little time for my physical fitness activities. Our fitness and play activities were on weekends which included golf and racquetball for me. We did walk the golf courses which were hilly and went to the Emory gym to play racquetball. One trip to the racquetball courts I slipped on a wet spot on the court and twisted my knee. It swelled and filled with fluid. I went to the Emory Clinic where they drained the fluid more than once if my memory serves me. That was the beginning of new issues with my ‘bad leg.’ The orthopedist at Emory told me that I had an aggressive form of arthritis in that knee. Of course there was no such thing as prosthetic knee replacements back in the sixties. Their prognosis was that by the time I was thirty I would need to have my knee ‘fixed’; which meant have the joint fused and the leg made permanently straight. Thank the Good Lord that never came to be…
In the winter of 1967 during my second year I met Jan. The occasion was the Psi O formal which we held at the fraternity house and atop Stone Mountain. Both of us had blind dates. One of Jan’s University of Georgia sorority sister arranged a date with a fellow Psi O. In the mean time my roommates’ girl friend got me a date with a current University of Georgia sorority sister of hers. Although my date was pretty (she was on the home-coming court) we did not hit it off. When I saw Jan I was smitten. So that is how our romance began. Within the year we were married. She was a prize that I would not let get away. We courted for the rest of that school year. Dental school was year round and I was working at night to have extra ‘party money.’ How I went to school, worked, studied and courted Jan still amazes both of us. But we were young and full of energy. Married life settled my wild soul down. I went from the bottom of my dental school class to the top quarter. I don’t believe that I made less than an A after being married. Women can indeed change men…I thank God for that.
While in the USAF stationed in New Mexico, life consisted of work and play. We played a lot! We virtually lived outdoors. Each season offered unique activities. After Officers Training School we settled into life in base housing with a clear view of Sandia Peak. It was in October when the leaves were changing. A road trip through the Sangre de Cristo mountains to Durango, Colorado happened almost immediately. There we took our first trip on the Durango to Silverton railroad, a breathtaking ride along the Animas River. The Aspens were golden and shimmering. After spending the night in the Grande Imperial Hotel in Silverton in our room right over the bar with high ceilings and a claw footed tub in the room, we drove to Ouray a quaint town nestled in a boxed canyon that was almost perfectly square. Telluride was just off the main road a wee bit so we slipped over to see it. We documented this trip with our newly purchased Olympus 35mm Camera which was the beginning of my love for photography. New Mexico is called ‘The Land of Enchantment.’ We were enchanted for the next two years. We were Blessed.
We virtually lived outdoors. From October or November until about April each year we snow skied. The Sandia Ski Area was open the years we lived there. Sandia had adequate snow each year and was only twenty minutes from our house. Being so close meant that we usually skied half a day on Fridays. Sandia is where we learned to ski. I read ‘Come Ski with Me’ by Stein Eriksen and virtually taught myself to ski. Jan took lessons. We were skiers and most of our friends were skiers. At the airbase you could rent ski equipment for two dollars for a weekend, laced boots, wooden skis and poles. That work fine until we bought our own equipment which at first was wooden skis, polls but latch boots. The skis were LONG in those days compared to today. So most of the doctor friends and their wives put our ski racks on our cars and headed for the slopes. Our across the street friends, Bruce and Penny, were our most constant ski companions.
Bruce, Carroll and I convinced the Colonel that we would keep his ‘books right’ and as a reward he would give us Wednesday afternoons and Friday afternoons off. The three of us were the top producers in the dental clinic. We would work hard and produce a lot of good dentistry. That would give the Colonel good numbers to report to his superiors. It was also beneficial to the three of us since we planed to leave the USAF and open our own practices. So learning to produce a lot of good dentistry efficiently helped us refine our skills. The Colonel agreed and everyone in the clinic was happy. So the theme of ‘work and play’ continues. God had blessed me with good hands so my skills in dentistry grew stronger.
With Wednesday afternoons off we were headed to Sandia Peak’s Ski Area in our Cutlass 442 Navy Blue convertible with it’s ski rack for a half day pass to ski our hearts out! When the weekends arrived, we’d load up and drive to Santa Fe or Taos for day trips. Then for special times we would spent the weekend in Santa Fe, Taos or for extra-special trips we drove to southern Colorado. Probably my favorite ski slope was ‘Wolf Creek’ which was just into Colorado. We rented cabins there for ten dollars a night with a bedrooms for each couple. We skied all day then played bridge at night. Wolf Creek was on the continental divide, at a high altitude and always loaded with snow which was usually powder. In those days the lifts at the very top of the mountain were not chairs but ‘tow lifts.’ I was one of those who arrived when the lifts opened and left after the last possible ride to the top of the mountain. I loved this sort of playing to the point that for the next twenty years I never missed a years’ skiing. In fact when I borrowed money to open my practice I borrowed enough to travel to Steamboat Springs a month after opening my practice. My priorities remained ‘work and play.’ I came to believe that God wants us to enjoy His pleasures along the Way. We are meant to Dance!
Some Photos from those days…
When ski season was over we switched gears to camping, hiking, fishing, mountain motorcycling, exploring and traveling. Since we had convinced the Colonel to give us Wednesday afternoons and Friday afternoons off, we had long weekends. New Mexico’s mountains ( Sangre De Cristos) offered unlimited opportunities for adventure and exploration. Even right there in Albuquerque the scenery could be spectacular. A ride up the western slopes on the Sandia Peak Tramway was breathtaking (http://www.sandiapeak.com). In those days the western slope was heavily inhabited with wild mountain goats and sheep. They were seen grazing on the steep mountain side. (I learned in the early 2000s on a trip back there that these sheep and goats died out due to a lung disease.) As their website says: “A trip on the Sandia Peak Aerial Tramway transports you above deep canyons and breathtaking terrain a distance of 2.7 miles. See some of nature’s more dramatic beauty unfold before you.” As I mentioned before a trip to Durango, Colorado was one of our first adventures. We would hop into our convertible, put the top down and head for the next spot. Who can forget those gorgeous western SUNSETS! Every evening GOD brought us those fabulous colorful skies!
The next two years were spent traveling all over the West, tent camping, cooking over an open fire, fly-fishing, hiking, motorcycling in the Rockies, exploring Anasazi ruins, cultivating a love for the Native Americans, playing football with my fellow medics, and basically not wasting any time. We played it to the hilt. We had a good time and we cried as we headed home to Florida. Even during those two years my ‘bad leg’ played a significant role. After a little less than my first full year there in Albuquerque, I twisted my knee getting off my motorcycle at the dispensary. I rode to work in the Honda motorcycle daily while Jan used our car. This time the knee swelled up much more than usual. My fellow docs had been draining my knee as I would have episodes. This time they referred me to an orthopedic surgeon at the Sandia Base Hospital. He decided to drain the swelling in addition he put my leg in a cast to keep it immobile. This time the knee turned out to be a Blessing.
The swollen knee became a Blessing because I got orders to report to Vietnam (Da Nang Air Base) and the swollen knee saved me from that. When I returned to my orthopedic surgeon for a follow-up I told him my dilemma. He said, “I can get you out of this order if you want.” He proceeded to tell me how he came to be in the Army and his own struggles with the military. You see this orthopedic surgeon had to use crutches to walk. He had polio as a kid which left him crippled yet the Army had drafted him. He had, like me, been medically treated as a child which inspired him to become a surgeon. Not only had the Army drafted him but they had given him orders for Vietnam. He fought them and finally had his orders rescinded after he convinced them that because his legs had ‘no feeling’ that posed a risk to him. That because of the numbness he would not know if his leg had gotten fungal infections which were common in Vietnam. If his legs became infected without him knowing he could lose his leg or legs. So he crusaded for me. He said that he would tell the authorities that my leg would be in the cast long enough for me to have less than a year to serve. Because I would have a ‘short time’ the authorities would drop my orders. If I had less than a year I could not serve a full tour of duty in Vietnam. He won our crusade. He got my orders dropped. I stayed in Albuquerque for the next year. I do not remember the surgeon’s name. I am thankful that God put him in my life’s path. He was a Blessing. My ‘bad leg’ was a Blessing.
During my USAF years we drank alcohol regularly and even experimented with other intoxicants but It did not cause me any problems. I will boost that if there was a chug contest at the Officers Club and I participated, it was no contest. I finished my mug before most others had begun. Once again ‘work hard and play even harder’ continued to be life’s theme.
So orders for separation came. We pack our meager belongings and hired a cleaning crew to scrub our base house to perfection. Our house passed inspection, the movers arrived so our New Mexico days were over. As we drove east up interstate 40 through the pass in the Sandia Mountains we both cried. Those two years were a blessing which would never be forgotten. After crossing Texas we left the wide open spaces of The West. Somewhere in east Texas the roads narrowed, the green canopy of vegetation enclosed the highway then passing into Louisiana the verdant humidity engulfed us. Gone was the arid thin dry air and piercing sun of the West. Back into the moist heavy steamy South we drove. We moved in with my Mom and Dad while we searched for a place to set up my dental practice. It was the late summer of 1971. As much as we love the West the South was our home either Florida or Georgia. Since that was where family was. Those two years were a ‘life’s blessing’ like other blessings of people and places that become ‘timeless’. God was with me!
Disney had invaded my old Florida when I returned to establish a dental practice. A friend of mine, Smoky’s father, who own ‘Florida Ranch Lands Realty’ at the time help to secretly put the Disney land purchase together. Her Dad was a player in the land acquisition. The entire deal was kept quiet. Disney’s arrival meant Central Florida would never be the same again. I remembered Orlando when highway 50 was two lanes going through town east to west and highway 17-92 going north to south. I searched the Winter Park/Orlando area to find a place to set up an office. An attractive site was in Altamonte near the mall on a pond. It was a several story office building which felt cold and uninviting to me. Altamonte had been the home of ‘Sanlando Springs’ (see Wikipedia) had been a childhood playground for many of us in Central Florida but it was gone now, sold to a developer. With nothing that appealed to me in the new urban sprawl, we began to look elsewhere. Lamar, a dental supply salesman, took us around the center of the state to help us find a place.
The place we choose was Leesburg. The city sat between two large lakes, Griffin and Harris, which were part of the chain of lakes that fed the Ocklawaha River. The Ocklawaha River is a major tributary of the St. Johns River. I love the water (that to is another story). So the prospect of living on the water helped us decide on Leesburg. Within less than a year I had built a dental office and established my dental practice. After renting a house on pond for a short time we moved to Palmora Park into a house overlooking Lake Harris. Both Amy and Erin were born while we live there. My office was also built across the street from Lake Harris, across from the Community Center and the baseball fields and stadium. We were home. I borrowed enough money from my Dad and the bank to build an office, equip it and enjoy ourselves including going to Steamboat Springs, Colorado, to ski in February that first year. In hindsight it was all part of His plan.
I believe in miracles. Jan had been unable to become pregnant which was the thing to do when we were in the USAF. All our Air Force friends were having children. It virtually cost nothing to conceive and have a baby in the service. All medical expenses were covered and all the doctors were our friends. But it didn’t happen for us. So when Amy was born, to me it was a miracle. In hindsight (again) Jan had a miscarriage before Amy so Jan’s fertility had changed. It was not a problem any longer. I remember being grateful and thankful for Amy. Personally the fact that she was without defect was extra special. She had no scars, and was perfectly normal and healthy. We continued to be Blessed.
Then miracle of miracles Jan was pregnant again. Fourteen months after Amy’s birth, Erin arrived. Her delivery was precipitous but seemingly without coincidences to Jan or Erin. However after her delivery Erin had swelling on both temples. In hindsight I am suspect of those swollen areas. Within months we became aware that Erin did not respond to sounds that should have startled her. When Henri, our dog, would bark under her crib Erin slept on without waking. Other loud noises caused no response from Erin. We brought this to the attention of Dr. Cliff Bridges, our friend. His referrals finally led to the conclusion that Erin was ‘profoundly hard of hearing.’ We were devastated. We knew nothing about deafness and no one in either of our families had been deaf. What were we to do? Looking back God opened doors and put people in our path who helped us along the way. Erin’s story is long but eventually triumphant. We are grateful!
My ‘accident’ and the damage it caused to my leg had kept me from being deployed to Vietnam but it continued to cause pain and stiffness. Bicycle riding reportedly was a good treatment for ‘bad knees.’ So I bought the latest ten speed bike. I became dedicated to riding daily usually after work for twenty to thirty minutes for distances of eight to twelve miles. This became almost a religion. I mixed in jogging. I drove to ‘The Track Shack’ in Orlando for their best running shoes. But it should have been evident that running was not good for my knee but stubborn as I am, I ran anyway. When we moved into our new house which we had built-in eighty-one, I added swimming to my workout discipline since we had a large pool in the back yard. I swam distances regularly in college at Emory. In fact I was on the swim team for a short time as a distance swimmer. Swimming was natural for me. I was hooked on exercising for life as it turned out. In the early eighties short course triathlons became part of my exercise religion. Fitness was my thing but there was a contradiction. My drinking was becoming progressively more of an issue.
So running, biking and swimming were a daily habits but often after a hard bike ride or run I would come home and drink, sometimes heavily. Adding insult to injury smoking was part of the post exercise ritual. This was a destructive pattern that I rationalized as normal. Fortunately or unfortunately during this time my Mom had health issues and we (Mom, Dad, Jan and I) quit smoking in nineteen eighty-one. But the heavy drinking with regular binges continued, progressively worsening. That is the way it was until legal and life issues made it clear that I had to quit drinking. This dark period of my life ended with another accident. For the second time I had totaled a vehicle. This time it was my new four wheel drive pickup truck. I was drunk and hopelessly out of control. The story of my recovery is long and triumphant but not to be told here except to say, “’By the Grace of God’ I haven’t found it necessary to drink alcohol since November fifteenth of nineteen eighty-five.” God continued to be with me in spite of my destructive self…
After the Accident: A New Life Began…
Life without alcohol turned out to be far better than imagined. The pain and stiffness associated with my ‘leg’ became actually easier to live with since my body didn’t have to detoxify on a regular basis. Other difficulties began to resolve themselves. The path before me appeared clearer, straighter and leveler but not at the beginning. In fact one day at a time I had stepped into anew way of living. Seeing what the future held for me had to be dismissed. Trusting in God’s Grace was the simple requirement. The new way meant keeping things simple. Each morning began with what I call my RPMs that is Readings, Prayers and Meditations. Basically asking God to direct me just for today. Seeking His guidance daily it soon became evident that meant ‘doing the next right thing’. That was all He required. Miracles began to happen. A new way of living had begun. I realized that in fact God was with me. A new mind-set and gratefulness had been created…
After this new Way became established and a regular habit, looking back it was clear that God had been with me all the time. From the moment of my birth, to the time Sister Barke lifted me off the heater, through every difficulty in my life He held me in His Hand. On the wall of my private office was posted ‘Foot Prints in the Sand.’
One of my morning prayers for myself and others goes like this: “Lord help me to know, see and do Thy Will today.” Of course that prayer is a struggle for any of us. We all have clay feet and fall short. The secret is to get back up and remember that Jesus said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” We must continue to fight the good fight!
Even though I was a drowning man, letting go of my ‘old self’ became a struggle that lasted a few years until I surrendered totally. As any lifeguard knows sometimes the victim must be incapacitated before a rescue can be achieved. I had finally reached that point. The story of my recovery would take too long to tell here. Suffice it to say it was miraculous.
That brings us to the middle nineteen eighties. A year after my recovery I began to hold positions of responsibility. Instead of my ego being stroked these position were seen as opportunities to be useful to my fellows, my family and society in general. A leader without a personal agenda became my tasks in my church, my Kiwanis Club, the ‘Hearing Impaired Community,’ my dental association and everywhere else in my life. Doing my duty and being responsible were my focus. To put it simply I began to ‘do the next right thing.’ A second life had begun for me. That life continues unfolding each day by keeping things simple not dwelling on the past mistakes or worrying about what the future might bring. I liken it to flowing with the current in a river not struggling to reach an alluring beach but being content with the process of letting go. Relaxing and enjoying journey like a Hobbit I have learned to love the adventure.
The new Self that was evolving still relished ‘playing.’ We continued our annual snow skiing trips out west. Then a couple of years after this new life began which I only appreciated decades later, we bought an off shore boat. That began new adventures mostly to salt water venues. Lobstering trips to the Florida Keys now became a yearly trek in late July and early August. Earlier in the summer we ventured on ‘scolloping trips’ to Crystal River on Florida’s gulf coast. Scolloping to me was like picking berries. Gathering scollops required snorkeling in four to six foot deep water over a grassy bottom, spotting the scollops then simply dropping down to the bottom and picking them up. Each diver had a net bag that would hold a couple of gallons of the golden mollusks. Once having gathered enough the diver brought them back to the boat. In the boat sat the ‘workers’ who took the bagful of shelled bounty then shucked the meat from the bivalved delicacy. Our girls loved these scolloping adventures especially. On one trip we rescued a kitten that came home with us to Leesburg. Her name became Crystal of course. So the playing continued from the eighties into the nineties. The trips to the Keys were more of a vigorous outing.
Lobstering adventures began with my dear childhood friend, Chan Muller. The first of these trips were to Key West which is the most distant and westerly key. This type of diving involved more than just ‘berry picking.’ To capture a lobster required more advanced skin and scuba diving skills. Chan came with his law partner Kirk Kirkconnell who was the best fisherman and diver I ever knew. This was a family affair with everybody: husbands, wives and all the children. That meant our girls, Chan’s sons and daughter plus Kirk and Susan’s daughter and son. It was times of priceless memories. Since those days Kirk’s son Cameron has become one of the world best skin diver/spear fisherman. Cameron holds many world records for his diving and spearing skills. (See https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdoc4bHo9_o for one of Cameron’s records.) The Keys trips morphed into both Winter Park and Leesburg families annually convening in the Keys.
Eventually the lobstering adventures became for us mostly Leesburg families. The outings then settled in the area of Marathon and Big Pine Keys. Those trips continue to this day with only the guys participating now after the children grew up and moved on. In our lobstering heyday we came home with hundred quart coolers or more filled with lobster tails for each family since we usually limited out every day. Our boat was also very productive on ‘grouper digs’. These grouper fishing trips also happened out of Crystal River where we launched to go usually out to or near ‘Crystal Reef,’ an artificial reef twenty or so miles out into the Gulf of Mexico. The grouper fishing trips were an all guy thing and usually included other boats. We often limited out or at least had productive ventures out.
Then after a few years away from hunting, since hunting trips seemed to fuel my drinking problem, hunting became a fall event again. Hunting in Florida was limited to a lease just forty-five minutes from our house. Then Leesburg friends and I leased hunting land in southwest Georgia. The lease was less than an hour from Jan’s parent’s home in Eufaula, Alabama. In Georgia the deer were much bigger, more plentiful and the hunting was generally much better. The weather was better. In spite of it being cold to the point of shaking in the tree stand, unlike Florida you need not wade through the swamp in the fall heat and fight the clouds of mosquitos to get to your tree stand. There was something special about walking into the woods in the dark, climbing the tree stand then watching the world wake up right before your eyes. My skills as a deer, hog and turkey hunter were only average. However during those years our freezer was full of venison, hog (usually as sausage), lobster, grouper, snapper and sometimes even turkey. Those years of diving, fishing and hunting left lasting memories. Not only of the harvest which put meat in the freezer but also the blessing of being in the woods at the break of dawn or dusk, and on the water enjoying God bounties. I continued to be Blessed during this period but now I was seeing things differently as if I had a new pair of glasses.
Now it is approaching nineteen ninety. Jan teaches art at Leesburg High School . Suddenly Amy and Erin are students there too. Amy becomes co-captain of the cheerleaders. In fact her squad of cheerleaders go to Nashville to a national competition where they place eighth in the nation. Jan was one of their sponsors. Meanwhile Erin played soccer both club and for LHS. The LHS girls soccer team went to state during those years and Erin played on the line as an ‘attacker’ on what I would call the left wing. Erin was incredibly fast. So with cheering and soccer both of which lasted all year, we remained constantly busy. I too was busy in the community assuming responsibilities in Kiwanis, at St. James, the Dental Society, and with Jan in Florida Oral (for the education of deaf children) just to name the most obvious. Of course daily I ran my dental practice with help of some wonderful women I employed over the years. The last half of the eighties flew by with high school graduation and college just ahead. God kept opening doors for us even during difficult periods.
College for Amy and Erin suddenly was upon us. Interestingly Amy applied to many of the same colleges that I had applied to decades before. Amy was a gifted student who graduated third in her class so she was accepted almost everywhere. It was a surprise to us when she decided to attend Emory. So we found ourselves back in the Druid Hills neighborhood thirty years after I had arrived there myself. Amy thrived at Emory. After the first year she was made aware of the ‘Bobby Jones Scholarship’ which is awarded to four Emory graduating seniors who demonstrate academic and leadership skills. Amy pledged ‘Tri Delt’ and eventually became president of the sorority her senior year. Jan had been a Tri Delt at the University of Georgia and my sister was one at the University of Florida. It was looking like a family tradition. Amy also dated at the Sigma Chi house where I belonged. It was fun to go back to Emory over those four years. My Mom and Dad attended Amy’s graduation in 1995, thirty years after mine. Amy relished her years at Emory. Emory instilled in her a desire to continue learning as it had in me. She loved Atlanta to and still lives close to Emory.
Erin’s college adventure was marked with obvious evidence of God’s hand in her choice. We travelled all over the south looking at colleges for her. Mostly we looked a small private colleges where small classes would be the norm. She needed to be close to the professors in order to lip-read their lectures. We visited some of the finest schools in the southeast. Erin wanted to go out of state which was a concern for Jan. What happened during the process of selecting a college was evidence of God’s hand guiding us. A couple of Amy’s classmates had been given football scholarships to Presbyterian College (PC) which was located near the Greenville-Spartanburg area of South Carolina. They spoke highly of PC. We went to visit. The campus was beautiful and impressive. Then we discovered that two of the faculty members were deaf. Those professors were ‘oral deaf’. That is they spoke rather than using sign language. This is how Erin was raised: orally not dependent on sign language. One of those professors had a doctorate in physics. The other who became Erin’s mentor (not offically) was Dr. Dean Thompson. Dr. Thompson was an English Professor who was repeatedly awarded ‘Professor of the Year.’ The students loved Dean Thompson. I believe that after out visit to PC, Erin had made up her own mind. So even though we had visited half a dozen college at least Erin applied to ONLY Presbyterian college. She was accepted and in the fall she entered the freshman class. During orientation I reunited with an Emory fraternity brother whose son was also enter the freshman class. Brother Tom said, “PC reminds me of Emory back in the sixties.” He was right so we all felt PC was another ‘God Sent’ moment in our lives.
Having both daughters in private prestigious colleges was an expensive proposition. I had planned for them to be able to go to whatever college they wanted if they continued to be good students which they did. Fortunately my investments during the nineties did well. There again luck was not involved. I believe the good Lord gave me the mind and skills necessary to finance those years.
The decade of the nineties was filled with wonderful memories. In our empty nest back in Leesburg Jan was teaching art at Leesburg High School. My dental practice was thriving. Both Jan and I were busy with many activities. Aside from work I played golf twice a week usually while maintaining a five to seven handicap. Grouper fishing and lobster diving stayed on my schedule. During the fall I hunted (deer, hog and turkey) at a lease in southwest Georgia less than an hour from Jan’s family’s home in Eufaula, Alabama. We own a Coachman trailer that we left at the camp for me to stay in. Occasionally Jan would join me, since Leesburg family friends were members of the Hunt Club we could hang out with. Then there was the ‘Smith’s Mountain House’ in Sapphire, North Carolina which my Mom and Dad had built in eighty-seven. The house was large enough to accommodate everyone. Just a couple of hours from Amy in Atlanta and Erin near Greenville it was an easy rendezvous for everyone. Jan was becoming more involved in her art. She began to paint for St. James Episcopal Church to help fundraise for the Church Women. That evolved into people commissioning her to do paintings for them. She did that for decades. We remained active in our respective clubs: like Kiwanis, Silver Lake Country Club, the Dental Associations for me and PEO, the Art Association for Jan. Of course we very active members of St. James Episcopal Church participating various duties there. We both enjoyed gardening. Jan grew flowers and ornamentals while I built a raised-bed organic vegetable garden which could be planted year round in Florida. Our lives were full and we continued to be Blessed. During this period the leg pain continued but did stop me from living life to the fullest…We were Thankful!
The Smith Mountain House became a regular get away for Jan and I during this period of time. In April we would visit my folks there as the dogwoods bloomed and other spring plants showed off. This was also time to play golf on the course my folk’s house was on. Jan and my Mom would paint and shop. The Horsepasture River ran through my folk’s development offering me incredible fly-fishing for trout just minutes from their house. Of course Mom and Dad always took us to lunch either at the Club or to one Cashiers fine restaurants. When the heat of Florida’s summer got to be too much around July 4th, back to the mountains we headed. The houses’s elevation was 3700-3800 feet so the summers there were cool. The Fourth of July fireworks displays are legendary. Our family would sit on the hill over looking Fairfield Lake watching the pyrotechnic display over the water as the Charlotte Symphony celebrated our nations birth. What Memories! In the fall we returned to see the leaf changes which is non existent in Florida. My parents LOVED to have company! God continued to Bless us!
The Mountain House became the meeting place for many years. Once the entire Smith Clan came to the house. Debbie’s whole family and ours could all stay in the house. The house was huge. Mom and Dad I am sure hoped that such in gatherings would be a regular event. It only happened one time since the kids were in school. Our lives were full and busy. Our family did make regular trips there. Even into the college years we would rendezvous at the Staircase Falls House. It was just two hours from Atlanta where Amy was going to Emory and an even shorter trip for Erin at Presbyterian College. The place got used. It was where Erin and Danny married at The Church of the Good Shepard and their reception at the Burlingame Country Club . (see https://burlingameccwnc.com) My golf buddies from Florida began to make an annual fall trip to Mom and Dad’s. We would play golf traveling up to the mountains. Then play Burlingame and other courses in the area while staying with Mom and Dad for two or three days, playing eighteen hole in the morning and eighteen in the afternoon. Then on our way back to Florida we played seaside courses along the Carolina, Georgia coasts. Six of us made that trip every years for almost a decade I think. Although during this time period Mom and Dad still owned a house or condo in Florida, they spent most of the year in the mountains. We sold the house in 2013 (the video on this page https://www.dksmith918.com/?page_id=35). The Staircase Falls House was a Blessing to us all…
A Good Time was had by all…
A TIME OF MIRACLES…
The end of the nineties became a time of miracles. Erin and Amy had graduated from college. Back in Atlanta Amy was working on a PHD in psychology after having worked at the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Maryland. Erin was trying to enter graduate studies in the field of occupational therapy. She had taken all the necessary course at various colleges. This was around 1997. She would come home to live with occasionally. In the fall of that year she told us that she had decided to get a cochlear implant. Cochlear implants were not new but were still in their infancy. She had researched CIs extensively. One of the pioneers in the CI surgery was Dr. Balkany, who was at the University of Miami Medical School. (https://cochlearimplanttraining.com/aboutus) Erin was ready to have the surgery. Dr. Balkany was world renowned and right here in Florida. In the meantime while watching the Discovery Channel in bed one night we saw a program about ‘leg lengthening’. At this point in my life the burned left leg had created multiple other health issues. For nearly two decades it had been recommended that my left knee be replaced. Even though the medial meniscus had been removed in ’78 thus stopping the bleeding episodes, aggressive arthritis had begun. My knee hurt even more than previously in my life. In addition having one leg shorter than the other for a lifetime my back (spine) and opposite hip began to be increasingly painful. Having two legs the same length would be a MIRACLE for sure.
First here is what happened to me since my surgery happened first. After watching the Discovery program, I called Dr. Chad Price. Dr. Price had graduated from WPHS after I did. Then Chad attended Emory College and Medical School. I had known him for years. His father was a Winter Park surgeon, friends of my parents and Chad’s Dad had allowed me to observe surgery as I was making career choices. Chad was practicing orthopedic surgery in the Winter Park and Orlando area. So I called him. Now the answer to prayers began. I asked Chad, “Do you know anything about ‘lengthening the femur’?” The femur is the large bone of the upper leg. “Yes, I do. In fact my ex-partner is world renown in such a procedure,” Chad declared. Dr. J. Dean Cole, his ex-partner, was the surgeon’s name. Chad said Dr. Cole can lengthen your leg from the ‘inside’, those deducing the risk of infection. So Dr. Chad Price referred me to Dr. Cole.
We called Dr. Cole. An appointment for a consultation was set up. The rest of this is truly beyond what could have been imagined possible. Dr. Cole has what can only be described as a genius’ mind that can envision devices others cannot possibly see. Two of my close Leesburg friends, who were orthopedic surgeons, both told me that they had assisted Dr. Cole in surgeries. “David, Dr. Cole sees in different dimensions than the rest of us,” they both said. We discovered that indeed he does. He is Blessed.
During my initial visit Dr. Cole explained that he had developed a new procedure that could length my femur from the inside. That I could continue to work in my dental office to a limited extent. At the end of three months my legs would be the same length. I would be part of a FDA (Food and Drug Administration) approval study that required twenty participants and I was to be number eleven. When can we do this! I was ready. This was in the summer of ninety-seven. Erin had not yet told us about wanting a CI. The anticipation was tremendous. I kept waiting for the phone call to schedule the surgery. (Incidentally it was my twelfth year of sobriety. Some believe the number twelve has spiritual significance.)
Finally the surgery date was set for October. There are detailed records of the costs and insurance records but no journaling was done of the surgery. The surgery and actual lengthening I will recall as best I can. I believed and trusted that the procedure would work. This surgery would accomplish what all the other surgeries during my childhood and teens had not been able to do. It was an answer to the prayers of many people going back to the Nuns at Columbus Hospital had made decades before.
So with my best recall this is how it happened. In early October of nineteen ninety-seven we drove to Orlando Regional Hospital in downtown Orlando before dawn one morning. Jan drove us home later that day. It was an out patient procedure. The surgery was over. I was home. During the surgery Dr. Cole had made a 3-4 inch incision at my left hip. He entered the head of the femur. At about mid thigh the femur was cut and broken from the inside. Again Dr. Cole’s genius implemented this part of the procedure. My femur was now in two parts. He inserted a ‘ratchet-like device’ as I would call it. He secured the upper end of the ratchet-like rod through the incision at the hip with a large screw. He then made a 1-2 inch incision on the lateral surface of the thigh just above the knee. This end was secured with two smaller screws. The rod in my leg could open since my leg was now in two parts. This ‘surgical nail’ as Dr. Cole called it, was designed to open gradually micro-millimeters at a time. As I moved the lower part of my leg the device opened a little bit at a time since the upper part of the femur was fixed. The surgery was accomplished now the lengthening process begins.
Dr. Cole had prescribed Tylenol with codeine for the pain, a hundred tablets. I took one. Ibuprofen worked as well at relieving the pain without the mind altering effects of the opioid, codeine. I knew this from dealing with pain control in my dental practice. The pain could be characterized as mild to moderate to the point that within days I needed little pain relief, believe it or not. I could put NO WEIGHT on the left leg. So I was now on crutches. Movement cause the lower part of my leg to gradually open the orthopedic device in my femur. That meant that I could go to work on crutches sit on my operatory stool and practice dentistry. My working hours were normally 7AM to 3:30PM except for Wednesdays and Fridays when we closed at noon. So my hours now became 7AM to noon everyday. That amount of activity usually opened the device the desired amount which was about 1.5 to 2.5 millimeters per day. I had a monitor that measured the gradual opening of the orthopedic
nail. I remember that being a warm October. Some days the office work did not open the device sufficiently. So I got in our pool gripped my leg at the knee and gently twist it to reach the desire opening for the day. There was no pain with the opening since it was so gradual. On some of the weekends I built a new organic garden bed by dragging railroad ties with our John Deere mower to where they belonged. Then rolling them into place. Amazingly there was little or no pain as the lengthening continued.
At about the third month the process was done. The left leg was now the length Dr. Cole desired. We drove back to ORMC early one morning. Dr. Cole incised in the same spots (no new scars), removed the lengthening ‘nail’ and inserted a permanent titanium ‘healing nail.’ Screws fastened it in the same places. We were home by late afternoon. I drove us there and Jan drove me home. Again there was pain that could be controlled with ibuprofen. I asked Dr. Cole how strong this ‘healing nail’ was? He answered that it I were to jump off the roof that leg would ‘not break.’
He suggested that I take it easy rehabbing. He told me that he had just completed the same procedure on Dr. James Gills the world-renowned ophthalmologist from Tarpon Springs the month before me. Dr. Gills had won the Hawaii Ironman World Championship in Kona, Hawaii multiple times. As soon as Dr. Cole place his healing nail, Dr. Gills began training again. I had given up competing in short course triathlons in the mid-eighties but was still a daily bike rider. Riding 10-12 miles everyday was a long standing habit. I did take it easy which for David was hard. My left leg was so weak from disuse atrophy that I could not step up on a two by four laying in it 2 inch side. Soon I had rehabilitated the leg and had the healing nail removed at the end of a year. I was home just after lunch for that procedure. AMAZING! God had led me this Way and I am forever grateful.
The back pain was gone. The pain and stress on the right hip was gone too. Surprisingly the pain in my left knee almost disappeared. That was due to the fact that now the forces and stresses on that knee were in different places and in different directions. There was still arthritis in that knee but now because of the new dynamics I was virtually pain free. No are buying special shoes that could be adapted with ‘lifts.’ No more getting pants altered since one leg was shorter than the other. I could buy any shoe I wanted and I did! At age 53 my life took a different path. A couple of months later we celebrated by traveling to Scotland for a two week holiday.
Here are faded X-rays of the lengthening nail in place just before it’s removal. Notice the arrows point to the intentional fracture with the bone already beginning to fill into the fracture space. Also note the photo of the ‘healing nail’ that was removed a years later.
X-rays of the lengthening nail…
This is the actual healing nail…
This is the opening monitor…
Jan’s notes for the monitor…
Was this the end product?
This surgery was the end product of a lifetime of attempts at mending and correcting the damage done by ‘The Accident’ caused by two careless women. One was a teenager and the other I came to believe was a Nun. Both of whose name were never made known to us. The Catholic Church’s hierarchy refused to reveal their names. That was probably a good thing at the time of the event since the pain felt by my parents was so intense that reasonable thinking on their part was not possible. I can only imagine my parent’s pain and anger. I ,on the other hand, never was angry at any one. In fact it wasn’t until adulthood that I realized that I was not to blame for what happened to me. However, concealing the women’s names eliminated the possibility of my being able to forgive them both personally which I wanted to do. I made one last attempt in 2017 when I visited the Columbus Hospital but there was no record of who was responsible. Once again ‘the church’ (the Roman Catholic Church) corrupted the actions of the wonderful Sisters and Nuns who cared for me, helped me heal, prayed for me and I believe taught my parents how to pray and believe. Things have not changed much since Jesus repeatedly condemned the Jewish leadership while praising the individuals ‘who practiced what they were preached.’ My Mom and Dad believed that you need to get on your knees to pray which I am sure the Sisters taught them. Yet becoming a Catholic was offensive.
Erin at almost the same time that fall had researched cochlear implants which restores the hearing of those who lost the hearing because of injury or damage to the hair cells in the cochlear of the inner ear. Her surgery was done at the University of Miami’s Medical School which was Jackson Memorial Hospital. This is her story to tell. I will only say that we all supported her, were with her and we all believed that it too was an answer to pray. Erin still is interested and follows closely the research being done in ‘cochlear hair cell regeneration.’ Such regeneration has been performed on animals successfully. Now they are attempting it on humans. Hope springs eternal. God was with us when he lead us to Dr. Balkany (https://cochlearimplanttraining.com/aboutus)
Some of George McDonalds’s thoughts on God being with us…
George MacDonald wrote in Hope of the Gospel the following which reflects on God being with us, our occasional realization of that fact and our surrender to Him:
“The Father is with him all the time, but it may be long ere the child knows himself in his arms. His heart may be long troubled as well as his outer life. The dank mists of doubtful thought may close around his way, and hide from him the Light of the world! cold winds from the desert of foiled endeavour may sorely buffet and for a time baffle his hope; but every now and then the blue pledge of a great sky will break through the clouds over his head; and a faint aurora will walk his darkest East. Gradually he grows more capable of imagining a world in which every good thing thinkable may be a fact. Best of all, the story of him who is himself the good news, the gospel of God, becomes not only more and more believable to his heart, but more and more ministrant to his life of conflict, and his assurance of a living father who hears when his children cry. Father, set me free in the glory of thy will, so that I will only as thou willest. Thy will be at once thy perfection and mine. Thou alone art deliverance—absolute safety from every cause and kind of trouble that ever existed, anywhere now exists, or ever can exist in thy universe.”
Is the line, “blue pledge of a great sky will break through the clouds over his head; and a faint aurora will walk his darkest East,” what CS Lewis later called ‘an inkling’?
The pain would continue to be a reminder of what happened. It would and never has gone away. Pain is a great teacher. As CS Lewis reminds us, “Pain is God’s Megaphone!”
Scotland in 1999…
Now that my legs we the same length my pain was so much improved. In videos from that trip I saw that my limp was virtually gone. So in late May and into June of nineteen ninety-nine we took two weeks to travel to Scotland. Both of our families had ancestors from Scotland. Neither of us had been there and both wanted to see the country. Jan had not flown in sometime still having serious reluctance to get on any plane much less one that she would be on for hours. We secured seats in the rear that were more spacious with her in the isle and me in the window seat. We flew British Airways to London where we changed planes for Edinburgh, rented a car and drove to St. Andrews upon arrival. One of the first things that I noticed on our drive to St. Andrews was ‘red deer farms.’ They raise red deer like we raise beef cattle here. Venison is a staple of the Scot’s diet. It is on most every menu as is salmon.
That first night we discovered how wonderfully friendly the Scots we. We chatted with our Bed and Breakfast couple for hours until it dawned on us that ‘we weren’t in Florida any more’. Meaning that it did not get dark until late at night near midnight since Scotland’s latitude is the same as Alaska. We were nearly in the land of the midnight sun. They had recommended a pub just down the street for dinner. Everyone walks over there. Part of our conversation with the B&B owners was that so many Americans seemed to be obese. Attributing that to the fact the we in America drive everywhere instead of walking. Reminding me that walking was nearly pain free now which was a Blessing!
We walked on the sidewalk from the B&B down a hill of a narrow wall-lined street to the pub. Each home along the street had small courtyard gardens filled with wonderful plants which were foreign to these Floridian eyes. Much was in bloom. The air was cool and crisp unlike the heat and humidity we left in Florida. The small village where we were staying that night and for the next couple of nights following was above St. Andrews. So there was a view of the town, it’s golf courses and the sea beyond in the distance. We were blessed with eleven days of gorgeous weather during our visit. It was sweater weather with little or no rain which is an exception to the normal. Seated near the back of the dining room in the restaurant we had a full view of dinning room and the front door. The room was nearly full of dining patrons. The conversations at each table were low, muted and courteous. The meal was excellent probably of venison. We experimented with uniquely Scottish dishes occasionally but found the salmon and venison especially likable. Scottish cuisines are often criticized but honestly their diets are wholesome. Toward the end of the meals there was a commotion at the front door. In walked a foursome or more of American golfers who almost embarrassed us as they disrupted the polite, reserved and tranquil atmosphere of dinner. Day one of our trip was blessed too.
St. Andrews hosted us for couple of days, two or three as I recall. One day was commencement. Strolling through the campus we met cap and gown clad students celebrating their graduation. Beneath the cap and gowns the student were dressed in suits or sports coats and ties. The women wore classic dresses and heels. They were dressed semi-formally. At one point we encountered a crowd of students exuberantly cheering and throwing their caps in the air. It was a serendipitous moment that was etched in our memory or at least mine. The campus and town are ancient with ruins mixed in with the functioning buildings. The true tradition of higher education still exists here. Emory University and St. Andrews University still have a long standing connection that was begun by Bobby Jones whose scholarship still sending four distinguished students from Emory to study there each year.
Our Trip to Scotland continued to be blessing after blessing. We travelled up the eastern coast through Carnoustie then up to Stonehaven where Grandpa Smith was born and raised. There we met with Ron and Evelyn Gilmore. This Scottish couple shared with us the local character of the area. Evelyn was doing genealogy research for my Aunt Barb into the Smith clan. Ron was an engineer for Shell Oil which had a significant presence because of the north sea oil. They took us to visit Dunnotar Castle where Grandpa Smith played as a boy. We also took us the their country club, Stonehaven Golf Club.
Stonehaven Scotland…
Donnotar Castle…
Ron and Evelyne Gilmore our hosts at their Country Club…
Stonehaven and it’s harbor in the distance…
From Stonehaven we headed west into the Highlands. Describing the beauty of these hills, rivers, valleys and mountains seems an impossible task. Our visit was Blessed with blooming of the broom and wynd. These are the Gaelic names for gorse plants. Their yellow blossoms covered the hills and valleys spectacularly. The highland roads are narrow being two lanes with occasional places to pull over allowing other to pass.
The Highlands were more like America’s Appalachian Mountains than the western mountains. Really they were different from all of our mountains. The landscape was lush like our eastern mountains yet stark in ways like our Rockies. We soon arrived at Balmoral Castle where the British family often stays. In fact the Queen and her family were there when we toured the castle grounds. In fact as we arrived they were just leaving the Crathie Kirk just across the road from the castle grounds. When the royal family is in Scotland they attend church here at the Church of Scotland wee parish. Eventually we came to Bin Nevis where the movie ‘Braveheart’ had just recently been filmed. We hiked up the mountain which offered spectacular vistas.
From the highlands we drove to Sterling. Then on to Edinburgh where we stay in the Old Waverley Hotel for a few days before flying home. We drank it all in! The National Art Museum was across the street form our hotel. The museum contained the works of many of the Great Master’s works so Jan was awed. The castle was a short walk as was the Royal Mile. Out our window was a view of Edinburgh’s park. The trip was Blessed in every way.
(All of this we recorded on video which can be watched on our website: https://www.dksmith918.com/?page_id=1911)
Life was Good….
At this point in life things were going well. Life was good. In hind sight we were given a few years of simple joys of life. Like regular trips to the mountain house, adventure with our friends, then eventually we married both our daughters. Amy married at our home church of St. James in Leesburg where we had been blessed and nurtured by our parish family for decades. The reception followed at Harbor Hills Country Club with a grand celebration. Truly a good time was had by all. Then a year later Erin married Danny. That took place at the mountain house. The marriage ceremony was held at The Church of the Good Shepard in Cashiers, North Carolina, where my Mom and Dad were parishioners. Afterwords the reception took place at The Sapphire Lakes Country Club thanks to Mom and Dad’s membership there. This wedding was simpler and more low key. Friends and family came from all over to celebrate with us. Jan’s father, Jim, made one of his last trips before cancer struck him again. So as the year two thousand one ended life was just one blessing after another.
Trials and tribulations begin…
A couple of weeks after my 58th birthday in mid January (2002) I became sick. First believing it was the flu because the symptoms were mainly general malaise, fatigue and achy joints. Soon we discovered I was running a low grade fever, usually less than 100 degrees. The symptoms would go away for a few days but usually once or twice a week they returned. I was missing work once or twice a week. Stubborn to my soul, Jan finally convinced me to see my doctor. In April Dr. Coe diagnosed the ailment as PMR or Polymyalgia Rheumatica. PMR is a disease common to people of my age. It made sense to me. The treatment is steroids daily. The prognosis was encouraging since the symptoms of PMR tend to disappear after a couple of years. Dr. Coe in his usual straight forward manner said, “David we are trading one disease that is PMR for another which is the many side effects of living on prednisolone.” The treatment seemed to be working. Life continued to be good in 2002.
Then a multitude of ‘issues’ began to interrupt of lives. The order is difficult to recall since they all seemed lumped together. Generally this is what happened.
We continued to go visit my Mom and Dad in the mountain house regularly, especially in the blossoming spring, Fourth of July and October’s fall foliage. Amy and Erin joined us when they could. Jack and Bette loved having us! For holidays or just to visit we travelled to Eufaula, Alabama, to be with Jan’s Mom and Dad. Jim’s health began to decline with one serious event after another. Remembering the order this is the sequence which all took place in 2002. First it was colon cancer which required major surgery and a colostomy. Next heart problems lead to open heart surgery with coronary bypasses. Finally he had to have his leg amputated. It was the leg that he was awarded a purple heart for due to a shrapnel wound during his service in WWII in the Philippines. That was all he could take. Jan, Jimmy, Jennifer and Jeane were by his side when he went to the Lord on his birthday. Jan said when her Dad passed the Lord was in the room…
Meanwhile life went on as normal as possible. Early in 2002 we brought Skye home. Skye was a Golden Retriever from the same sire and bitch as Erin’s Golden Toby. She would bless us for nearly thirteen years, traveling with us mostly wherever we went. For David normal meant Florida scuba diving trips to the Florida Keys, regular fishing trips to the Gulf, weekly golf rounds. Art and church (St. James) involvement for Jan was her routine. We continued visiting the mountain house regularly. In October our golfing group of six played the local mountain courses allowing Mom and Dad an opportunity to entertain and host us which they relished. We were making the best of it while Jan continued to teach and my dental practice was still thriving. Then in November our first grandchild was born in Atlanta. Jarrett was a thrill to us all. Jan and I arrived just after he was born, got to witness his coming home and celebrate a new family member. Life was going on. Once again we were Blessed.
My PMR was slowly getting worse. Taking increasing doses of steroids and trying all the available NSAIDS (non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs) my aliment seemed to in fact be progressing. Dr. Coe, who was a fellow Emory alum, was in the midst of changing careers. He had becoming increasingly more wealthy in real estate. We began to suspect that what I had was not PMR but may be rheumatoid arthritis. Researching PMR I discovered that one of the ‘world’s experts’ on the disease was at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville just hours from our home. Meanwhile Dr. Coe brought Dr. K. Sampong into his practice as Coe began his real estate career in earnest. Dr. Sampong said that his specialties were cardiology and internal medicine and he would rather refer me to a rheumatologist than treat my disease himself. That made sense to me. He referred me to Dr. Kenneth Starke. I asked if I could go to the Mayo Clinic specifically to see the expert that I had discovered. “Good idea with me,” said Dr. Sampong who was a pleasant easy mannered young black man.
As all this was developing I recall questioning the Good Lord, “Why do I have to deal with more pain?” The answer seemed to be that since I had the resources, preparation and perseverance I was well prepared to deal with this too. Since 1985 when I was given new life, I had seen how God provided all that we ever needed to handle ‘situations that seem to baffle us.’ By this time each morning my hands were so swollen that my hands looked like huge groves that had been blown up. It was as if I wore latex glove inflated to their maximum. The swelling swallowed my knuckles so that they were invisible. They hurt, were swollen and stiff. Practicing dentistry was becoming a challenge since holding the instruments hurt. I stopped doing extractions except those that were very simple. I was skilled at extractions even surgical extractions but the pain meant losing the hand strength that was required. I did not want to do any treatment with less quality and skill. The search was on for an associate who would join me and eventually take over my practice. All of this was result of having RA (rheumatoid arthritis). The conclusion to this part of my story was that at the point at which it appeared that I could not go on any longer, a young black man from my home town, Winter Park, joined me. Herb Bennett was his name. Within a few months he had totally taken over my patient load. I saw my last patient in June of 2005. Dr. Bennett bought my practice. Then in a couple of years he bought my building. I have seen him several time over the years. His practice was flourishing. When we were moving to the Carolinas I talked with him at Publix. He was still doing well. I wished him continued success and he wish us well as we move to be close to family. So even in this trial we we’re Blessed…e that were very simple. I was skilled at extractions even surgical extractions but the pain meant losing the hand strength that was required . I did not want to do any treatment with less quality and skill. The search was on for an associate who would join me and eventually take over my practice. All of this was result of having RA (rheumatoid arthritis). The conclusion to this part of my story was that at the point at which it appeared that I could not go on any longer, a young black man from my home town, Winter Park, joined me. Herb was his name. Within a few months he had totally taken over my patient load. I saw my last patient in June of 2005. Dr. Bennett bought my practice. Then in a couple of years he bought my building. I have seen him several time over the years. His practice was flourishing. When we were moving to the Carolinas I talked with him at Publix. He was still doing well. I wished him continued success and he wish us well as we move to be close to family. So even in this trial we we’re Blessed…
About the same time Mom and Dad were beginning to have health issues mainly related to their age. During our visit with them at the mountain house in October of 2004, it became evident that they could no longer travel back and forth from their Florida house to the mountain house. In the Staircase Falls house’s garage one day Dad said to me, “David we need to sell this house.” Mom did not want to sell. The house was listed in her name so the house was not up for sale. Their travel back to Florida that fall was worrisome. But they arrived back in Winter Park safe and sound. They decided to move into The Towers which was an upscale retirement community in Winter Park. The Towers offered total care to the end of life. The Towers worked for a while but then their decline health and aging problems forced an eventual move to Leesburg. Dan Hunter, Dad’s good friend and attorney, help me with all the difficult decisions. Dan was a Blessing! I am Grateful to the Good Lord for His Grace to help me with my Mom and Dad as their end to this life approached.
Mom and Dad moved into nursing home facilities in Leesburg less than a mile from our house and my office. A good friend, Henry Couture, ran both Clare Bridge and Sterling House in Leesburg. Their quality of care was superior. Mom and Dad, I believe, wanted to end their days in the mountain house that they loved so much. That was not to be, sadly. It was a difficult time for all of us. I am forever grateful to Dan Hunter for his guidance. Dan shared the office building with Dad. Dan was their attorney. He had also been the mayor of Winter Park and was active in politics with Dad. We were thankful too for Henry’s special care of Mom and Dad.
Late in the year of ’05 Mom fell and broke her left humerus (upper arm). Surgery was too risky Dr. Hunt determined. She never really healed from that. She was already using a walker so this fall put her in a wheel chair. In February of the next year pneumonia took her from us. After that I don’t think Dad had much will to live. As he told one of his nurses, “I am ready to be with Bette.” Dad left us to be with the Lord and Mom in August of the same year. By God’s Grace I was there for my parents. For that I am thankful!
During this period of obstacle after obstacle, Jan noticed a red lesion in the bend of her right elbow on the inside of her arm. It was red and slightly elevated. Everyone thought it was a nevus. I have multiple nevus on my legs. They are harmless. Then the lesion began to change. So David Sustarsic, our friend and surgeon, biopsied the lesion. It was a melanoma. What a surprise to us all since it was red not black or blue like melanomas typically are. I remember David saying, “I am so sorry.” We failed to realize the significance of what he said. David referred us to the Moffitt Cancer Center at the University of South Florida in Tampa. They remove the melanoma with two surgeries. To be sure they got the whole lesion they excised large margins. They also removed the sentinel lymph nodes in her arm pit to check for the spread of the melanoma and grafted skin to repair the large incision inside her elbow. The lymph node were free of melanoma. We believed that the melanoma was totally removed and gone. Moffitt Cancer Center at the time was ranked the 8th best cancer center in the country. It was gone and cured completely we thought. In 2018 the melanoma metastasized. Cancer is devastating and melanomas in particular can be deadly. We thank the Good Lord for the additional years. Yet we were Blessed!
Resumed on March fifth 2020…
After a difficult year of grieving for Jan, who went Home to the Lord in December of 2018, I resume the story of my accident. The style may be like James Joyce, who I thought rambled, but was taught that he wrote in ‘stream of consciousness’. Thus far the story of my accident has been chronological. Now my thoughts will dictate what I write. So hopefully what I want to express will show itself.
Off my indoor bike after twenty hard minutes, lets us remember those Sisters of Charity of Providence, my family and friends who were there in the rooms and halls of Columbus Hospital. Their prayers were the true real medicine that allowed me to first live. Those first couple of months their efforts kept me alive. It was their touch, their gentle holding, their soothing words and their prayers still live deep in my soul in that place that is beyond description. Visiting those halls and the chapel a couple of years ago their spirit was still there. Now the hospital, a gorgeous building, is a business center yet the spirit of those healer was present. Since all this happened before language was part of my being, what happened is hard to express except to say the memories are deeply imprinted in my soul and spirit. Especially as we stood in the chapel, time became irreverent as then and now merged together. Their healing presence still touched me. With gratitude we walked the halls of this beautiful place that must have been a horror to my parents in the first few days. Soon they knew that I would live. Next they hoped to save my leg.
The next couple months was dedicated to healing the terrible damage done to the left leg. It must have been a challenge to hold me, comfort me and minister to me without causing pain. Pain would subside but never be totally removed. Because the burn was so extensive and deep losing the leg would mean losing me.