Humbled and honored...

Eric Humble and staff at Mansfield Baptist Temple created a video to honor first responders during Sunday morning service this past weekend; in this video, Eric incorporated part of a column I recently wrote for the Mansfield News Journal.

I am very honored and humbled to have been a part in this effort.

You can see it here: https://vimeo.com/164997034

Cancer

“You have cancer.”

Three words. Three words that floored me.

Those words, spoken by my doctor, Melissa Becker, hit like a sledgehammer between the eyes. I felt fine, other than arthritis in my shoulders and a spine made cranky by the rods and screws in my lower back. I had absolutely no symptoms, no odd pain or discomfort...anywhere.

Yet I had cancer, a type that would have most likely killed me within fourteen months or so: small-cell renal carcinoma. If undetected, the cancer cells metastasize, or spread, to other organs, the most common being the lungs and liver. According to Dr. Becker, once the cancer spreads to those organs, survival of the disease diminishes greatly. In stage IV, the five-year survival rate is eight per cent. Pretty solemn numbers.

I was lucky, though.

In February of 2013 I had knee surgery; as part of post-operative protocol, an X-ray was taken of my lungs to ensure I wasn't developing pneumonia. When reviewed by a radiologist, the film revealed a very small spot in one of my lungs, which Dr. Becker later explained was most probably histoplasmosis, which is a type of fungal infection commonly found in the Great Lakes region of the United States. Histoplasmosis has something to do with bird and/or bat excrement; hundreds of thousands of people living in the aforementioned region have it and are unaware. The infection, in healthy adults, usually resolves itself, but as a precaution I would have a chest X-ray every six months, to ensure the spot wasn't growing or moving.

I was good with that...for 18 months. Then I reverted to stubbornness. Why spend the money for an X-ray if nothing at all had changed with that spot for a year and a half? When Dr. Becker's office called to remind me it was time for another film to be taken I blew it off, telling the office manager that I wasn't going to bother. I felt fine and couldn't see the sense in wasting the doctor's time or my money.

Big mistake.

Over the next two months I received several reminders from her office; finally Stephanie, one of my favorites on the good doctor's office staff, called and chewed on my male pride rather sternly. I relented and eventually had the X-ray taken.

It probably saved my life.

The film had caught the upper part of my left kidney and had shown some sort of growth; “It might be just a cyst, which isn't uncommon,” Dr. Becker had told me, “but let's get an MRI just to be sure. If it turns out to be a cyst, we won't do anything with it unless it starts causing problems.” The session was scheduled and completed a few days later.

I drove a school bus for fifteen years and often drove for after-school athletics events. I was doing just that the day following the MRI when my cell phone rang; of course, I couldn't answer that call while behind the wheel of the fifteen-ton vehicle filled with young lives, so the call went unanswered. Once we arrived at our destination and the student athletes had disembarked, I checked the voice mail that had been left. The message scared the hell out of me.

Paraphrasing, the message said that the doctor had made an appointment for me the next morning at 10 a.m., and that I should bring my wife with me. Later that evening, after I'd gotten home, I recounted the message to my wife. We both had the same thought:

This is not good.

The next morning we sat in an exam room and listened to Doctor Becker tell us those opening words. “BUT”, she said, “this is the best-case scenario you could have hoped for. We caught it very, very early. You'll lose a kidney, but you should be fine because the tumor hasn't gotten to the size where it would start to spread to other organs. Renal carcinoma usually doesn't manifest itself until it affects your liver and lungs...and by then, in most cases, it's too late.”

I was referred to a large group of nephrologists in Columbus and was seen by Dr. Pewitt. After reading my personal physician's notes and reviewing the X-ray and MRI films and associated radiology reports, he told us that no, I wouldn't lose the entire kidney, only the top third of it, since the tumor was still totally encapsulated within that part of the organ. Additionally, he related that he specialized in robotic procedures, which would mean three small incisions to remove the partial kidney and a much quicker healing period. However, there was an outside chance he and the surgeon who assisted him would have to resort to the standard large incision, which would be about a foot long just under the left rib cage, to complete the removal, dependent on a few variables.

As we left his office, I told my wife Stacy: “Count on the large incision.”

I just knew.

A week later Dr. Pewitt's surgery scheduler called; I was scheduled for June 30^th.

That was a 45-day wait. Forty-five days! I will tell you now that was the longest month-and-a-half of my life. I spent many, many nights during that time either lying awake in bed or retreating to my recliner in the living room because I couldn't sleep. Knowing that tumor was living and growing inside my body weighed heavily on my mind, and I did a lot of 'what if'-ing during those sleepless nights. And a lot of praying, too.

One night in particular, during a session between God and I at about four in the morning, I was hit with what I can only describe as a very calming, reassuring feeling, one that felt like a warmed blanket being wrapped around me. With that feeling came a still, small voice in my mind, heard by no one but me.

“You will be fine.”

From that night until they wheeled me into the operating room, laid me on that cold surgical table ( WHY are they always so cold? ) and started the IV that rendered me unconscious...I was calm. No worries, no 'what ifs'. I would be OK. God Himself had told me so.

When I awoke and came to some semblance of my senses, Stacy told me that, yes, I did have the standard, large incision ( I couldn't feel it yet ) because I'd started bleeding internally pretty badly during the robotic procedure. So much so that I was given six units of blood during the two-hour process. A surgical nurse had come out of the procedure room and told her the circumstances and the bleeding couldn't be controlled until they opened me up.

When she was telling me this she broke down. “I thought I was going to lose you”, she sobbed; it broke my heart to see my bride so emotionally distraught; it gave me a strange feeling of guilt. I never, ever want to be the reason my wife cries.

After three days in the Intensive Care Unit due to the blood loss I was transferred to a private room, where I convalesced without issue. Soon, I was released to go home.

The good news is, Dr. Pewitt and his team are extremely confident that the tumor was removed well before it had the opportunity to spread to other organs; testing and a follow-up visit with the doctor this past November revealed no sign of the RCC. My next visit is scheduled is December of this year.

I am a very blessed, lucky man. The Good Lord obviously has something yet for me to do on this earth.

Evaluating Life

I have a recurring dream that visits me every year or so; in it, I'm back in high school playing baseball. I can run like the wind, make strong throws and my eyesight is hawk-sharp. I'm in excellent physical shape and weigh 170 pounds. And I still have hair. A lot of it. When I wake from this dream there's a brief moment of depression...but then I realize how fortunate I am. I've had more than my share of illness, injury and surgery. I was a frequent flier in the local emergency room growing up, which started after ripping a hand wide open when I was six while trying to climb up onto the garage roof. Yes, I was that kid. Titanium knee: check. Rods and screws in my spine: Got 'em. Screw in my shoulder? Since 1972, courtesy of high school football. My right ankle was rebuilt in 1996 after an on-the-job injury, my body has had well over a thousand sutures, I've broken a thumb and two fingers, though not at the same time, and I had right kidney surgery in 1974 to repair a birth defect; that one almost killed me. During the procedure my left lung collapsed and post operative pneumonia developed in my right one. I've been in car crashes, cruiser accidents, knock-down, drag-out fights; I have arthritis in both thumbs and shoulders. Yes, there are aches and pains and some days are worse than others, but I am not complaining. Some would say that I have every right to, but that's not me. Pain lets me know I'm still alive, and I am thankful for it. I also survived cancer last year. It cost me half a kidney. Every day since the surgeon took that segment of kidney I count as a bonus. I'm on overtime. If it had gone undetected, my personal doctor said the cancer would have killed me by now. I am thankful for each sunrise. My Dad used to say "No matter how bad you think you have it, there's thousands of people who would gladly trade places with you", and "You're not the first to go through this and you won't be the last." There is truth in those words, truth that is incontrovertible, undeniable. Every time a negative event occurs I think of Dad's words. They've gotten me through some pretty dark times. I miss my Dad terribly. I don't need assistance getting out of bed, in and out of the shower or putting my clothes on. I can walk, drive and feed myself. Hundreds of thousands of people in the United States can't say the same. I'm retired, live in a modest home in a modest neighborhood and drive a twelve-year-old pickup truck with 123,00 miles and crank windows. I have a loving, God-fearing diamond of a wife who takes very good care of me, and I wouldn't take the world for her. She deserves better than me, and I strive daily to be the man she deserves. I certainly don't have all I want, but I DO have all I need. For that, I am extremely thankful. I am grateful for the life I have. Aches, pains and all

Where Are the Condolences?

'Massive Loss for us all!' - Samuel L. Jackson

'Today is the worst day ever' – Boy George

'Im sooooo very sad right now... PRINCE can't die.' - Ice T

'Our thoughts and prayers are with his family, his band, and all who loved him.' -

Barack Hussein Obama

'For real though, shouldn't everyone go home from work and school? It's Prince. Its like hearing the Grand Canyon died.' - writer/director Adam McKay

This is just a small sampling of celebrity and public figure remarks on social media forums concerning the death of singer/musician Prince, who collapsed in an elevator in his home and was pronounced dead less than an hour later.

I wonder however, if you asked these five people, if they would know the names of Steven M. Smith, Chad Dermyer, Carl Koontz or Alan Jacobs?

These four men weren't celebrities. Their names didn't receive massive, days-long media coverage worldwide. When they died, large buildings and bridges weren't illuminated to honor their passing. There were no rumors of drug overdose, either.

They died almost within the last month. Shot to death doing their jobs.

They were police officers.

Steven Smith was a 54-year-old member of Columbus (Oh) PD's SWAT team, shot while serving a search warrant. Alan Jacobs was a 4-year member of the Greenville (SC) Police Department, shot and killed while chasing a known gang member. 27-year-old Deputy Carl Koontz of the Howard County (In) Sheriff's Office was shot and mortally wounded during the service of a drug-related search warrant. Virginia State Trooper Chad Dermyer was shot and killed by a deranged man in a bus station.

The families of these men didn't didn't receive calls from the Office of the President; apparently, neither did their passing deserve an entry on Twitter from the aforementioned 'celebrities'.

Prince Rogers Nelson was a music entertainment icon, without doubt. To those who were followers of his craft he was a giant, in spite of his five-foot-two stature. To his surviving family I express my deepest condolences. Death, however, will come for us all, regardless of fame or fortune.

To those of us who have worn or are now wearing a badge, the four men whose lives were violently taken from them stand infinitely taller. They didn't make hundreds of millions of dollars through singing, playing an instrument or writing songs. They didn't rub elbows with the entertainment elite or perform in sold-out venues.

They were just cops, doing a thankless job few in the public would want to do if they knew intimately the hazards that we know, had witnessed the tragedies we have, saw the things we've seen.

They were just cops. Every law-abiding citizen in these United States should grieve but they won't. Only the officers' families, friends and those of us who were brothers and sisters to them will.

After all...they were just cops.

Another Black Eye...

   I lived through dealing with the public as a police officer in the aftermath of one of our police Lieutenants being convicted of murdering his girlfriend while on duty and abusing her corpse.

   It was hell for us working street cops.

   I know what's in store for my brothers and sisters working the streets now.

   Former Mansfield officer Mike Garn was convicted last week on 25 of 34 counts against him in Common Pleas court. On Tuesday, he was sentenced to twelve and a half years in prison. Garn didn't kill anyone, but the scars he caused to the department will remain for a long time. Current Mansfield police officers will pay a price for Garn's abuse of authority  and sexual proclivities...and they will have to deal with public backlash.

   Losing the trust of those you serve and protect, those whose taxes pay the salaries of the men and women wearing a badge, is a huge hit. Damage control aside, the department as a whole has a lot of work ahead of them, as do the city's decision-makers.

   And they'd better develop thick skin.

   About a week after the Lieutenant's conviction, I had occasion to stop a car for a traffic infraction while working late in the evening. I won't recount the entire exchange between the driver and I, but the first words out of her mouth were "are you going to kill me and put me in your trunk?"

   I had to check my rage.

   I was angry not only because of the woman's remarks, but also because of the position I was put in by someone else's actions; someone who wore the same badge as I, who cared not a bit what his crimes would do to us and the department as a whole. Comments like the one the woman made were repeated on an almost daily basis, on every shift. All of us, everyone, knew we would have to be in total control of our emotions...and our anger.

   The men and women wearing a badge now at Mansfield PD, most of them, have had to deal with a few others who broke the law and were sentenced to prison. A former police officer who decided that he would risk the safety of his fellow coppers  in order to pay off his loan debt to a drug dealer by forewarning him of impending search and/or arrest warrants; another who, in concert with his wife, defrauded a charity they worked for out of thousands upon thousands of dollars, dollars meant to aid a local high school's student athletes and athletic programs.

   These weren't rash, spur-of-the-moment decisions; they were thought out and repeated.

   Why? Greed. Power. Sex. All without a thought of anyone but themselves.

   As far as I'm concerned, they all got what they deserved. They inflicted damage, though, not only upon themselves but on all of us, past, present and future.

   The rest of us who suffer didn't deserve it. The vast majority of working and retired police officers maintained our commitment to the oath we swore on Day One, kept our integrity intact.

   Don't judge us all because of the actions of a few.

Wife Gets A New Carriage

   Wives. When you've got a good one, you take care of her. Personally? I have a gem of a wife, one who pretty much lets me do what I want...within reason, of course.

   Unannounced breakfast out with my pals? No problem. Browse thrift shops for quirky bargains? Don't spend a whole lot of money, honey. Last-minute decision to go metal detecting on her day off? Have fun! What do you want for supper when you get back?

   She is a diamond of a gem. As such, it's my duty to take care of her.

   That's why she got the new car yesterday. Me? I'm still plugging away in my 2004 GMC Canyon that has 123,000 miles on it and crank windows. I'm good with that.

   Yesterday was a gorgeously sunny day as we ventured out, traveling to Willard to visit the good folks at Sharpnack Chevrolet ( I'm a GM guy; Dad worked there for 33 years ).

   It was a trip worth making.

   Kerry Pauley, a truly good guy and long-time friend, greeted us when we got there. Kerry works on the Ford side of Sharpnack's dealership but, since we'd bought/leased our last two cars from him when he plied his trade elsewhere, he guided us through the now-familiar process. I like dealing with Kerry not only because I've known him for a few decades but also because he knows his stuff inside and out. Plus he's not averse to a little humor, which is always a a good thing as far as I'm concerned. If you know me you already knew that.

   However, Kerry was at somewhat of a disadvantage, as he had tickets for the Tribe game at 4PM in Cleveland, so he couldn't stay through the entire process. Enter Tom Sharpnack and Larry Becker; Tom's the dealership owner and Larry one of his top-notch sales staff. In no time flat we'd turned in Stacy's leased 2013 Chevy Equinox, which she absolutely loved, for...a 2016 Equinox. Every option she had on the former vehicle she now has in the current one...PLUS she now has heated seats, too.

   Guess what? Our monthly payment is a couple of dollars LOWER than the 2013 Chevy. Same lease terms. Brand-new car. Lower payment. BUT...different dealership.

   I'm good with that, too.

   If you're in the market for a new ride, go see Kerry or Tom or Larry at Sharpnack's in Willard. You won't be disappointed. My wife sure isn't.

   She is a gem. A happy gem. As the saying goes, 'happy wife, happy life.'

   My work here is done.

 

   

Combat Driving

We see them every day, sometimes multiple times. We try to avoid them, not let them affect us as we go on about our business. They do, on occasion, become unavoidable.

Who are these people?

I call them 'combat drivers'. Law enforcement prefers the term 'aggressive drivers'.

You know who I'm talking about. The drivers, doing 85 miles per hour on the interstate, weaving in and out of traffic, cutting off other motorists and causing a chain-reaction of brakes lights. Sometimes, chain-reaction accidents, which is then the cause of a massive traffic jam.

Here's a few tips for urban/suburban drivers on how to deal with combat drivers, and how to avoid becoming one.

SLOW DOWN. No matter how pressing it is to get from point A to point B, the most important issue is to get there successfully. It isn't worth $125 out of your bank account and points on your driver's license, much less an accident.

PAY ATTENTION. This one can't be stressed enough, especially in this age of 'distracted driving'. Be aware of your surroundings, what other motorists are doing, and less concerned with changing the radio station or trying to fish the breath mints out of your purse or pocket. Foremost, PUT THE CELL PHONE DOWN. If you just have to check that text message, pull into a parking lot or off the roadway.

DON'T TAILGATE. Riding someone's bumper doesn't necessarily make them go faster, and it's a good way to be the cause of a rear-end accident. This isn't NASCAR, so the whole 'drafting' technique won't work.

TRAFFIC SIGNALS. They're there for a reason. A yellow light means 'prepare to stop', not 'floor it and beat that red light'.

STOP BARS. 'What are those?', you ask? They're those big, wide white lines at traffic signals and they, too, are there for a reason. Your front bumper should never extend past the stop bar. They are placed so that your vehicle sits where the under-pavement sensor knows you're there and will activate the 'left turn' signal at the traffic light. Pull past it and you are beyond the sensor, waiting for a light that will never change. Additionally, if you are past the stop bar, someone turning left from an intersecting roadway may clip the front end of your car and you will be at fault.

CHANGE LANES. If you're on a four-lane roadway and driving in the left lane just because it is a smoother ride, you WILL encounter a combat driver. The left lane is for passing. That's why you see big, white signs that say 'Slower Traffic Keep Right'. If cars are lined up behind you in the left lane, change lanes to the right lane so that those in your rear-view mirror don't transform into combat drivers by passing you on the right and giving you a one-finger salute as they roar by.

USE YOUR TURN SIGNALS. Especially when you change lanes. That lets the combat driver behind you know that you're getting out of his/her way so that they don't have to pass you on the right. ALWAYS check that there are no vehicles coming up on your right side before doing so. And, yes, this may actually require turning your head to look over your right shoulder. Don't solely depend on that right-side mirror.

USE YOUR MIRRORS. According to a study done by the University of Texas-Dallas, a driver should check their mirrors – right side, left side and rear view – every five seconds. It will help you avoid changing lanes into another motorist...and an increase in your insurance rates, points on your license and a hit to your wallet.

There are some unbelievably unconcerned drivers on our roadways - the lady applying her eye makeup using the rear view mirror, the guy with the newspaper spread across his steering wheel – all while navigating traffic on the interstate or city streets. They, too, are combat drivers because they have the potential to inflict casualties.

Slow down, relax and be a courteous driver. Law enforcement, your family, emergency services and your insurance provider will thank you for it.

As fictional Sergeant Phil Esterhaus used to say on the old TV show Hill Street Blues: “Let's be careful out there.”