Jesus told us that unless we become like little children we cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. Well, I think I’ve got that nailed. I may struggle to act as a mature and responsible adult but the little kid thing is a cinch.
The other night I was standing on my deck talking on the phone with my friend John. It was well after dusk and the sun had fully receded for the day. I always find it a joy to be outside at dusk during the early summer as the lightning bugs stir from their grassy shelters and rise into the air, flashing their arrival to others of their kind as they reach a level of a few inches above the ground. Sometimes they arrive slowly and sporadically, and I see the flashes at various spots in the yard over a period of time. Other times, the fireflies seems to synchronize their departure times and all lift off within seconds of each other and create a virtual carpet of twinkling lights for a minute or so.
On this night, it was passed the time of the regular lightning bug ascent and, as I spoke, I would see only a periodic flash of some late rising bugs, still floating in the night air, signaling to all the other stragglers. But, as I stood there, peering deep into the back yard, I noticed some activity among the trees that line a creek, about 40 yards from the deck, that meanders through the back yards of the houses on our street. These are mature trees, mostly maples, that stand 20-40 feet tall and, at this point in the season are in full leaf.
As I stared into the darkness, I noticed that there were lightning bugs flashing within the branches of the trees. I assumed that these were the stragglers that were continuing to rise into the night sky and go wherever it is that lightning bugs go after they reach a certain point and cease their signals.
But as I continued to gaze at the trees, I began to notice that the activity was more widespread than I initially perceived. So I continued to focus and in a few seconds it was apparent that, throughout the branches of these trees, and contained only within the dark outlines of each individual tree, were the flashing signals of what appeared to be thousands of lightning bugs. It almost appeared that this community of insects was inhabiting the branches of the trees and were arising from within them just as their cousins arise from the grass. But the effect was spectacular. It was as if a lighting designer had climbed among the tress, branch to branch, and placed flashing lights strategically and methodically in key positions among the branches to maximize the effect and define the location and shape of each tree against the inky background of the new summer night.
What was truly amazing was that the lightning bugs could only be seen within the trees. They weren’t above them; they weren’t below them; they were simply within them.
I tried to explain what I was seeing to John on the phone but I could tell it wasn’t translating. What’s more, it occurred to me afterward that, even if others were present, I might be the only one so impressed by this display.
I feel like I observe events like this with what I can only describe as “childlike wonder.” And it prompts me to question if there is much that prompts childlike wonder even in our children. The proliferation of electronic devices and the ability to create special effects on a spectacular scale through digital manipulation can overshadow and obscure that which, at some point in our development, prompted awe and wonder.
I like to think that there is still magic in our world; that there are things that can amaze us; things that make us pause and reflect on the beauty around us and within us. But “pause” is the operative word here. If we don’t pause, we don’t see. And, at another level, we don’t hear. It is the contemplative within us that is prompted to pause. To stop; to look; to listen. To let Him speak as Father to child, and instill in us a heart that sees the wonders of this world and anticipates, in hope-filled awe, the wonders of the next.
I will grant you that this is fairly self indulgent. I have always felt that the best way to get to know me or understand me is to be exposed to some of the music that moves me or motivates me. Rarely, if ever, is it sacred music that reflects the me that I want others to know. That is not to say that songs of praise aren’t important to me. It’s just that, structurally, most don’t contain the elements I will refer to in this post. But there are certain hymns that do have a special place in my heart and history.
Normally, I have always reached out and grasped a song or piece of a song and claimed it for myself. It was mine and it became a part of me. But, eventually, I found that music was a method of communicating about myself in a way that words cannot. I can tell you what I feel, what my opinions are, what is important to me but none of these things, in my opinion, are as reflective of who I am as the music that touches or moves me.
Someone once asked me what kind of music that I liked. I felt it best to demonstrate rather than to explain so I made a “mix tape.” It contained a representative sample of songs that meant something to me for various reasons. I felt like the mix tape was not just the best way to demonstrate what types of music I enjoyed but also to reveal a bit of myself in a way that words cannot.
I also am aware that one makes oneself vulnerable by sharing this type of information because everyone has different tastes. Yet, in an odd way, it is a bit of truth that I feel I can share that relating mere personality characteristics cannot.
And this I firmly and truly believe. Music is spiritual and the Spirit is musical. The Spirit reveals himself in various ways and touches us through a variety of tangible and transcendent media. Music encompasses both.
So, why is this top of mind? Recently, I have been revisiting a pop tune by a group called The Shins. Don’t ask me why. There is a mood to this song, titled “The Past and Pending” that just envelops me. Not just the music but the accompanying video. I find these images just plain poignant and they align perfectly with the atmospherics of the melody and the arrangement.
But here is where I am revealed. In the video at :43-:59 there is a solo of what I believe is a French horn though I could be (and most likely am) mistaken. Then, at 1:07-1:15 a flute plays in the background in a descending scale of sorts. Then, at 2:10 and continuing thru 2:27 the horn and the flute interact and compound the effect of each one’s individual presentation earlier.
What’s the point? I don’t know. But, somehow, someway, there is a little bit of me reflected in those interludes.
I often feel that the crasser, courser me is the person that is known. But that isn’t really me. I am the intersection of a flute and a (possibly) French horn in an intertwined series of musical notes. I exist in a more real way at that intersection than at any other GPS position that could be specified.
Jesus knows what I am talking about. He touches me with music when he can’t touch me through a homily or a sacrament or a scripture passage. He stays in touch by sending signals to an alternative antennae. And I receive the signals gratefully.
I can’t embed the video here so a link to YouTube must suffice. Here it is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SmGSKJJmhDo
Life seems so odd right now. Relative calm, periodic “thunderstorms” that drench and then pass. No disasters, some possibilities for advancement. Everything seems contained and compartmentalized. I am uncomfortable with the lack of chaos and the absence of impending cataclysm.
Not complaining, mind you. Just stating the unfamiliarity of it all.
My wife and I spent an hour tonight reviewing the guest list for daughter’s upcoming wedding. Over the years, circumstances have shrunk our circle of friends and acquaintences. I never thought I would be grateful for not being tight with oodles of people and in everyone’s address book. At $67 a head, friends can be expensive.
When my daughter announced her engagement, we were pleased and apprehensive. In light of the employment and financial challenges we have faced over the past half-dozen years, we just figured that we would be incurring some additional unaffordable debt for these nuptials. When we decided on the reception hall, I had to put down 25% of the minimum as a non-refundable deposit. I actually had the money at the time. Next week, I am obligated to deposit an additional 50% of the minimum. Believe it or not, I have it.
I asked my wife if, at this time last year, she ever thought that we would have been able to pay nearly 75% of the total anticipated cost of this wedding reception. She said, “No way.” Yet, here we are.
The only time we have is now. And, for us, “now” is OK. I’d be a liar to infer otherwise. At the height of a major recession, we are making it. Seeds planted years ago are bearing fruit and making this possible. It brings to mind this passage: And He said, The kingdom of God is like a man who scatters seed upon the ground, then continues sleeping and rising night and day while the seed sprouts and grows and increases, he knows not how. (Mark 4:26-27)
As for me, I know not how.
I have felt for a long time now that we are far too narrow in our perspective on the timing and intentions of God. We think in terms of days, minutes and hours. God sees with an infinitely broader perspective. We ask why something happens or doesn’t happen when and how we want. God sees how the dominoes fall, what affects what, and what the end result will be.
And still, I doubt…and worry…and fret.
I am less stressed today than I have been in a long, long time. Tomorrow will be what it will be. The dominoes will fall as he has deigned. One after another, in perfect order.
Just a random musing. I rarely go out to lunch but my partner and I decided to grab a bite just to get out of the office. Most of our discussion during the meal was about work and plans for some projects we are contemplating. When we left I got into my car to drive back to the office while he proceeded to a meeting with his accountant.
Lots of residual thoughts were ricocheting around in my skull when all of a sudden the phrase “being in the world but not of the world” elbowed itself into the mix. I can’t say that I was really surprised because I do frequently think about how difficult it is to live life day after day and stay focused, not just on specific spiritual topics or issues, but on God…period!
And in the typically scattered thought-stew that is my mind, another phrase pushed forward to head of the pack and blurted out “when you are up to your a** in alligators it is easy to forget that your original objective was to drain the swamp.”
I wonder if this is taken into consideration as our performance is being assessed by the Almighty. I guess, by definition, to be “in the world” is to be perpetually derriere-deep in carnivorous distractions and to be “not of the world” is to stay confident that the Lord is manning the pump that will eventually drain the swamp and ultimately rid us of these distractions.
All of this took place before I left the parking lot at the restaurant. Can you imagine what it is like to be on a long trip with this brain?
I have no idea where this is going but I just got back from picking up some dinner and a lot was going on in my head while I was driving to and fro. First, I was listening to some music while in the car and it made me nostalgic. Not that the music was older or dated. In fact, it was very contemporary. But there is something about getting into the car on a Saturday night, even if it is just to run an errand, and putting on the radio, a CD or, way back when, a tape. The time is yours, the space is yours and the sounds are yours. For a brief time it is all about you.
I am home alone tonight. My wife and daughter are in Philadelphia at my sister-in-law’s house where they will spend the night prior to walking in the annual Philadelphia Mother’s Day Race for the Cure. My sister died of breast cancer 12 years ago and my wife is a breast cancer survivor so the walk is an important annual event for the family. My wife walks with her sisters and her mother and it is a fitting way to spend the morning on Mother’s Day. But I end up home alone for just this evening before we meet up at my mother’s house tomorrow. (By the way, it’s a lot of driving.)
So here’s where my head is. Last night I had a dream about a girl that I dated only once in high school. It was odd because I haven’t thought about this person in about 30 years. But it had me thinking all day about the challenges, excitement and disappointments of youth. I would not want to be 18 again for any amount of compensation. Too much confusion and, in my case, hurt and disappointments. But there is something about that period of, say, 15-23 where everything is possible. It’s the time when you start to approach adulthood, albeit with a fair amount of adolescent naivete, but also with a growing awareness of the possibilities of life along with the choices and responsibilities of approaching adulthood.
So, with apologies to my wife, here’s what I was thinking about this evening. I found myself reliving those first few years when girls became important to boys and boys became important to girls. I don’t mean this from a physical or sexual perspective at all. I was remembering those times when you found yourself attracted to a member of the opposite gender and the discombobulation that this caused. That discombobulation could only be exceeded if the situation included the mere possibility that this person might, just might, be attracted to you. Now that was downright dizzying. Yet there was something exhilarating, nauseating and terrifying about the possibility that you might be important to someone who, suddenly, had become important to you.
It was the age of discovery. You began to be aware of yourself as a person that others (male and female) were aware of, evaluating, critiquing, and forming judgments about. You cared whether you were a charismatic or attractive personality and were desperate for validation and acceptance. As a guy, this was most important if it came from a girl.
Now, if this seems like I am regressing to adolescence and yearning, pathetically, for the days of my youth, that is not the case. But I am yearning for something. I am yearning for possibilities. I am yearning for that feeling that something really good and validating can happen. I am yearning for that one moment when the friend says, “I think that she likes you.”
It is not the “she” that is important. It is the knowing that something or someone that you found yourself caring about has presented the possibility of reciprocity. And something about the combination of age, circumstances and hormones makes you dizzy with anticipation.
I stopped in to the chapel today to say a rosary. The nuns were rehearsing some liturgical music. It was there that I found myself thinking that, as I continue along this spiritual journey, the most likely source of those feelings of possibilities and fulfillment at this point are in my relationship with the Lord. Not that I would expect that my experience of the Lord in any meditation or prayer would result in those waves of giddy anticipation like a sidelong glance from the cute girl at a high school dance might elicit. It is so much more than that.
I long for that everlasting moment of acceptance, embrace and reciprocity that cannot be experienced in this world. I long for the eternal “now” and the eternal “yes” that results from divine union. I yearn for that moment when the anticipation is validated and expectations are exceeded beyond all comprehension. I desire that moment when I am truly loving and experience being truly loved.
Isn’t it funny how high school reminiscence can foreshadow and lead to anticipation of the Highest of the High? At least I will never have to be 18 again.
I can’t help it. I just have to do this. It is the fatherly pride in me.
About a month ago my daughter was charged with writing an essay titled, “What a Catholic Education Means To Me.” Like most assignments for a 14-year old 8th grader, it was “homework,” something that had to be done. As usual, it was pushed to the last minute and the night before the due date I was presented with a paragraph that contained a germ of an idea and then stopped dead in its tracks.
“I don’t know what to write,” I was told.
I kind of had a feeling that she was on the right track to be original and authentic so I gave her some general feedback but essentially I instructed her to “write what you feel.”
When I got the finished product I made some grammar and punctuation tweaks but I felt that she had presented a point-of-view that was refreshingly honest. So I blessed it and that was that.
The other day, my wife asked me if I remembered the essay that our daughter had written about Catholic education. Frankly, I had forgotten about it entirely. It was done so that was all that mattered. My wife reminded me that the reason for the essay was that all would be submitted to a panel of judges and that the winner would receive a $500 scholarship to our Catholic high school.
Our daughter’s essay had been deemed the winner!
In addition, the feedback that we received is that the judges, to a person, really liked the essay…a lot.
Since the criteria for success for this piece was “done is good,” I was completely surprised.
So here, for your reading pleasure, is daughter M’s take on…
What Does Catholic Education Mean To Me?
To be very honest I haven’t completely figured out what my Catholic education really means to me. I think right now I’m not totally appreciating it. I have been going to a Catholic school for about nine years and I have learned a lot but I haven’t truly thought about it as much as I should. I used to just think Catholic school was about getting up, getting dressed, going to the school, coming home, doing homework, and then doing it all over again. It was just what I was used to doing every school day and I really didn’t know anything different. I feel a little guilty for thinking like that and I think I’m getting it more and more but I realize I need more time.
I will be attending a Catholic high school and as I get older I think I will gradually find the answer to the question “What does a Catholic education mean to me?” I know what it has done to me. It has made me a better person and taught me how to be more mature. It has prepared me for high school and the future. I have been taught what is right and what is wrong but I have also been taught why things are right and wrong. This is important to me. Not that many people seem to be proud that they have a Catholic education. They just say they went to Catholic school and that is the end of story. I think that it’s not something that should be hidden. It’s something to be shared.
I do appreciate the fact that we make learning about our Catholic faith fun. When I was younger we would recite the prayers but there was no enthusiasm. It was something we had to do, not something we wanted to do. Now we participate in events like retreats and we really come together to grow in our Catholic faith. We sing, we dance, and we play fun games and that really gets our attention.
I really enjoy when I learn different things about my faith with my class. We are very close and when we come together there is no stopping us, literally. For example sometimes our teacher will take us into the church and we will have a meditation time where we spread out and have one-on-one time with God. We are alone and together at the same time and we all grow so much stronger in our faith as a community.
Also, we love to write and journal about our faith and sometimes share our thoughts and feelings aloud. The best thing we have done so far is write a biography about ourselves. We talk about the gifts God blessed us with and how we will use them in life.
These are things that make me excited to learn and want to learn more. Right now I may not fully appreciate things or have everything figured out but when I am in college or even married I will look back and think of the education I have received and I know that I will more fully appreciate the gift of this Catholic education. Wherever I end up in the future I know it will be what God has planned for me.
One of my favorite sayings is “God writes straight with crooked lines.” I feel he is writing with the pencil of my Catholic education.
This past Saturday I attended a fund raiser for my brother, B. It was held at a local fire hall and the turnout was impressive. The hall capacity is 150 and that is almost exactly how many attended. Hopefully, the money raised will help offset some of the expenses while my brother is out of work.
I don’t see my brother’s crowd too often but it is amazing how many of them go back to childhood. I don’t even see or hear from college buddies never mind people that I went to grade school with. B has friends that were children of friends of my parents from the neighborhood. My Mom came with us to the fundraiser and a lot of people were really happy to see her because I think it reconnected them with so many parents who are not with us anymore.
All of this has me projecting into the future and doing a bit of sighing about the past. With my brother’s depleted condition, it changes the dynamic in our family once again.
Logistically, things are now more complicated. B lives about 15 miles or so from my Mom. He can normally get there in about 20 minutes. For the foreseeable future. He is out of the picture. I live about 75 miles away. It is a 3 hour round trip when I go. My mom suffers from macular degeneration and is unlikely to pass an upcoming eye test. This would prevent her from driving. Access to an automobile has made her somewhat self-sufficient. Plus, my brother M, who lives with her, cannot drive. If she is immobile that dramatically complicates things. And I seem to be the designated hitter now.
I found myself thinking last week about my sister. She has been gone for 12 years now and we always miss her. But I think that the next few years will be a new type of missing her. My mother is 77 and in OK health but showing signs of deterioration. She lives in the house we grew up in with my brother, M, who would be hard pressed to take care of himself should the situation call for it. If ever a mother needed and deserved a daughter it is now. I don’t think Mom would disagree.
I have to put a qualifying statement in these posts periodically. This is really not a journal per se. It is a documentation of my journey along the path of salvation. I know that this blog is loaded with the mundane episodes of life but, frankly, these are the building blocks of our salvation. Life happens and we react in whatever way we have been conditioned or decide to react. We either bring the Lord and our faith into the equation or we do not. And if we do, it either makes a difference to us or it doesn’t.
I feel one of those faith challenges coming on. Things are changing once again. My Mom continues to age, my brother trucks on in his role as boarder in my mother’s house and part-time parent to his two adopted children. He has been , and will likely be, challenged by the illness that altered him 43 years ago. My brother, B, is trying hard to recover from an unexpected challenge to his physical status quo and, to a degree, to his spiritual state of affairs.
Me? I’m the oldest. The best educated. The most successful (by earthly standards). And maybe the most vulnerable. I am battling my own demons as I traverse the “Road” and trying desperately to mesh together a surrendering trust in the Lord with the realities of life and the responsibilities of husband, father, son and brother. And I am feeling called, none too subtly, to surrender and trust at whatever the near future brings. It is part of my growth training and part of my personal salvation history.
Next up… dealing with fear and bullies.
I spoke to my brother today. He is really down and his comments today were tinged with the color of despair. It is as if the fates conspired to bring about circumstances that would strike him where his greatest vulnerabilities lay.
He was all about working and providing. He is a truck driver and he worked hard…very hard…for 10-12 hours every day. Now he is house-bound and physically depleted. His blood pressure remains low, he still has weakness in the extremities, extreme fatigue and, worst of all, his bladder still is not functioning. He is is still catheterized and it is just devastating to him.
I truly don’t know what to say to him or do for him. He calls me for a sympathetic ear and tells me that he will not live the rest of his life like this. He says that “this is God at his worst.” He says that he got down on his knees in front of a crucifix and prayed that he will accept and deal with anything else but begged the Lord to give him back his bladder function. But he thinks these prayers fall on deaf ears. He wants to know “why him” and “why this?”
I tell him that some miracles are instantaneous but most are slow. In fact, some miracles occur without being noticed until long after. I tell him that this is not God at his worst but life at its worst. I tell him that he is not being picked on, it’s life. It’s just life.
He came out of the same house and the same family as me but he doesn’t view Jesus as a loving and compassionate Savior. He doesn’t view life as a journey towards eternity and the events of that life as preparation for perfection. He views God as the great Punisher, the Victimizer, the One who has it out for him.
Some of that attitude is 60s and 70s Catholic fire and brimstone. Some of it is family dynamics, some genetic and some just ignorance. But it is all deeply ingrained.
I, too, have felt abandoned by my God. I, too, have felt singled out for special punishment. I, too, have stood at the edge of the black chasm of despair. But Faith and Fear have sustained me. In the darkest times, fear of the consequences of quitting and, more recently, a firmer grasp on the truth of my beliefs and the faith that blossoms from such awareness.
Of course, I want to say the magic words, provide the inspirational insight that alters his perception. I have no such words. All I can do is listen, respond the best I know how, pray and leave things to the Lord.
When he tells me that he even thinks of God or that he prayed in front of a crucifix it demonstrates some faint spark of hope somehow. It seems as if thinking that “God has it in for me” is better than thinking of no God at all. A God acknowledged is a God of possibilities. A God ignored has nothing to which he can respond.
I am praying to the God of possibilities.
Thank you to those who have offered prayers for my brother. No progress to report but I am hopeful that with time and some additional professional consultation he will start to recover his normal functions. My biggest concern is his attitude. He finds it hard to see the silver lining in anything and this is the biggest personal challenge he has faced. Whatever faith he had was shaken pretty badly by the death of our sister 12 years ago.
I went to Good Friday services this afternoon. Actually, my intention was to make a chapel visit and services were about to begin so I stayed. I am glad that I did because I realized quickly that I had never been to a Good Friday service before. Fifty-six years a Catholic and never attended a Good Friday service. Hard to believe. In fact, I realized at last night’s Holy Thursday Mass that I had never been to an evening service with the washing of feet. Equally hard to believe.
Whenever I contemplate the sacrifice at Calvary, I find myself gaining new insights into, and a deeper appreciation of, the events on that Friday over 2,000 years ago. Most of these thoughts center on the nature of this sacrifice and the way I have historically viewed it.
In addition to my lack of participation on Holy Thursday and Good Friday services in the past, another distinction I have that is related to Holy Week is that I am one of the very few Catholics/Christians that I know that has not seen Mel Gibson’s “The Passion of the Christ.” I can’t give a really strong justification for this other than I was never quite comfortable with Gibson’s approach to this subject. Many of the reviews I read of the movie mentioned the extreme violence and, for some reason, I found this disturbing. There was a part of me that didn’t want whatever images were depicted in the film to become my fixed mental images of the events leading up to and including the Crucifixion. It seemed to me that there was something more profound at work at Calvary than just blood and pain.
I felt somewhat validated in this when I happened upon some of the scenes from the “Passion” presented on YouTube. Against my better judgment, I found and watched the scourging scene. It contained images that validated my concerns. The Roman administrator of the scourging is a stereotypical hulking, blood lusting brute. As Jesus is beaten to the ground the Roman contentedly smirks. But then Jesus heroically struggles to his feet in what, to me, Gibson wanted to present as an act of defiance. Jesus is not the Suffering Servant…he is Braveheart.
The torturer is infuriated by this impertinence and he goes into his bag of whips and produces a flagellum that appears to be saved for only the most heinous enemies of the Roman state, a razor-tipped scourge that would tear the bark off trees. Jesus is then subjected to the full fury and force of this sadistic animal. And the blood flows…and flows…and flows.
I have always been intrigued by the fact that the gospels are so light on details about the crucifixion. ” And they crucified him, and divided his garments among them” is how Mark’s gospel presents the events on Golgatha. No histrionics about the amount of pain and agony and bloodshed there was. But for most of my life, that was the focus…the suffering.
Now, I understand the Passion in a different light. I have always wondered why God would require pain and suffering as the atonement for our sins. Physical pain, human suffering. And this from his only son. It seemed so primitive, barbaric and cruel. But it was not God that was primitive, barbaric and cruel. It was man. Jesus came into the world to participate in our exile, to surrender to the human condition. The consequence of his perfect life and his commitment to truth was condemnation by those threatened by this truth.
I don’t believe it was blood that God wanted. It was love and perfect obedience that he required. “It is mercy I desire, not sacrifice.” Jesus took human form to show us the way to God, a way that we had lost. He entered this sinful world and subjected himself to the whims of that world. He placed himself “in harm’s way” by becoming one of us. He showed us the nature of God and the righteous path toward holiness and perfection. And that path leads into and through the grasp of the Evil One who despises the holiness of God and those who seek after him. Satan’s triumph and downfall is the crucifixion and death of Jesus. He played right into God’s plan for our redemption. Jesus surrendered to the powers of this world, was destroyed by those powers, then turned everything that the world knew as true upside down when he rose from the dead. “Behold, I have conquered the world.”
Now, when the world is overpowering us, when darkness covers the land and we can see nothing but threatening shadows in the gloom, we have the knowledge and confidence that physical suffering is redemptive and death is transitional. Jesus proved that love and obedience breed resentment and hatred. It is the predictable reaction of an imperfect and sinful world. But by saying “no” to this world and “yes” to the will of God we are given a guarantee that eternal life and glory await us, a guarantee made possible by the assent of the Lord to the will of the Father.
It is not the amount of blood shed or the amount of pain felt by the Lord that gains Heaven for us. It is the acknowledgment of and surrender to the perfect will of the Father that opens the door to Heaven. There are many that have shed more blood and suffered more pain than Jesus did. But none stooped lower or displayed greater love or humility than the almighty and eternally begotten Son of God. He united himself with us, showed us how to live, participated in our fate, paid the ultimate price for living in perfect obedience and seemed defeated in one moment and utterly victorious the next.
God the Father was not seeking blood as vendetta for our sins. He was seeking the loving and perfect submission that was abandoned in Eden. Only one man could give that to him…the God-Man, Immanuel. That blood would flow as a consequence was inevitable.
I’d certainly like to be presenting better news than this. While the surgery to repair my brother’s spine was generally successful, apparently the damage to the nerves in the spine was fairly serious. He has not regained bladder function and right now is catheterized and has to wear a leg pouch for collection. He is not getting any positive feedback from the surgeon or the urologist because they seem rather perplexed by this and I think that they want to be cautious about giving a prognosis. To compound the problem, it appears that the Worker’s Compensation insurance folks are going to be difficult about allowing his claim of this whole thing as related to a work injury.
Back in September, he reported that he had felt something “pop” in his neck and had been experiencing a lot of discomfort. The doctor sent him for physical therapy during which his neck was pulled, twisted, placed in traction and all of the other things that are done as part of an injury related to a muscle pull or joint inflammation. However, this therapy didn’t seem to be helping so my brother stopped going.
As his conditioned worsened he returned to the doctor and pretty much demanded that something be done to help diagnose the problem The doctor ordered an MRI and when the results came back my brother was told that he had artritis in his neck and that continuing to work as usual would probabaly be good for him.
As I mentioned before about 3 weeks ago things began to go bad quickly. Leg weakness, arm weakness, bladder problems, etc. His family doctor asked to see the results of the earlier MRI and when she did she immediately arranged for him to see a neurologist. She was extremely concerned about what she saw and read. Surgery followed quickly and we are were we are now.
I read the MRI report myself and, while I don’t know sqaut about medical stuff, I was stunned at what I read. The report was two pages long and mentioned “cord impingement” at least 3 times. It was astonishing to me that someone would have prescribed physical therapy for someone with a neck injury without seeing what was going on inside. Who knows what sort of damage might have been done.
My biggest concern is B’s mental state. He is extremely upset about everything that has happened. Right now there is no money coming in and he is convinced that his Worker’s Comp claim will be denied. Frankly, he is not a very positive guy and believes that nothing will ever go right. He is worried, anxious, depressed, angry, etc. He is not a particularly prayerful person and doesn’t have a lot to fall back on in the faith department. He watched our younger sister waste away to breast cancer about 10 years ago and our father a year later. His points of reference are that things usually go from bad to worse. He is scared to death that he will be “disabled” and will not be able to work. He is a clone of our father. He needs to work to live.
I visited yesterday and I was very concerned about his attitude. It’s not good. I am praying for his recovery and for his peace of mind. Any other prayers are welcome and deeply appreciated.
