Certain Man had his left knee replaced today.  (Actually, yesterday, when I look at the time!)  I’ve watched the ongoing pain and the way he has tried to cover everything up for the last few years and my heart ached for him.  We’ve waited for this day as a family for a long time.  It took a long time before he was ready.  When he was finally ready, the doctor had a long waiting list.  When the day was finally scheduled, it seemed like such a long way off.  And then, all of a sudden, there was a cancellation.  Not much of one, but enough of one that it suited our family schedule exactly.  And finally, this day came.

6:45.  How in the world did it happen to be so early?  I’ve had three major surgeries over the last three and a half years at Beebe Medical center.  My two knee replacements were both later in the morning, and by then the schedule was off and I had a rather long wait.  Last spring, when I had some repair work done, I waited over two hours past the scheduled time.  

Waiting is hard.

And when someone you love is having surgery, you wait a lot more than they do.

But the waiting today was well worth it.  Dr. Choy came back from Daniel’s knee replacement and almost danced in the waiting room.  Grinning from ear to ear, he said, “Everything went just perfect.  It was just beautiful.  He is going to be so happy with his new knee.  His bones are so good, and I was very confident that the pivotal joint would work just fine.  His ligaments and tissues are healthy, and I am so happy with how things went.  Just perfect!”  He laughed and then thanked me for the card that our granddaughter had written last evening.

Dear Dr. Choy,
Please help my Grandpa feel better.
Grammy loves him very much.
Love Jesus,
Love, Charis

Daniel had some trouble in recovery, when his heart rate went down to 30 something and his respiration rate was only 5.  Then when he got back to his room, his blood pressure shot up to 193/103, and his heart rate kept falling below 45, causing some grave consternation on the part of his nurse.  But when they gave him pain meds, his blood pressure stabilized and then his pulse got a little better.  His heart rate is often in the high 50′s or lower 60′s so that comforted them a bit.  Daniel is one of the strongest men I know, and he is pretty healthy except for this knee problem  The nurses tonight kept going over his medical history and exclaiming over his abilities.  Because his blood pressure was so high, they were sure he was having extreme pain, but they kept saying that he didn’t act like he was in pain.  He said that the pain was more of a dull ache, and his hip was hurting him from being on his back.  They got him up and had him sitting on the side of the bed this afternoon.  If he continues to progress the way he has so far, they are saying he may even be able to come home early.

Someone said to me last week, “Are you kinda’ dreading having your husband home all the time for the next month while he recuperates?”

The thing is, this man really is one in a million when it comes to things like this.  Several years ago, he needed rotator cuff surgery, and he had heard so many terrible things about it — how painful it was, how limiting it was, how long the rehab, and many dismal predictions.  When I talked to Dr. Rowe after surgery, I was afraid it was going to be one of those same stories for Daniel because Dr. Rowe was very uncertain about how successful the surgery would be.  The tear was right up by the shoulder, and there was almost nothing to attach to.  Dr. Rowe used a cow dermis to patch things up, and he wasn’t at all confident that there would be a positive outcome.  Daniel came home from that surgery and the pain was so intense he sometimes fought back tears.  But he hung that arm down from his shoulder and started to do small circular motions the day he was told he was allowed to.  And he worked like crazy to return to normal.  Walked that arm up and down the wall by climbing his fingers one over the other slowly inching his way up and then back down.  He seemed to make up his mind that his job for that particular time was to get better, and he undertook it the same way he goes after making fence or shoveling dirt or planting his garden.  I will never forget that when he went back, his range of motion was astounding.  He was easily able to wash his own hair and do things that other patients took months longer to work their way up to.  

And because he was so focused on getting better, regaining range of motion and keeping his strength as well as mobility, I can honestly say that he was not difficult to have at home.  I hated to see him go back to work.  Another plus was that his example before me of staying positive in the pain, pushing through when therapy was tough and doing all that you could possibly do was an incredible motivator for me when I had my knees replaced.  And I think it will hold him steady through this.  The nurse told him today that Rotator Cuff Surgery is more painful to have done, and harder to rehabilitate from than knee replacement by a long shot.  I don’t know if I want to believe that, but it certainly pleased Certain Man!  I know that he doesn’t expect a gravy train recovery, but he is feeling optimistic, buoyed on by almost everyone who comes in contact with him exclaiming that he is doing exceptionally well, splendidly, wonderfully, etc.  

I am so grateful in this whole thing, because this is all an answer to some pretty specific prayers over these last weeks. When worry wanted to rear its ugly head, I tried to pray that God’s will would be done — in every aspect of things.  Timing. The surgeon’s hands.  Recovery room issues and the experience he would have on the floor itself. Daniel and I , together or separately, could never have orchestrated some of the things that came together today.  And along the way, there were many things that could have stopped this from going forward.  But they didn’t.  And I sense the Hand of the Father all over this.

And I give grateful praise.

“She’s struggling a bit right now,”
I say to Middle Daughter.
While reading a blog/post, I catch a worry line in my heart.

Middle Daughter, reading over my shoulder, says,
“Everyone has days.  But when you’re a blogger, everyone finds out.”

Dear Friend.  Tonight I pray for YOU!

We are heading to a funeral today.  Middle Daughter will hold down the fort at home.  This is the first of my Sweet Mama’s siblings to pass away.  Uncle Harold was one of her favorite people growing up.  They ran trap lines together, fished together, and shared happy moments together.  I caught this picture of them at the last reunion that their cousins had, back in 2011.  It looks conspiratorial, doesn’t it?

Here is the obituary.  I learned things about my uncle that I never knew before.  But I wasn’t surprised.  The people in my Sweet Mama’s family are an unusually gifted and resourceful bunch.

Harold William Wert, 87, went home to be with his Lord and Savior on Thursday, April 4, 2013 at Landis Homes, Lititz, PA. He was the loving husband of Mary F. Hepner Wert of Lititz, for over 66 years. Born and raised in McAlisterville, PA, he was the son of the late Michael W. and Alma G. Lauver Wert.

He will be lovingly missed by his wife, Mary and his children: Jeanne M. Witmer, East Petersburg, Janice E. wife of Ernest Miller, Elizabethtown, H. Thomas Wert husband of Grace, Manheim, Stephen L. Wert husband of Kathy, Mount Joy, and John D. Stahl-Wert husband of Milonica, Pittsburgh; 14 grandchildren and 10 great-grandchildren. Siblings: Orpha wife of J. Lloyd Gingrich, Richfield, Alene Yoder, Greenwood, DE, Gladys wife of Jesse Yoder, Dover, DE, Freda Zehr, Greenwood, DE, Alma Jean wife of Harvey Yoder, Harrisonburg, VA, J. Lloyd Wert husband of Beverly, Gap, and Ruth Ann wife of Allan Shirk, Neffsville. Preceding him in death is a son-in-law, Dale E. Witmer.

In 1943, Harold graduated from Eastern Mennonite High School, Harrisonburg, VA. Following their marriage, he and Mary moved to Lancaster. Harold was employed many years as a milkman for the former Queen Dairy, Lancaster. He then owned and operated a franchise of Archway Cookies and later worked for Horst Group in construction until his retirement. 

Harold loved the outdoors, fishing, hunting and spending time in the mountains. He was part owner of “Bushy Bungalow” cabin in Galeton, PA taking his family on wonderful vacations and going hunting there. He later enjoyed building a log cabin with a friend in Richfield, PA and spent many weekends there with his family and friends. These weekends always included his preparation and serving of his famous chicken barbeque.

Harold was a master craftsman in all areas of his life. He built furniture, retiled bathrooms, laid carpets, put on new roofs and did all engine and body work possible on his cars. He loved working with his hands and any job that needed doing he accomplished well.

He loved singing and music. He was a member at Erisman Mennonite Church, Manheim and participated as a song leader there and in other churches throughout his life.

Relatives and friends are respectfully invited to attend his funeral service at the Erisman Mennonite Church, 8 South Erisman Road, Manheim, on Monday, April 8, 2013 at 2:00 PM. Interment is in the adjoining church cemetery. There will be a public viewing at the Landis Homes Retirement Community WEST BETHANY CHAPEL, 1001 East Oregon Road, Lititz on Sunday from 3:00 PM to 5:00 PM with additional viewing time on Monday afternoon at the church from 1:00 PM until the time of the service. Those desiring may send contributions in Harold’s memory to Landis Homes Caring Fund, Development Office, 1001 East Oregon Road, Lititz, PA 17543.

This day was the culmination of a couple of intense weeks as we made an old, familiar trek to Baltimore to see My Sweet Mama’s Cancer Doctor.

Ziv Gamliel, of St. Joe’s Medical Center performed an eleven hour surgery on Mama eight years ago yesterday.  And through that day and the unbelievably difficult days that followed, he developed a deep respect and resounding affection for this diminutive little woman, pulling out all the stops when it came to his expertise as a doctor, doing anything within his power and within his intuitive acumen to help her through a disease that was, at least eight years ago, fatal in nearly 85% of the cases.  In fact, on one of the first visits to Dr. Gamliel, he told Mama and Daddy that if this had been only a few years earlier, his advice would be that she should get her affairs in order, that there was nothing he could do.

As it was, there were some things he could do, but they would come at high cost to her and there were no guarantees. 

Mama wanted to live.  She was willing to do almost anything that Dr. Gamliel suggested.  I remember her sitting in the cubicle that was his office, and the look on her face was hope and longing and even supplication.  She wanted that cancer out and she wanted to be well again.

On the other side of the room, my Daddy sat.  His face was an entirely different study.  Profound sadness and resignation were there as well as a strange set to the jaw.  I was surprised by the sudden realization that Daddy did not want Mama to have the surgery.  

I’ve thought about that day often since then, wondering just why Daddy felt the way he did.  I think that at the very bottom of it all was the fact that he really didn’t think it was going to help.  He was sure that we would lose her.  And another factor that I am sure went into it was that he was always so proud of how pretty his wife was, and I really believe that he could hardly bear to think of her bald from radiation, sick from chemo and sliced up from front to back and up and down with an esophagectomy.

But Mama wanted to live and she wanted the surgery and she wanted to do it right — first a staging proceedure, then five weeks of radiation, two rounds of chemo and then a “cooling off” period for a few weeks, and then radical, 11 hour series of surgeries.  And when Daddy saw that she intended to go through with it, he jumped on the band wagon, and drove her to Baltimore five days a week for five weeks for her radiation therapy.  He was as pleased as she was when her hair didn’t fall out (Someone PLEASE tell me why!  This never has made sense!).  But when the day came for her surgery, April 4, 2005, he balked.  He didn’t want to take her.  So my sister, Sarah and I were the ones who took her.  We came into our Daddy and Mama’s house in the wee hours of the morning.  Mama was ready to go.  Daddy was in his long sleeved pajamas.  We stood there in the living room in a circle, and Daddy prayed for us, for Mama, for the day ahead. I wonder now what it felt like to him.  He told us later that he really didn’t expect her to live through surgery.

But she did.

And Daddy, fighting his own battle with lymphoma and fatigue began to believe that she just might come home again.  That was a big battle, too, as things suddenly went downhill and Mama ended up in ICU on a ventilator for a few weeks and then ended up with a tracheotomy before being allowed to come home, feeding tube in place, restrictions and round the clock nursing care needed.  I suspect that Daddy lost hope many, many times over the next few weeks, but he would get up in the morning, fix her coffee the way she liked it, and tried to keep things as normal as possible.

She got better and better, and he was quietly going backwards.  I remember him coming into the kitchen one summer afternoon and sitting at the table and barely eating a thing.  Then he put his head down on the table and sat there for a long time.  

“Daddy,” I said, anxiously. “Daddy, are you okay?”

“I’m just so tired, Sweetie,” he said wearily.  ”I’m just so tired.”  And then he went to bed and slept.  My Daddy!  In the middle of the day.  In the Summer!

Somewhere in my gut a big old ball of ice began to form that day.  I knew something was terribly wrong.  We did everything we knew to do — changed his meds, saw some specialists in Baltimore, tried to get him to rest more.  But it was if he waited until he knew Mama was going to be okay, and then he went on HOME.

Days like today, I give grateful praise for the miracle of Mama — for Dr. Gamliel and his tender, watchful care over her, for his respect and love for her and affirmation and kindness. He readily says that it was not his doings that brought Mama through — that he was only the tools that God chose to use to help her.  And I look at his smiley face, and the beard that is turning grayer every year and see his obvious delight in the fact that she is showing no signs of cancer.  I am so grateful.

But on days like today, I miss my daddy acutely.  It probably has something to do with the fact that the first of my sweet Mama’s siblings (her oldest brother, Harold Wert) will be buried on Monday.  I feel the pensive weight of parting especially much right now.  It also is that trip to Baltimore, the memories that I cannot elude, the very voice of Ziv Gamliel and his gentle way of relating to Mama like she is his own sweet Mama.  He always catches her up on his five lively children, and who is doing what and he speaks of his wife and their Jewish home with a soft and appreciative tenor, making much of their traditions and family times.  (I think, “Daddy would enjoy this so much, but he isn’t here!”) But Mama enjoys the telling of it, her eyes sparkling, her smile genuine, and she goes away wavering in her resolve to not go back next year.  

And that is a thing to rejoice about as well.  She really doesn’t NEED to go back.  She is clear of everything.  She has no alarming issues, and today when she suggested that maybe she wouldn’t need to go through this anymore, we had reason to praise again when Dr. Gamliel said, “I cannot say if it would be okay or not.  We don’t have enough Esophageal Cancer Survivors that survive long enough for us to compile accurate statistics.  If you want to know what I think, I think that you will never have cancer again, and that it will be fine for you not to come back.  I will say that it is very gratifying to me to see that I was able to contribute in a small way to another year of miracle for you.  It gives me great joy to see you.  It is truly a great blessing for me.  But I also realize that it is monumental effort for you to get these tests every year and to make the trek over.  So, I want you to know that I will not be hurt or take it personally if you decide that it is something you just aren’t going to do.  We will make the appointment just like usual, and then see how you feel next year.  If you don’t want to come, that will be alright.”

Mama hugged his neck, told him again how much she appreciated him and all he has done for her.  And then he went into his office and shut the door firmly behind him.  And we got our papers and appointments and came home.

Whew!  Another year gone.  The last eight years seem like such a short time.  And when we are all finished for the year, it really does seem like it would be a shame to not go back.  We shall see what another year brings.

In the meantime, this is one tired gal.  But not even half as tired as my brave sweet Mama who got a clean bill of health for the seventh year in a row.  And not so tired as Certain Man who drove the car faithfully and well, and even now is out working on fence.  But still tired.  

Methinks a nap just might be in order.

April 3, 1979.  

Daniel and I took a bright eyed little girl who was two years and nine months old, to a big old courthouse in downtown Columbus, OH, and “got her papers.”  Adoption back then was very low key.  There were six people there.  Christina, Daniel and I, the caseworker, the lawyer and the judge. We went into the chamber and pretty much promised to love her forever, provide for her and protect her and they said we could be her daddy and mommy, all legal and proper. And suddenly, what had been a long time coming was all legal and proper and DONE. 

We told our girlie that she could choose where we went to eat lunch to celebrate.  There was no question in her mind at all.  

“McDonalds!” she proclaimed, and would not be deterred.  And that was fine with us.  Eating out was a rare occurrence for our little family, and McDonalds was special.

I looked at this bouncy little girl, thought of the joy she had brought into our lives, and realized that she was home to stay and somewhere in my heart, something settled into peace that had been a long time coming.  I looked across the table at Daniel and thought, “She’s our very own.  We have a child that is ours for keeps.”  There was an incredible wonder and joy and quiet rest. 

Christina had an unusual grasp on what was happening that day.  She had been in our home for almost two years, and had watched other foster children come and go, and “getting her papers” very, very big in her eyes.  

“Anna had to go away,” she told her Aunt Freda Zehr some months later, “But I got my papers and I get to stay for ever and ever!”

Christina couldn’t be more our own if she had our genes and chromosomes.  She has set the tenor that often defines our family in ways that are rich and full and even cohesive.  She has been the smiles and the music and the honesty that often makes us look better and calls us to act better than we might otherwise.  We are so grateful to God for bringing her to our family.

On days like today, I think of the fact that somewhere there are two people who gave Christina life, and I seldom think about them without a deep, deep sense of gratitude for this incredible gift.    

Where would our family be without her?  I don’t even want to think about it.    

Because I’ve been getting occasional requests, I am reposting this (from June of last year)for the gardeners who have been inquiring. 

Hope this helps!

Inquiring minds want to know just what and how it is that Certain Man does his tomato plants.

Daniel fashioned these steel “V” shaped things himself.  He puts them all along his tomato row.
This picture was taken last week before all the “suckers” were cut off.  He cuts the suckers off — mercilessly, actually.
(That was what he was doing last night while his grandbaby was making mud pies.) 

This is what things look like now.

When he gets the plants all trimmed back, he goes through and lays fencing
that he has cut specifically to size along both sides of the “V”.  
As the plants get high enough,  he trains them up through the openings in the fencing.

He puts the white PVC pipe around the plants,
pushing it firmly into the soil and allowing it to protrude about a foot above the ground.
This greatly reduces the problem with bugs and worms.
As the plants grow, they literally fill the “V.”
The tomatoes are about waist high and I just reach in and around the plants,
through the fencing and under the fencing to pick the tomatoes.
They never rest on the ground, they get more consistent sunlight,
And the vines do not get trampled when I am trying to pick tomatoes.
Probably there are people out there that will think of something that would make this unsatisfactory.
Think away.
I happen to think that this is the work of a genius.
It wasn’t original with Daniel, (he saw something similar in an Amish Garden one time)
but he has refined it through the years,
(And I really do think he has a stroke of genius when it comes to this sort of thing!)
And it is so completely satisfactory to me. 

I will try to answer any questions . . .