Early on June 10, 1993 I arose, showered, and told my kids I would see them later.  My wife drove me four miles to the hospital where I was taken to OR Prep and was prepped for surgery.  If you’ve had surgery, you know what all that means.

IV started through the hand ( which hurts like hell), monitors attached in various locations, and presented with the standard list of questions about when did I last eat, last had anything to drink, and etc.

The anesthetist came by and I had to sign papers indicating that I was aware that I could die during the operation.  Now, that’s encouraging – “You’ll probably make it through the operation, but there is always a chance you might not.”  This gives one pause, and your start asking God for forgiveness for every sin you remember committing.

The surgeon comes waltzing in at some point.  He’s had breakfast and is all cheer and optimism.  Although we had discussed the surgery and what to expect  a number times, he went through it all again.  The purpose of the surgery was to removed a malignant tumor from my right lung.  The surgery had been preceded by weeks of radiation and chemo, which had shrunk the tumor and the cancer had been contained to the lung.   A question remained as to how much of the lung could be saved.  One thing I had learned was that the two lung are not symmetrical – the left lung has two lobes while the right has three, so there was hope that only one lobe would have to be removed.

Shortly after seeing the surgeon – It’s Showtime.  Some kind of really good stuff is injected through the IV and immediately all cares and worries dissipate and you actually feel happy.  I kiss my wife goodbye and off to the OR I’m wheeled.  By the time the nurses and I arrive at the OR, I’m just about out and all else pretty much a blur.  Onto the table (more like a 6 inch wide board with wings for your arms), the  anesthetist starts his thing and you start the slide into unconsciousness.

Nine hours or so later, I wake up in the ICU with more wires attached than you can imagine.  My wife has been allowed in and my first question to her was, “Did they save the lung?”  “No”, she replied and that was the beginning of a new way of living for the next 25 years.

The first 14 months were spent dealing with complications from the surgery, which included another major surgery and a number of lesser surgeries.  After five years, I was declared by the oncologist as being cured of the lung cancer.  But life had changed.  Obviously, shortness of breath was an issue.  This improved over time as the left lung increased in size and the added capacity helped.

Well here I am 25 years later and still kicking, just not as high.  The past few years I’ve noticed that breathing has become more difficult and my endurance is not what it was or had been post-surgery.  Aging probably has a bit to do with that and not being as active as I once was.

I thank God for giving me these 25 years.  And I thank my wife, Donna, for caring and going through so much with me these past years.  I couldn’t begin to count the hours she has spent in doctor’s and hospital waiting rooms.