Happy Leap Year Day

It's a bonus day in the calendar this year. Leap Year, as it has come to be known, is an attempt to adjust the calendar. This explanation from the scientists may help:

"A calendar year is typically 365 days long. These so called 'common years' loosely define the number of days it takes the Earth to complete one orbit around the Sun. But 365 is actually a rounded number. It takes Earth 365.242190 days to orbit the Sun, or 365 days 5 hours 48 minutes and 56 seconds. This 'sidereal' year is slightly longer than the calendar year, and that extra 5 hours 48 minutes and 56 seconds needs to be accounted for somehow. If we didn’t account for this extra time, the seasons would begin to drift. This would be annoying if not devastating, because over a period of about 700 years our summers, which we’ve come to expect in June in the northern hemisphere, would begin to occur in December! 

"By adding an extra day every four years, our calendar years stay adjusted to the sidereal year. . ." 

There's additional "fixing" that goes on to make finer adjustments, but you get the idea. All I know is that today I have an additional day to post another offering.

What I know is this, as we look forward to "springing forward" an hour in our clocks - the sun always wins as the seasons change in the Northern Hemisphere. No one greets that reality with more verve and sheer joy than me. When will that change occur? Daylight Savings kicks in this year on May 10th. It's a Sunday, so we turn our clocks ahead by one hour. 

Daylight saving time, also referred to as daylight savings time, daylight time, or summer time, is the practice of advancing clocks to make better use of the longer daylight available during summer, so that darkness falls at a later clock time. Then we reverse course in the fall and "fall back" an hour on Sunday, November 3rd this year.

Seems we're always tinkering with this or that, doesn't it?

I know this for sure: I love the full moons each month. I live in "dark sky" country at night. I open the blinds and allow the moonlight to fill the bedroom. And I love it as I observe the sun moving further north a little bit each day as it rises in the morning. The changes of season are evidence to me of an all-wise Heavenly Father, whose creations never cease to amaze me. 

I am particularly grateful to live in a day when science has advanced to the place where it is now. I was informed a few weeks back after a visit to my regular dentist, Dr. Cox, that I needed a root canal. The filling he had just provided went deep into the nerves in the tooth, and he recommended the additional procedure as a precaution against further damage. So I relied on son Jake's expertise (he provides marketing services for dentists), and he came up with a recommendation for an outstanding dentist nearby in Midway, who happens to love doing root canals. (Dr. Schmutz at the Prince Dental Group, if you need a good recommendation - I give him all five stars!) I was in and out of his office in an hour. State-of-the-art dentistry at its best. I suppose in the days of yesteryear the solution might have been an extraction just to deal with the problem, but now I still have my tooth, pain is eliminated, and science has prevailed.

Speaking of medical science, I am scheduled for a colonoscopy next week. (I know, "TMI"). I picked up my preparatory laxative yesterday. It's no wonder we all live longer these days. It seems there isn't a stone left unturned in my decaying mortal body that doesn't come in for scrutiny by someone these days. Next up will be another post-op check-in to see if my brain is still working. . . (oh boy). 

It's the nature of the beast for me, and I suppose it's just all part of checking all the boxes for old men.

It's also a reminder to me that my season of life is changing, and not always in a fun way either.

Thanks to Melatonin, I still have my dreams to keep me company. The other night I dreamt about being in bed with Patsy basking in the moonlight together, and that dream wiped out every other thought about root canals, colonoscopies, and brain dysfunction. 

God is so good to me.

Lessons Learned

I am not sure where you were a year ago today, but I was undergoing what would turn into a 12 1/2 hour surgery on my brain at the U of U Medical Center in Salt Lake City. COVID-19 had forced hospitals in to a "no visitor" restriction, so at 4:30 a.m. that morning my son dropped me off at the curb and I walked through the doors of the hospital to check in all alone.

COVID-19 proved to be a formidable foe to conquer. It was hard to get any information for my wife and family. They became concerned as the hours wore on into the early evening. What could be taking so long? Finally, they received a phone call from one of the residents who had been in the operating room, who reported that the surgeon, Dr. Schmidt, had been required to do a lot more "chipping and hammering" than he had originally thought he would. 

Um, yeah, when I heard that I thought someone might want to give that resident a few tips on his bedside manner with the wives of their patients, even though it was a phone call. Turns out my particular brain surgery for the removal of a meningioma tumor (benign) involved chiseling inside my skull to remove the tumor that had adhered to the inside of my skull in the frontal lobe. It involved a little artistic advanced carpentry for Dr. Schmidt, who was more than up to the task. My vision in my right eye had deteriorated to 20/50 because of the tumor's tentacles that were wrapped around the optic nerve, so that was delicate. I went back to the ophthalmologist for a follow-up recently, who confirmed what I had known for months - my sight was restored to 20/20.

In fact, that word "restored" is an apt description of what happened to me. All the symptoms and the deficiencies caused by the compression of the brain tissue by the tumor that I had encountered for years leading up to the diagnosis and the surgery have been eliminated. Bodily functions have returned to their pre-cancerous condition. My strength in body and limbs has been restored through rehabilitation and therapy. I can now bear witness in part what the resurrection might someday look like. I know what it is to come through the dark valley of the shadow of death and back up to the mountain top of hope and sunshine.

So, what of the lessons learned? President Russell M. Nelson suggested some lessons that we might have learned during this past year in his recent General Conference address. In addition there are many sobering lessons I have learned personally that will never be forgotten. Among them:

Carl Bloch, The Pool of Bethesda

1. Never underestimate the adversary, who will destroy you in a moment if he could. I was in a weakened state unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life. The doctors were pleased to inform me pre-surgery that their workup of my physical condition revealed that I had a strong heart and strong lungs. That was about all they could tell me that I was contributing to the operation. Everything else had been compromised. And Satan took full advantage of that reality. I was rescued more than once during my ordeal by ministering angels from the other side of the veil who strengthened me and protected me from the spirits who sought my destruction. I sensed there was a titanic struggle for my soul that was raging while I was so weak, and there was little I could do about it. The Savior is truly a Healer, as depicted above in Bloch's masterful painting.

2. The love we have for one another, though it may seem intangible and practically indiscernible on occasion, is in fact eternal in its nature and binds us to one another in every conceivable way. I came away from this year of isolation yearning for interaction with my family and friends. I plan to continue cherishing those relationships more than I ever have in the past. The restrictions of the COVID-19 pandemic, whether government- or self-imposed are gradually sliding into oblivion. Of course, some areas of the world are more affected than others, and we are grateful for where we are and we continue praying for nations like India where the pandemic continues to rage. I am grateful for the renewed perspective of love for others.

3. Enjoyment of the reality of home-based, Church-supported curriculum for our scripture study. This past year has seen the Church mature into a place I could only wish for many years ago when I lamented quietly and patiently in my personal journal that the Church seemed mired "in the thick of thin things," as Elder Neal A. Maxwell once expressed it. Today, we are a Christ-centered Church, and that development has been enhanced by the adversity we have passed through this last year. President Nelson saw it coming in the preparations and direction he gave for our home-based emphasis on gospel learning and application. The privilege of having the sacrament in our own homes while we were in isolation was profound and much appreciated. It has been years in the making, but it seems we are poised now to make major strides forward into the future with a laser-like focus on Christ's gospel.

4. I have learned never to take good health for granted. Recently, we were at dinner with two couples at a restaurant, something we haven't done for at least a year because of the pandemic. How rich that experience was for all of us. We are all of a certain age where it seems the main topic of conversation was health and wellness. One had recently had his third operation on a shoulder, after replacement surgeries on both hips and knees. The other had recently had a malignant skin cancer tumor removed from his neck, which followed three stents in his heart arteries that had saved his life. He joked that he's just giving up one body part at a time as he ages. We all had a story to tell, and that's what we all have to look forward to as we age. The law of entropy - that all things fail eventually - has never been more true. When you are young and vigorous, such thoughts of entropy are remote and seldom considered.

5. My love for my Savior has never been more full and complete. I was reminded of a great book that President Spencer W. Kimball wrote years ago entitled, Faith Precedes the Miracle. He is echoing the inspiration of Moroni, who wrote: ". . . it is by faith that miracles are wrought; and it is by faith that angels appear and minister unto men; wherefore, if these things have ceased wo be unto the children of men, for it is because of unbelief and all is vain." (Moroni 7:37). I have been rescued during this past year, beginning with my hours-long surgery one year ago today. I have never been so grateful for an outcome over which I had so little control. Just to be able to sit at my computer again and write the things of my soul is a gift of inestimable worth to me, all possible by the grace and goodness of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Meningioma: My Odyssey to Wellness

I am a reborn man. I have managed to live my entire life without much concern about my health. Until a car accident a few years ago I had never spent a night in a hospital. I certainly had never encountered the condition that is the subject of this blog post - MENINGIOMA.

A meningioma is a tumor that arises from the meninges - the protective membranes that surround the brain and spinal cord. Although it is technically not a brain tumor, it is included in this category because it may compress or squeeze the adjacent brain, nerves and vessels.

I learned recently that most meningiomas grow slowly over a period sometimes of many years without causing symptoms. However, in my case as the tumor grew there were never any headaches associated with my symptoms and the symptoms were manifested so randomly that I had dismissed them as simply signs of old age creeping up on me. The reality was so subtle to me that the effects on nearby brain tissue, nerves or vessels were beginning to cause serious disability. My wife Patsy is the true heroine in this story, since she could discern what was happening to me so much clearer than I.

Many visitors to this page will be aware that I have not posted for a very long hiatus. I had lost my ability to find the motivation to express my thoughts on paper. My desire to write again since my retirement has been virtually gone.

My first symptom of note was the loss of my sense of smell some seven years ago. Then I fell asleep at the wheel while driving and totaled my car against a sturdy cottonwood tree, breaking six ribs in my back. No headaches were associated with the accident so all the imaging focused on my ribs and my chest. Had they checked for brain damage in that accident with a CT scan of my brain, perhaps the tumor would have been discovered back then. But no headaches pointed to no brain involvement.

There are a number of other symptoms associated with meningioma, and I checked nearly all the boxes. At one point I was unsuccessfully treated for depression. I called on one of my dear friends who is a psychologist and we had some great conversations, but none of it was leading to a cure.

I began to experience weakness in my arms and legs. Last October as temple ordinance workers we ascended the winding staircase leading up to the Solemn Assembly Room in the Salt Lake Temple for a devotional before it closed the end of December. When I reached the top step my left knee buckled completely and I nearly fell down. Fortunately, someone reached out to catch me and steady me while I regained my balance. Again, another sign, but easily dismissed as a fluke.

Then my vision in my right eye went suddenly blurry and I had some double vision similar to the condition I had experienced before my successful intraocular lens implant surgery to remove my cataracts. A visit to the ophthalmologist and then a retinal specialist yielded no answers. They simply had no explanation for the change in vision, but at the time my optic nerve was being impacted by the meningioma tumor.

Patsy started attending my appointments with me, since she was not satisfied we were making any progress. For months she suggested to the doctors that perhaps my brain was involved somehow. But they dismissed her suggestion of a possible brain tumor since, again, I never experienced any headaches. It was a true medical mystery to most who were trying to help us unravel the meaning of the symptoms, and not seeing them tied together did not point to a single source.

By March of this year I was going downhill fast. She began keeping a log of what was really going on with me. At one point I was sleeping for twenty hours a day, eating one meal a day when she could get me up, and I failed to shower for twenty-one days in a row. Those facts, once she showed me after I was recovering from surgery appalled me. I began growing a beard, something I have rarely done in my life. I just didn't care about my personal appearance. I would learn last that loss of motivation and personality were two of the first things to go when the tumor begins taking hold.

Patsy was a model of patience and consistency throughout this long odyssey. I was unable to communicate with her on even an elemental level. Finally, in an appointment in May she insisted that the doctor order an MRI on my brain. I was becoming increasingly agitated that we didn't seem to be doing anything but experimenting with possible outcomes that were ineffective. "I am tired," I explained to the doctor, "of being treated like an experimental lab rat chasing symptoms down first this rabbit hole, then another one, and hitting dead ends." He finally relented to Patsy's demands for an MRI, and wrote the order that day.

The hospital scheduled it for Friday. We had the result on Monday. Staring back at me from the screen in the doctor's office was a large round meningioma tumor in the center of my forehead about three and a half inches in diameter. Our primary care physician apologized profusely to Patsy when he showed us the imaging. He could not be faulted, however. No one but Patsy could have thought the brain was at fault. And, remember, I never had a headache, either before surgery, during surgery or in the aftermath. I thought other people had brain tumors, certainly not me.

I was scheduled with a wonderful neurosurgeon at the University of Utah Medical Center for a consultation, and simultaneously our son Andrew, who is a resident at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, also scheduled a consult with one of his experienced neurological mentors so we could make an informed decision about how to proceed. Both doctors concurred with the diagnosis of the meningioma, and both recommended that surgery to remove the tumor as soon as possible was the right course of action. They even agreed on the methodology of how the operation should be conducted. It lasted for twelve and a half hours. When one of my old friends offered that it must have been a "minor" brain surgery since the tumor was benign, I said, "What I have learned about brain surgery is that there is no such thing as 'minor' brain surgery."

I was for three weeks afterwards in a "stupor," stumbling around blindly, unable to adequately express myself..My brain and my body refused to communicate. My son Rich was named as my personal representative for medical decisions in my advanced medical directive some years ago in the event of my incapacity. He was magnificent in his inspiration into my situation during those three weeks. Patsy, Andrew, Joe (a physical therapist son living in Washington state, who provided expert advice repeatedly), Rich and Dianne effectively helped to save my life, not to mention a cast of hundreds of medical personnel and those who fasted and prayed for our deliverance. Emily selected a surgery rehab wardrobe for me that drew rave reviews from the nurses and aides for the Hawaiian shirt she included. She also cut my hair pre-surgery and post-surgery. That's tricky when the incision extends over the top of your head from ear to ear, but she made me look presentable. My growing hair now covers the almost indiscernible scar. Allie brought pizza to Dianne's one night (which I didn't remember), and visited me every day through the window at the rehab center. To say that I had the support of my children, spouses, grandchildren and great-grandchildren would be an understatement. One of the "littles" prayed that Grandpa's brain would get fixed and that his scary face would be nice again. Those who weren't able to come to visit compiled a "scholarship fund" for Grandma and Grandpa to use for all the incidentals.

Andrew was present for both calls, and he was instrumental in helping us to decide what to do. The months and years of praying and fasting for a conclusive answer had finally arrived. "All these symptoms," explained the neurosurgeon at the U of U, "can be explained by the presence of this tumor in your brain. Once it is removed you will begin day by day to feel better. It will be some time as you regain your strength, but you will be cured." The day after surgery he declared that indeed I was cured ("We got it all"), and as he left my room after his rounding with me he thanked me for the cure. Strange, I thought, shouldn't I be thanking you for the cure?

I wanted to hug and shower him with kisses, but I didn't - you know, the COVID-19 pandemic had something to do with that. He scheduled surgery two weeks hence and May 21st was the first day of the rest of my life. There are a thousand more details, but I will spare you the drama.

Suffice it to say that I am thoroughly reborn. I have my motivation and my personality back. For those who always thought I was something of a numb skull that won't be such a good thing perhaps, but I am just now beginning to realize how wonderful life really is and how significant our relationships are. I have been talking to my friends and family, and have begun calling it "the 2020 apology tour," as I recount the withdrawn and dismissive old me who probably seemed aloof and disinterested. Some even said they thought I now hated them. But I have a ready explanation - it was the tumor talking (or not talking), not me.

I have brushed against the veil in this experience. I know that God loves all His children. I know that He is merciful, as we are reminded in Moroni's last chapter (see verse 3). I know that I have been rescued from this experience, not unlike those wonderful Book of Mormon characters like Alma and King Lamoni, who spent days in slumber, then arose to a new life. I have a renewed appreciation for our ancestors, particularly those in our immediate families who minister to our needs from the other side of the veil. I have experience with them and they are closer than you have any imagination. The atonement of Jesus Christ is real. He truly did descend below all things so He could raise us up from the depths of our sufferings in this life. All He asks is that we trade our sins for His deliverance.

As we were studying The Book of Mormon in our daughter Dianne's home during my rehab while I was working with the physical therapists, she handed me this quote from Steve Jobs, co-founder of Apple:

"You can't connect the dots looking forward, you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future."

Elder Neal A. Maxwell said it this way: "Faith in God requires faith in His timing."

I have a greater understanding of the great plan of happiness, even the plan of salvation since this latest episode in my life. Our deceased relatives are never really gone, they are as close as the next room and they are watching over us and protecting us when needed. I believe in guardian angels. I do know these things are true. I thank God for extending the expiration date on my mortal body a little longer through the expertise of skilled surgeons and the healing of the Great Physician. I hope my experience can be instructive to others who may be walking a similar path.