The Brink

19 years ago our only son was born. Those of you who are parents know the elation. You know the relief too, because in the back of your mind there is a fear something may go wrong. In our case, the birth went normal as far as we knew. John was born in the evening and after he was weighed, cleaned, and all of the things they do, Barbara and I called our families and friends to share the good news.



Barbara's mom, dad, and sister were on their way to Rock Island, IL from Mississippi. They would arrive the next day, Saturday. The whole event was emotionally draining for me and physically and emotionally draining for Barbara.



That evening when I left the hospital, I snapped this photo of my new son. I stood there staring at him, feeling very responsible. I had a little person depending on me. It felt good. I had so much to teach him and prepare him for, but I was tired, so I decided to begin the next day.











Saturday was a great day. I went over to the hospital to see Barbara and John. On the way, I stopped at the gift shop and bought John a small, white, Scottie stuffed animal. They brought John in the room for a while, then he had to go back to the nursery. Barbara's family arrived in the afternoon and they were thrilled to hold their new grandson and nephew. Life was good.



At the time, I was a minister and had preaching responsibilities. Sunday, I went to church, then beat it over to the hospital to see the family. When I arrived, I heard a nurse's voice say, "there's the father." The way she said it let me know something was wrong. One of the nurses stopped me in the hall and told me John had developed a fever. It was 101 at present, but has climbed since it was first discovered. They had Barbara sign a release for a spinal tap so they could determine what was happening.



After the nurse briefed me, I went into Barbara's room and I could tell she was scared. Things had been so good, now I was getting concerned. The nurses were serious in their speech and mannerisms. Something was definitely going on. Barbara said when she tried to feed John last night, he was a bit listless, but she only recognized it in retrospect.



Barbara's parents arrived and we waited together only having conjecture to occupy the time. Finally, the doctor came into the room. He told us to sit down. "Your son has meningitis. If he lives, he could be blind, deaf, paralyzed, mentally retarded . . ." The doctor went on with a list of maladies that had our head spinning. He further explained, that newborns often are not strong enough to fight off this disease. The fever rises, the brain swells, and they eventually die. Many times, the condition is caught too late. Fortunately, the nurses were on the ball. They called the doctor, penicillin was started immediately, then the spinal tap was ordered to confirm their suspicions.



I was scared now. After what the doctor said, I had very little hope. John was going to take a helicopter ride to Peoria to another hospital. This was necessary in case he needed a white blood cell transfusion. John's white count was getting dangerously low.



By now, the baby had a significant headache and was generally miserable with the fever. I saw him lying in the incubator. I reached my hand in and his little hand grasped my index finger. All of a sudden he jerked and began crying loudly. Then when he cried himself out, he would loosen the grip and be out of it. Soon the pain would grab him again and the process was repeated. I would have taken his pain or traded places with him if there had been any way, but there was not. His first battle, he had to fight alone. I could not help and I felt the intense helplessness.



We had support from our family and our church family, but the fear, disappointment, sadness, and grief was heavy. Barbara was recovering from a grueling birth and felt bad enough all other things being normal.



The flight team prepared John and the incubator for travel. The helicopter arrived and we had to say goodbye. We watched as they wheeled him outside down the sidewalk to the helicopter. Then the rotars began to turn and in moments the noise of the helicopter was at peak. As it lifted off, Barbara and I held each other and cried. Our joy had been transformed to deep sadness and uncertainty. That night would be one of the most difficult I have ever experienced.



Back in the room, I looked at the stuffed animal I had bought John. His goodie bag with the name tag which adorned his bed was taped to it. Everywhere I looked, I saw, what were supposed to be happy things, but they only made my fear and sadness greater. I could hear other babies on the floor. Other families were happy like we were only a few hours ago.



We packed Barbara up and went home for the night. In the morning, we were going to head to Peoria. Hopefully, Barbara would be better suited for travel in the morning. I tossed and turned all night. By morning, the news had begun to change. His white count stopped the slide. The fever did not increase. He never needed the transfusion or oxygen. The doctors were sounding more optimistic.



Traveling was quite uncomfortable for Barbara, but we made it to Peoria. St. Francis Hospital had a state of the art neonatal intensive care unit. I learned how to gown and scrub up. This was necessary to enter the unit. The rest of that week, I fed John every chance I got. He continued to improve and the fear of losing him was gone. The doctors ran tests to assess any other damage. They could not find any. At the end of the week, we were transferred back to the Rock Island hospital. John would spend one more week there to finish his antibiotics.











Long story short, he made it. No damage of any kind. He is a normal kid. That was one heck of a scare, but now it is the corner stone of my gratitude to God for restoring my son to me. My life has been enriched with the experiences of fatherhood and getting to know this fine young man God gave me to raise.



Until the next time

John Strain

Happy Birthday LJ

I became a father 19 years ago today. The birth was without incident on a Friday. By Sunday, John was fighting for his life and our joy turned to fear of losing our new baby.



I will tell the story tomorrow, but it has a happy ending.











Today is for celebrating number 19. All you can eat Mexican at Pancho's.



Until the next time

John Strain

Retreat to Manresa

The retreat to Manresa was wonderful as always. I am back and ready to hit the routine again. I have said it before, but you really should look into something to renew yourself, it works. Make it a tradition to push your reset button annually by taking a weekend away from it all. Here are a few thoughts I had there. No great revelations, just peace and quiet.



Check out the photos here:

---

Friday, April 16, 2004

This is the seventh time I have come to Manresa. It has become a part of my life and my yearly routine. I look forward to the time here, because it is equivalent to pushing my own reset button. Things slow down. The rush of the world is gone and I have three days to do as I choose.



There is a full schedule of things to attend. I used to try and attend as many events as I could. Now, I do not attend anything but meals. I was not getting anything out of the instructions or the other worship events. Maybe it is because it is Catholic and I am Baptist, but I found I got more from walking the grounds and staying in my own thoughts. That is what is nice about Manresa, men can do their own retreat, or follow the schedule prepared. I think men who have grown up Catholic, get more from the scheduled events, because it is tradition for them. It is a link to their past, their parents, and childhood.



After breakfast on Friday, I ran 6 miles on the Mississippi River levee. I rarely experience a runner’s high, but I did today. I suppose it is because there was no time pressure. I could run without thought about hurrying to get to work. The weather was spectacular. The sun was bright and the sky was blue. The air was still cool. I ran along the levee watching a flock of snow white egrets. They were on the ground eating and doing whatever egrets do, then as I approached, they flew further down the levee. This continued for a long time before they finally flew into some heavy brush between the river and the levee. I was rested and content. Running was effortless. When I turned to come back, I found out why the running was so effortless, I had been enjoying a tail wind. No matter, the trip back was just as easy. I accelerated as I came back. Everything was in synch. As I ran, my breathing was steady and my footsteps pounded a rhythmic beat in the levee gravel. The sun and cool breeze surrounded me and I seemed to float along without feeling winded or tired.



From the levee to the river is a flood plain, but this year, it was pretty dry. River Road follows along the levee on the other side and there are a few houses and mobile homes between the road and the levee. It seems when I run, the same guy is out in his yard cutting his grass. The smell of fresh cut grass, the smell of grain from barges make the air pungent.



After the run, I came down off of the steep levee. It is probably 15 to 20 feet high. I walked in the shade of an avenue of live oak trees filled with birds singing their morning songs. The air smelled sweet and the morning haze was beginning to lift. I stopped at one of the 200 year old giants to stretch. I took my time and enjoyed these marvels of nature.



From there, it was a stop by the cafeteria for a fresh cup of French roast coffee and a bottle of water. I went back to my room to shower and shave. Back outside, I walked the familiar ground admiring the roses and other flowers, which were blooming. I still have two days to enjoy this beauty. My mind and body will be completely renewed. My thoughts and feelings are of gratitude, serenity, and calm.



Another thing I like to do here is walk around with my camera and video camera. I did a video about Manresa two years ago so I have plenty of photos and video, but there is always something new to photograph. I hope to see some egrets, squirrels, or even a snake. I look for unique photo opportunities. I was doing this at sunset and got some nice shots of the sun setting on the Mississippi.



I watched a movie on John’s laptop, then took a walk and hit the sack around 10:30 PM



Saturday, April 17, 2004

Silence is a nice thing. We become accustomed to noise, television, traffic, chatter, telephones, and so many other things. Here at Manresa, all of that is gone. It took some getting used to silence. The first two years were a bit of a challenge. Now, I look forward to it and I hate to see it end. It is not completely silent. Last night, the guy in the next room was snoring so loud, the walls were moving. I wish Barbara had been here, she could have given him an elbow in the ribs like she does me. Then at meals, there is a lot of noise even though people do not talk. The coughs, sneezes, throat clearing, and blowing noses are far from silent. Someone please tell these guys it is considered poor form and gosh to blow your nose at the table. Sheesh. To drown out some of this racket, soft music is played during meals.



I went for two runner’s highs in a row today. I came pretty close. The day was a bit warmer, but I felt good. I ran for 13 miles. I decided to take advantage of all of the time. This time I ran the other direction on the levee (north). I ran all the way past Convent to a big chemical plant. The river between New Orleans and Baton Rouge is affectionately known as cancer alley. There are a number of chemical plants along that stretch and a statistically high incidence of cancer.



The food here is wonderful. At home, we make the food, dish up from the stove, then scatter to the table, television, or anywhere in the house. Here at Manresa, they bring salad. Then they bring the main course, then they bring the dessert. There is time between the courses and I like it. It would be a lot of work to eat this way at home, but I bet it is better for you and you could talk with the family. Certain things about our culture have changed since WW II. One is the elimination of the front porch. People used to sit on their porch and folks would walk up and down the street stopping by for a visit. The front porch has virtually vanished and often times, we do not even know the names of our next door neighbor. The other change is meal time. Families used to sit down to a meal. Now, due to schedules, fast food, and television, meals are more individual and a matter of function. Things change, but when we lose ways to relate, we better find alternatives.



Sunday, April 18, 2004

Today is another beautiful day on the banks of the Mississippi River. I went on another camera safari and managed to get some more video of egrets. The little devils must know when I have a camera, because, later on, when I ran, there were dozens of them flying around. I captured them in my memory though and there they will stay whenever I want to come back to Manresa, they will be but a thought away.



I only ran four miles today. That will give the old body a chance to strengthen.



This year at Manresa, we are living in modular housing. St. Mary’s Hall is more than 165 years old. It began as Jefferson College, a school where the sugar cane plantation owners could send their sons to be molded into proper gentlemen. When the civil war broke out, the Union army used it as a barracks. It became a school again, but was eventually sold to the Jesuits, and it has been a retreat center since 1931.



Anyway, the brick in the building was wicking moisture from the ground, and slowly decaying. The interior of the building is being gutted, repaired, and rebuilt. We will have to stay in the modular rooms one more year since the completion date is somewhere in the summer of 2005. It should be good for another 160 years after this 6 million dollar facelift.



Manresa: The house of silence and sacred sod, where nobody speaks to anybody, and everybody speaks to God. –Louis Yarrut.



Retreat number 7 is in the books. Now, it's back to work, but I am ready for it though, bring it on.

---

Until the next time,

John Strain

I'm Back

I am back from my retreat at Manresa. Stay tuned for photos and details.

John

What's In Your Pocket?

I can wear pink shirts and my socks match my shirts. I can watch a chick flick and get choked up if the theater is dark and I get a warm fuzzy feeling when I look at babies, puppies, and Kittens. When it comes to carrying a purse, however, I draw the line. I do have a camera bag I carry that functions as a purse, but that is only for tourist functions. Some guys carry a purse. I guess they are more comfortable with their masculinity than I am. What I do instead is put things in my wife's purse. The draw back there is I hate going into her purse. It is full of makeup covered kleenex and all sorts of things that change my manly smelling hand into something from the makeup counter at a department store. Another option is to stuff things in my wallet. It is amazing how many things a guy can stuff into a wallet. I have the requisite credit cards, business cards, a restaurant gift certificate, phone numbers, old photos of my son, and $9. The cash figure varies from $60 to $0. I love it when I go to the store, get to the checkout, reach for the wallet, open it, and SURPRISE - someone cleaned me out. Thank the Lord for debit cards.



OK, here is how I arrange this stuff. I am left handed, so the bill fold goes in the back left pocket. I need a new wallet, but I have needed a new one for several years. Men hold on to wallets and underwear until it disintegrates or the wife takes it on herself to replace it. The handkerchief goes in the right rear pocket. This is much more than a handkerchief. It is a handy cloth to offer a lady or to lay over a mud puddle for her so she can walk over on dry land. Of course if the handkerchief is too small, I throw myself in the puddle instead. The cloth is a magnifying glass cleaner, a parts holder (screws don't roll off my desk if I put them on the handkerchief), and it is an emergency rag for cleaning up any sticky, oil, grease, whatever. Now these uses are limited during cold season. During this time, the handkerchief is mainly used as a handkerchief.



In my left front pocket I keep the keys and Swiss Army Knife. I am not sure if Swiss Army Knife should be capitalized, but I am doing it here out of honor and respect. A man MUST carry a knife. Men need no explanation for this, but for you ladies, I will give you a few reasons. My favorite story about the knife goes back two Mardi Gras ago. We were in New Orleans for a Sunday night parade. Prior to the parade, people are set up in little camps complete with chairs, ice chests, blankets, and picnic baskets. A group of homosexuals were situated next to our spot. (I only mention they were homosexuals to add flair to the story, not that there is anything wrong with being homosexual.) Anyway, they were trying to open a bottle of wine and someone forgot the corkscrew. Before they started slapping each other, ripping each other's clothes and criticizing hairstyles, I offered my Swiss Army Knife. They were so appreciative, they gave us a glass of wine. I love Mardi Gras. I also use the knife to open packages, fix drawer handles at work, strip wires, peel oranges, and conduct minor surgery if I get a splinter or something.



Keys are keys. Of course, since I am a blind guy, there are no car keys, but I have enough hospital keys to give me more of a lump in my pocket than I would like. I keep a spare bottle opener as a key chain after I had to cross the causeway with a Heineken I couldn't open. That was sheer torture. I will never be in a situation where I can't open a bottle of wine or beer again, that is if I can help it.



My right front pocket is where my magnifying glass is carried. I use it to read and write. I hold it with the right hand and write with my left hand. I have glasses for the computer, but the magnifying glass functions better for writing. If I wore glasses, I would be constantly putting them on and taking them off. One side note about the magnifying glass. I cannot use it outside. I used to, but on sunny days, I kept setting my work on fire.



Pocket change is a tool of the devil. It increases the lump in my pants and makes noise. The spare change clanks on the Swiss Army Knife and keys. I sound like a tambourine walking down the hall. Therefore, at night, all the change goes into a bowl on my dresser. It never gets full, because my son steals all the quarters out of it. Sometimes, I just throw the change in the container at the checkout. You know the container, Kids with Cancer, Dogs with mange, Lost sock fund, tips, you get the idea.



The last item is my pen. I actually have a brand of pen I like enough to stick with. It is a Focus Flying Colors .7mm. Check it out. I do a lot of writing in charts. This pen writes dark, which I like, and it is comfortable.



I used to carry a comb in the right rear pocket with the handkerchief. Since I started buzzing myself, the comb has become obsolete.



Now the secret is out. People won't have to wonder what John Strain carries in his pockets. Now they know the real secret behind the lump in his pants - it's just a gob of keys and a Swiss Army Knife.



Until the next time

John Strain