A Sack of Sins
Category: Religion and Philosophy

A Special thanks to all my friends who have taken the time from their busy schedule to read my blog entries. Your messages and comments are a true inspiration for me and I ask God every night to bless you for those words of encouragement.

Please remember, "God & Me and Hepatitis C" is a true story; however, it isn't my story. It's God's story! I'm just an ordinary guy, who God pulled out of deaths doorway to tell it.

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Gloria had been mentioning to me that she could see a yellow tinge in my eyes. She was right. There was a yellow tinge, but I didn't take it seriously. Instead, I bought eye drops to take the red out, and found it also worked for the yellow. Therefore, my problem was solved….. Or was that what I wanted to believe???

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5:57 AM—the red digital numbers seemed to light up my room. My sleep had been restless. I tossed and turned all night. Something wasn't right. My legs felt funny, swollen. I sat up in bed and pulled off the covers. My legs were grossly swollen and my feet looked twice their size. When I pushed down on my legs with my fingers a big indentation formed and it took several seconds for my skin to pop back into place. What's wrong? Is it food poisoning? My mind raced, trying to recall what I had eaten over the last two days. My stomach felt fine. What could it be? But I didn't have time to worry about it. I had a meeting to go to, and my concerns were whether my pants would fit over my swollen legs or if I could stretch my socks over my feet.

At the meeting my mind wasn't focused on business; it was busy searching for the answer to my leg problem. Questions rumbled through my head. Could it be the driving? How about the late nights? What about staying in hotels? Was it the rich food that I ate, or was it the beer I drank? I hoped it wasn't the beer. I searched my mind, memory by memory, trying to recall anything that would give me a clue about why my legs were swollen. The meeting seemed to linger on forever and I was thankful when it finally ended. My legs look like logs attached to my hips, and when I walked the swelling increased. Gloria would soon be here, and I knew if I didn't have a good answer as to why my legs were swollen she would be on my case about seeing a doctor. I didn't like doctors.

When Gloria and the boys arrived at the hotel, I didn't have an answer. I told her it might have been something I ate, but Gloria wouldn't buy that excuse. I tried to convince her that the swelling would go away in a few days. She wouldn't listen to me, and said she would get me a doctor's appointment the moment we got home….

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"Would Mr. Daniel Phillips please identify himself?" Looking up, I saw a professionally-dressed lady, wearing a snow white pantsuit, looking for someone in the waiting area. It suddenly dawned on me. She was looking for me. "Yes, I'm right here," I said, standing up to identify myself. "Please follow me, Mr. Phillips," she said, motioning with her hand. I followed her a few steps down the hallway when she opened a door leading into a small office.

A large desk sat in the centre of the room, and a sports coat was draped over a high-back chair behind it. The office looked old and well used. Beside the desk were two chairs. "Please have a seat. The doctor will be in to see you shortly," said the lady. The door clicked shut. I sat quietly in the chair, staring at the loose-fitting sweat pants that I wore to hide the bulkiness of my legs. My hands were clasped tightly together. "Just a few pills, that's all I need. Just a few pills and everything will be alright," I told myself, while my mind conjured up all kinds of horrible things the doctor might do to me. I heard a creak. My eyes shot over and focused on the door knob. I tightened my grip on the arm rests. I felt like I was sitting in an electric chair. Slowly, the door swung open and a stout older man with graying hair and thick, dark-rimmed glasses walked in. He wore a knee-length white coat and held a brown file folder in his hand.

He politely introduced himself as the doctor and stood beside me skimming through the folder's contents. Setting the folder gently on the corner of the desk, he asked me what my problem was. I bent down and pulled the legs of my sweat pants up to my knees. I told the doctor about the swelling and when it happened. The doctor knelt and carefully examined each leg, pushing and probing with his thick fingers on my flesh. "Do you do any driving?" he asked, looking up at me through his thick glasses. "Yes, I do considerable driving," I replied.

"The swelling and discoloration in your legs may be related to inflammation," said the doctor.

"What's inflammation?"

"Your body may be fighting off an infection of sorts, and the swelling in your legs might be the result. I'll give you a prescription for anti-inflammatory medication which should help bring the swelling down," he said, moving behind the desk and sitting in the high-back chair. "I'll just be a minute." I watched him open the middle drawer, pull out a two small sheets of paper, and scribble something onto them.

"Here's a prescription for anti-inflammatory medication." The doctor reached forward and handed me a piece of paper. "And I'll need a blood sample from you also," he added, handing me a second piece of paper with the words "Blood Test Requisition" printed on the top of the sheet. My stomach started rolling and a cold shiver shot down my spine. "Blood test," I said.

"Yes, you look a bit heavy and I'd like to check your thyroid. That may give me a better idea what's happening to you," he said. I could feel a cold sweat leaking out of my skin when I stepped out of his office and started down the hallway towards the blood lab. With each step toward the lab, I told myself, "It's just a simple blood test, nothing to worry about." But the thoughts of a needle going into my arm and my blood being sucked out scared the daylights out of me. I froze at the entrance to the lab. I took a deep breath and slowly backed up against the wall behind me. I needed to give this situation some more thought. In my left hand I held a prescription for anti-inflammatory medication, and in my right hand I held the blood test requisition. With my back pressed against the wall I thought back to the only blood test I could remember having.

At the time when Gloria and I were married, a blood test was mandatory before we could apply for a marriage license. Gloria went first and it didn't bother her, but sweat oozed from my forehead while I waited for my turn. I felt uncomfortable entering that tiny lab and felt sick when I saw blood tubes and needle packages sitting in the tray beside the chair. My stomach was rolling when I sat in the chair and held my arm out. The blood technician was a tiny older lady. I felt the needle jab my arm, but I didn't look to see what she was doing. When she finished taking my blood I felt dizzy, and when I stood up I started to stagger and bump into things. I could hear the sounds of glass smashing and equipment hitting the floor. The poor technician panicked. She grabbed hold of me and tried to keep me from falling. At six feet tall and 240 pounds, I towered over the tiny woman. Her head fit nicely against my chest under my arm, and we wobbled back and forth like we were enjoying a close waltz. I can still remember her screams of "Elsie! Elsie!" as she desperately called to the lady in the other room for help.

The sound of people talking in the blood lab across from me brought my attention back to why I was here. I had to decide what to do. A cool feeling from the wall behind me was seeping through my cotton golf shirt and sending a chill down my spine. I stood frozen against the wall, staring at the blood requisition in my right hand, carefully weighing the pros and cons of having the blood test. "What's wrong with me?" I thought. "Am I afraid of the blood test or what the blood test might reveal about my health?" I didn't know the answers to the questions circulating in my head.

My eyes shifted to the prescription for anti-inflammatory medication which I held in my left hand, and I thought about what the doctor had said. He said my body might be fighting off an infection, and the anti-inflammatory medication should help bring the swelling down. Well, he's the doctor, and he knows best. I'll get the prescription filled and take the pills. The swelling should disappear in my legs and I'll be fine. Gloria will be happy, and she'll be off my back. I crumpled the requisition into a little ball. The crisp crackling sound of the crushed paper made me feel better already. On my way out of the building, I fired the crumpled blood requisition into the garbage can beside the exit door….

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I was fighting a demon in my mind, a demon named Depression, and I didn't know how to fight it. Depression has no face, form, shape, or design, yet it was tearing me apart. I was into a knock-down drag-out fight with something I couldn't see, grab, hold, punch, or kick, and we were fighting in the depths of my mind without rules or referees. How can I fight it? Each day I could feel depression sucking the positivity out of me, and I was falling deeper into despair. I knew what I should be doing. But it was easier to sit in the pub, drink beer, eat wings, and wallow in my own self pity. My confidence was shaken, and I couldn't find the zeal needed to turn things around.

Whenever turmoil entered my life and everything appeared to be falling apart around me, or when I competed in sports or business and I needed the strength, courage, and mental agility to gain an edge on my competition, I would ask God for help. And over the years I'd had many one-way conversations with God, and had asked him for a lot. But did God really exist? Honestly, I had never been 100 percent sure. As much as I wanted to believe that God was real, there had always been a speck of doubt lurking deep in my mind that kept telling me, God doesn't exist. I didn't know the answer, but asking God to help me made me feel better than doing nothing at all.

The pub didn't open until 11 a.m., so I had lots of time each morning to lie in bed and think about God and my relationship with him. After all, I never received everything I asked him for. And when I did receive things, I still wasn't convinced that it was God's doing. Maybe it was my doing, I thought. Or perhaps it was luck, fate, or just plain coincidence that things worked out the way they did. Every week I asked God to help me win the lottery, and wondered what it would be like to fly in a private jet to collect my winnings. I never won the lottery, but that didn't stop me from believing in God or asking him for things. I believed he was out there somewhere, and I was hoping he would help me get my life back on track….

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I wasn't sure where I stood with God; I hadn't been to church since I was eight years old.

It was a warm Easter Sunday, and my friends and I were planning to play baseball. The infield was dry and only a few small patches of snow remained in the outfield. After a long, cold winter of playing hockey we were ready to play ball. My mom, however, had a different plan for me. Dad was out of town working and Mom thought it would be nice if we went to church together. I didn't like her plan, and I told her my friends and I were planning to play baseball and that going to church was out of the question. She didn't see it my way. A huge argument broke out, followed by me having a major temper tantrum to further my protest about going to church. Unfortunately I lost the argument, and my temper tantrum did nothing to weaken my mom's position, and I soon found myself sitting next to her at the front of the church.

I sat quietly with my head and shoulders slumped in disgust, staring down at my running shoes. She knew I wanted to play baseball, and that was on my mind. I could feel her eyes on me every few seconds. She was checking to see if I was up to something. During the service several church attendants came down the aisles with an offering. They gave us a tiny glass of grape juice and a small, dried-out piece of bread. I downed the juice in one shot, and quickly popped the bread into my mouth. "Now's my chance," I thought. I turned to face the congregation and in a very loud and clear voice said, "The bread would taste better if it had butter on it!" From the corner of my eye I could see my mom's face change colors until it glowed fiery red and I thought flames were going to burst out of her ears. That was the last time I attend church, and I wondered if God would hold that against me.

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And over the years I'd accumulated a sack full of sins, not to mention the promises I made to him that I never kept. I didn't read the Bible and never preached, taught, or sold religion. I kept my belief in God to myself and never pressured my family or other people to believe in him. In fact, the only time God heard from me is when I was in a jam or wanted something for personal gain.

When I needed help, I was never afraid or ashamed to ask God for help. I always tried to cover all my options when searching for solutions to fix my problems or get ahead. I looked at it this way—it didn't take much time to ask for God's help. It didn't cost me anything. Therefore, I had nothing to lose. But if God listened, maybe I had lots to gain. My knowledge about God was very limited, and consisted mainly of what I learned in Sunday school. I remembered what the teacher said about God, and the stories she told about Jesus, and how he healed people. And those stories stuck with me all my life.

In elementary school our class said the Lord's Prayer every day, and we sang the Canadian national anthem which contains the verse, "God keep our land, glorious and free." Because ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Canada was part of the British Commonwealth, we would also sing God Save the Queen, the British national anthem. When I was a teenager and couldn't find anything interesting on television, I would tune in and watch evangelists like Billy Graham, Oral Roberts, and Rex Humbard preach the word of God. When I visited the United States I saw the words "In God We Trust" printed on their money. However, no one had ever driven God's name deeper into my heart than Kate Smith when she sang God Bless America at the Philadelphia Flyers hockey games in the mid 1970s. Her powerful voice was electrifying, and when she sang it was as if a wave of electricity flowed through the people in the stands. I'll never forget the feeling she left in my heart. I didn't go to church, and I didn't read the Bible, and my knowledge about God may be considered small, but the belief in my heart for him is big. And that's good enough for me.

The end of July was approaching. My legs hadn't improved—they were still swollen and ugly looking. I asked God several times a day for help. I asked him to help me find a job. I asked him to fix my legs. I asked him for strength to fight depression, and I asked him to let me win the lottery because I believed it would solve all my problems. One moment I was fighting depression, a thing in my mind that I couldn't see but was real and was feasting on me. The next moment I was asking God, who I also couldn't see, for help, but my faith was in God and I knew he was out there somewhere. And that gave me hope.

I believe God is merciful and won't turn his back on anyone asking for help. I didn't believe God would send an angel to fix my problems, and I didn't expect him to do it all for me. I knew that I needed to take responsibility and do something to help myself. I dug deep within and started doing things to show God that I was serious, and not just asking for a free ride or a quick fix to my problems. It was tough at first, but each day I forced myself to get up early instead of lying in bed feeling sorry for myself. I cut back on my visits to the pub, and every time I walked into the bathroom and saw that haggard-looking man in my bathroom mirror I would lean over and look directly into his eyes, and tell him that today is a new day, and with God's help its going to be a great day. As the days went by I wasn't sure if God was listening to me, so I kept on asking. I was determined to get his attention sooner or later…..

Please join me in January for another segment of "God & Me and Hepatitis C"

Take care, have a wonderful Christmas and a safe and healthy New Year.

God Bless!!

Daniel

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The Choice was Mine
Category: Religion and Philosophy

Stand—up and Live or Lay down and Die

I could hear a slight rustling of papers on the other side of the door just before the gastroenterologist entered the room. He asked how I was feeling. "Better than the last two times you've seen me," I said. I watched him sit at his desk, slip his glasses on, and begin to read several sheets of paper that he held in his hand. Gloria and I sat quietly watching him. I studied his face closely, looking for any indication of whether what he was reading was serious or not. He seemed to take forever, but finally he set the papers on his desk, removed his glasses, and then shuffled his chair closer to me. "Mr. Phillips, I have your ultrasound and blood test results back, and the results aren't good," he said. "You tested positive for hepatitis C and you have liver cirrhosis." I glanced over at Gloria; her face was as white as a sheet. "What the hell is hepatitis C?" I thought to myself. I shifted my eyes back to the gastroenterologist. "How long will my liver last?" I asked. "Maybe a year," he said. That wasn't the news I was hoping to hear. "Well, I'm not afraid to die," I said, "because everyone's going to die, and that's not even an issue. But what this does is wreck my plans. I promised my wife that our four boys would get postsecondary educations, and I promised my wife that we'd have a good retirement. So what we need to do is find some solutions." The office went quiet….

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Gloria:  Dan wanted to take the whole family to Hawaii. My first thought was, "Are you crazy? How can we go to Hawaii with your health the way it is? What if something awful happens to you while we are there? Dan replied his concern was that maybe he might not be with us much longer and he wanted to have us all together for a family vacation. That comment took the breath out of me, and I had nothing more to say….

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When I asked Jesus into my heart, I opened a direct relationship with God. I believe when God made humans, He added large scoops of desire, attitude and faith to help us through life's tough spots. He gave us Desire, so that we could live life to the fullest, He gave us Attitude, so that we could get the job done with whatever it takes, and He gave us Faith, so that we could understand that anything and everything is possible, and the Power of Prayer can make it so.

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Six Months Earlier

The sky was filled with twinkling stars and a warm, soft trade wind was blowing into our faces. It was mind-boggling. We moved into the house we purchased in Winnipeg on December 18^th, and three days later we were off to Hawaii. Eight hours ago we were sitting in the plane on the runway looking out the window at snow piles, and now Gloria and I were sitting on a bench in Honolulu watching the gentle ocean waves slowly roll up onto the beach in front of us. Behind us, clusters of coconuts hung from beneath the leaves on palm trees. Street lights and colorful florescent advertising signs from the stores across Kalakaua Avenue lit up the tourist area. And we knew that somewhere over there, numbers two, three, and four sons were busy rushing from store to store along the Waikiki strip, looking for something to buy.

This was the first time we'd been out of Canada at Christmas, and although it was exciting it also had a bit of sadness attached to it. Number one son couldn't make the trip. He couldn't get the time off from his job working on the oil rigs in Alberta to come to Hawaii with us. The night air and the smell of the water relaxed me. I was worn out from the fight, content to just sit with Gloria by my side and look out over the moonlit ocean. When we left Winnipeg earlier this afternoon the weather was bitterly cold, and when I stepped off the plane here a sudden gush of warm humid air took my breath away. The temperate change was drastic, and I could feel my core temperature rising to the point where I thought I would melt. The last two months had been hectic, but despite all that was happening I stuck to my plan and managed my energy well enough to keep going. I took my diuretics on time, learned to sleep intermittently between my nightly bathroom visits, ate what I could whenever I could, and never quit asking God for help. My weight shot up and down like a yo-yo. On November 29^th I weighed 290 pounds and on December 7^th I weighed 310 pounds. For some unknown reason the diuretics quit working and I retained fluid and gained twenty pounds in eight days. To compensate, the doctor increased the diuretic dosage and I lost sixteen pounds in eleven days. The plane was full on the flight here and it was quite a challenge to squeeze my bulky body into those narrow seats. It was a good thing that I was sitting with my number three and four sons, because that way I wasn't embarrassed when part of my midsection flopped over the armrest onto their side. The quick, constant changes in my weight were draining me.

It was a beautiful night. The beach was quiet and we could only see a couple of dark shadows in the distance walking along the water's edge. I put my arm around Gloria and pulled her closer. My clothes were soaked; the warm humid air was sucking the sweat out of me like an open faucet. She looked concerned. "Dan, you look very tired. Do you still think this trip is a good idea?"

"Don't worry about me. My weight's going down again and that'll give me more energy to get around. I'll be alright," I said. I'd been to Hawaii twice before and knew what to expect, but the truth was that with all activities and sightseeing we had planned for the boys I really didn't have a clue how I was going to get through the next seven days. I could feel my health slipping a little bit more each day, and I wasn't sure what the future had in store for me. But I was determined to see that Gloria and the boys had a good time while were here. And if my health continued to decline, at least I would have some good memories of us having fun together. I've never been afraid of dying, because everyone is going to die. It's the degrading and agonizingly painful journey before dying that concerned me. But if that's what the future held for me, I had life insurance in place that would take care of Gloria and the boys.

Because of all the excitement over going to Hawaii, moving to Winnipeg, starting a new job, and my concerns over transferring the boys to a new school in mid-term, my mind was traveling too fast for depression to catch me or to worry about my health. My appointment to see the doctor in Brandon was scheduled for February. I didn't mention liver cirrhosis to Gloria; she had enough on her mind and I didn't want her worrying about me. Besides, what I learned on the Internet about liver cirrhosis was to quit drinking alcohol, and I'd done that, so I hoped I'd be fine. As we sat there listening to the ocean and watching the waves roll ashore, an old memory from my first visit to Honolulu surfaced. I looked down at the palm of my left hand and a creepy sensation came over me.

When I was twenty years old, two of my buddies and I were bar-hopping our way around Honolulu when we found an interesting part of the city down by the waterfront. It was a seedy and somewhat morally challenged area, the kind of place guys like us, who were looking for a good time, liked to hang out. As we walked along, going from bar to bar, we came across two ladies who were leaning against an old building. The younger of the two approached me and asked if I'd like to have two dollars worth of fun. "Sure," I said. Two dollars. What do I have to lose? She took my hand and led me into a tiny booth. She quickly pulled a dark curtain across the opening with one hand while holding her other hand out for the money. When I handed her the bills, she quickly slipped them into her dress. She reached for my left hand and held it up close to her face. Then she proceeded to tell me my future. I was disappointed; this wasn't what I expected at all. But I went along with the gag anyway. The lady showed me my lifeline and pointed to where there was a big gap in it. Then she told me that I would become very ill sometime in the future, and there'd be a big change in my life. I was shocked. I didn't like hearing what she said. I yanked my hand back, pulled open the curtain, and bolted out of the booth down the street right into the closest pub, like I was shot out of a cannon. "She must be crazy," I thought to myself as I sat at the bar chug-a-lugging an ice-cold beer. That experience haunted me ever since, and whenever I didn't feel well I'd look at my palm and wonder if it was possible that she could be right.

On our way back to the hotel we walked through the International Market Place where I purchased a big straw hat and several bottles of 30+ sunblock. On my previous two visits to Hawaii, I didn't heed the warnings and ended up with sunburn so severe that my skin peeled for weeks. It was a painful lesson to learn, and I wasn't going to let that happen again.

The walk back to the hotel exhausted me. There is a four hour time change flying west from Winnipeg to Hawaii, and having those extra hours added to my day threw my schedule off and drained every ounce of energy I had left in me. I knew the next few nights were going to be rough and I wouldn't get much sleep. My nightly bathroom visits would keep me on the run, and with my biological clock set four hours earlier than Hawaiian time I'd be waking up a lot earlier than I wanted to.

Our trip wasn't a relaxing vacation. It was a power trip. I wanted the boys to have fun and do as much as possible together in the time we had. I liked the island and city bus tours best, because all I had to do was sit in an air-conditioned vehicle, look out the window, and listen to the tour guide. Walking was tough on me. I had to rest every fifteen minutes, and that slowed us down considerably. While Gloria visited the Ala Moana shopping centre, the boys and I visited Pearl Harbor to see the USS Arizona memorial and the battleship Missouri, which is retired from active service and serves as a museum. I sat on a bench in the shade while the boys waited in line to get our tickets. On the boat ride across the water, the sun sucked the energy out of me and I struggled to get off the boat at the memorial. We didn't stay there long, just long enough to pay our respects to the fallen sailors and for my sons to see the devastation that war brings. An hour later, I was huffing and puffing and feeling dizzy when I finally made it up the walkway and stepped onto the deck of the Missouri. The battleship is almost three football fields long and built for able-bodied seamen, and when I looked around I wondered what the heck I was doing there. The boys had gone ahead of me, and while they scurried through the ship like they were on a treasure hunt I stood at the bow out of everyone's way, hanging on to the railing, asking God to give me the strength to keep from collapsing and falling overboard.

Christmas morning in Hawaii wasn't like our other Christmas mornings. Traditionally, back in Canada, I would be sitting in my recliner with the fireplace blazing, looking out the living room window at the snow in our front yard, wishing that I was in Hawaii. Gloria and the boys were fast asleep in the hotel room while I sat out on the balcony twenty-eight floors above the streets of Honolulu, enjoying the morning air, sucking on frozen fruit bars, and checking the edema in my legs. All the walking I had done over the last few days was now taking its toll on me. I was tired and worn out. My appetite wasn't very good, and it was a struggle to have a regular bowel movement. I was living on sliced turkey breast sandwiches, fruit plates made with papaya, mangos, honeydew, and watermelon, and frozen fruit bars whenever we went out. My legs were swollen, and when I pushed down on my skin the dent stayed for a few seconds before popping back up.

Our trip was winding down and in a couple of days we'd be boarding the plane for the flight home. Providing my health held up, we were planning to go Hanauma Bay tomorrow, and the day after to Diamond Head. I knew the last few days were going to tough on me because of all the walking, but I was determined to see Gloria and the boys have a good time. Every night I thanked God for the day I had, and asked him to give me the strength to keep going. And I really hoped he was listening to me.

The view from the balcony was breathtaking—I looked out over a giant maze of white hotels in different sizes and shapes. To my left was Waikiki, and when I looked past the sandy beach I could see the breath-taking blue ocean where a handful of surfers were bobbing up and down in the water, waiting to catch a wave. To my right past the Ala Wai Canal was a well-manicured golf course, and in the distance I could see dark grey rain clouds gathering above the Nuuanu Mountains, which were covered with a lush green canopy of vegetation. The morning air smelled fresh and clean, and when my eyes gathered in the striking display of colors that surrounded me, I thought to myself, "This must be paradise."

Celebrating Christmas in Hawaii was different than what we were used to. We didn't have a Christmas tree, there weren't any presents, and we wouldn't be setting the supper table with our special occasion china for our traditional family Christmas meal of roast turkey with all the fixings. Instead, we were going to a football game at Aloha stadium. This year's Christmas meal would consist of hamburgers, hotdogs, french fries, and soda, and I knew that it wouldn't hurt the boys' feelings. I was excited about going to the game, and I could hardly wait for Gloria and the boys to get up and get ready so we could catch the bus to the stadium.

Later that afternoon I sat, covered in sunblock, beside Gloria and the boys, waiting for the Aloha Bowl game to begin. Right from the opening kickoff, the stadium was filled with the sounds of helmets colliding, the banging of shoulder pads, and the dull thud of bone-crushing tackles. I felt like a king, sitting in stands at mid-field watching those highly-trained athletes use their God-given talents to win a football championship. I could see the determined looks on the players' faces while they stood on the sidelines waiting their turn to play. They were focused; they had their eyes on the prize. The competition wasn't just on the field either. Each team had their marching band positioned at opposite ends of the field, and at each stoppage of play they would take turns playing a medley of tunes, trying to outdo one another. At half time we watched the bands, dressed in their brightly-colored uniforms, perform precision marching drills while playing their instruments. The crisp sounds from the brass instruments and cymbals in rhythm with the steady bass beat of the drums made my heart race.

The battle of the bands was as intense and competitive as the war being fought on the field between the football teams. It was a beautiful day for football, with the temperature in the mid-80s and a slight gust of wind blowing into our faces. When I looked out past the end zone I felt peaceful, watching the white clouds that were hovering in the air above Pearl Harbor. However, when I looked around inside the stadium, I felt out of place. As far as I could see, I was the only man in the stadium without a glass of beer in my hand. And that hit me like a brick. It was the first time I could remember not drinking beer at a football game, and when I looked at the people who were holding large glasses of ice-cold beer, with a thick frothy head of foam on top, I started talking myself into having one. "One beer. Well, maybe two. How could that hurt? And besides, a cold beer on a hot day like today—it's probably good for me," I thought to myself, while staring at the bottle of water I held in my hand.

Three days later we were seated on the plane waiting to go home. As I fought to stretch the seat belt over my abdomen, I felt a sudden pressure building in my ears when the flight attendant closed and locked the door to pressurize the cabin before takeoff. The plane wasn't full, and there were many empty rows of seats. The boys were listening to their CD players and reading comic books, while Gloria was skimming through a magazine she purchased in the terminal. I was on edge. We had a long flight ahead of us. We were going to lose four hours heading east because of the time zone change, which put us into Winnipeg at 5 AM. I wasn't sure what bothered me the most about going home. Was it the long flight, the jetlag when I got there, or the thirty-below weather that was waiting for us?             

The diuretic medication I'd taken earlier was starting to work, and as soon as the captain switched off the seat belt sign I scrambled to the bathroom. I hated those tiny airplane bathrooms. I was huge and they were small. I felt like a Sumo wrestler trying to get into a telephone booth. When I finally did manage to squeeze in and shut the door, I plopped down on the toilet to catch my breath. Directly in front of me the occupied sign was lit up on the door. To my left was a small stainless steel counter with a little sink, and behind the sink on the wall was a large mirror. When I looked into the mirror I realized that I wasn't alone. He was back. The man in the mirror was back, and he was sitting right beside me. He looked exhausted, like he'd been running a marathon in the blazing sun. I was happy to see him. I had something important to tell him, and I was bursting at the seams to let it out.

I was excited and I looked directly into his eyes. I told him that I kept my word to God and didn't drink anything with alcohol in it. I explained to the man in the mirror that I was tempted to drink, and when those powerful thirsty urges hit me, I would simply look down at my body and think about my health, and that made me think about God and how much I needed his help. And that led me to think about Gloria and the boys and how much I wanted to be a part of their lives. I told the man in the mirror that after I thought about all those important things that I wanted in my life, my thirst for alcohol was gone. I watched the man in the mirror's lips curl upward at the corners of his mouth, and he gave me a head nod. I could tell he was proud of me! When I slid the bathroom door open and started to push, pull, and tug myself out, I could feel all the eyes in the front of the plane on me. They were watching me like I was Houdini, performing his milk can escape act. I was beat and I knew I'd be going to the bathroom several times during the flight. So at the first empty row of seats I came to, I pushed the arm rests up and stretched out across the seats like a beached whale. I didn't want to be far away when the need to pee arose. When the flight attendant handed me a pillow, I thanked her and grabbed the pillow like it was a bag of gold. With the pillow tucked under my head, I closed my eyes and listened to the steady hum from the plane's engines, while memories of our last two days in Hawaii danced in my head.

Two days ago while number two son went scuba diving, Gloria, me, and number three and four sons went snorkeling at Hanauma Bay. The morning temperature was in the high 70s; there wasn't a cloud in the sky or a breeze that I could feel on my skin. It was getting hotter, and when we walked across the beach looking for a spot to set up our camp for the next four hours, I could feel the heat from the sand coming through my sandals up into my ankles. My energy was sagging by the time we got to the bay, and I was in no shape to go in the water. There wasn't any shade for me to sit under on the beach, and very unpleasant memories of severe sunburn were emerging in my mind. The boys used our towels and threw together a make-shift place for me to lie down, while Gloria lathered me up with gobs of creamy white sunblock, almost to the point where I looked like a polar bear standing in the sand.

As I watched Gloria and the boys slip their swim fins on and adjust their face mask and snorkels, my mind shifted back to my first visit to the Bay when I went scuba diving. I remembered the weightless feeling I had, forty feet below the surface, and the adrenalin surge that shot through me when a manta ray glided over my head. The only sound I could hear at that depth was the swooshing of air from the tank on my back when I inhaled, and the explosion of bubbles from the respirator when I exhaled. I'll never forget looking out into the dull grey water leading out into the ocean, and wondering what was out there that I wouldn't like to meet up with. I still remember the colorful fish that surrounded me in clusters when I rubbed my fingers together, and the scary face of a moray eel that was tucked away in the rocks below.

This time around my visit was different, and I didn't like it. I wanted to be with Gloria and the boys out in the water, and it hurt me beyond belief to sit and watch. On the bus ride back to the hotel, I eagerly listened to the boys fill me in with their fish stories and tell me in detail about the shells they found on the bay's sandy bottom. I wish I could have been with them, but it wasn't meant to be. As soon as we got back to our room I made a b-line for a spot on the bed closest to the air conditioner. The sunblock worked well, and I wasn't burnt. But after lying in the sun for hours my core temperature had risen to the point where it felt like I was boiling inside. The cool air blowing over me cooled me down, and while I lay there number two son filled me in on his scuba trip and showed me a picture of him, face-to-face with a big sea turtle, that the instructor took while they were diving.

I had drunk several bottles of water while I lay on the beach in order to stay hydrated, and when I rolled from side to side on the bed I could feel the fluid swishing around inside me. It wouldn't be long before I'd be heading to the bathroom, I thought. I decided to stay at the hotel to rest while Gloria and the boys went out to eat. In the morning we were going to the top of Diamond Head. I've never been there before and I wasn't sure just how we were going to get to the top of the ancient volcano.

The following morning when I got off the bus in the parking area I walked over to where our ascent of Diamond Head would start. While I stared up at the steep trail that led to a flight of stairs which seem to go on forever, I began to wonder if it was a good idea for me to go up there. This isn't what I expected; I didn't count on having to hike or climb stairs. The boys were anxious to get to the top, and I didn't want to hold them back. So I told them to go ahead and we'd catch up with them. Gloria stayed with me. She was worried that I would collapse on the way up and go tumbling back down. I believed that I could make it to the top, if I took it easy and paced myself. I developed a simple plan— every thirty paces I would stop for a few minutes to rest and catch my breath. I felt that if I stuck to my plan, I could make it. Half-way up I was beat. I felt like I was climbing Mount Everest instead of Diamond Head. It took us a while, but with Gloria at my side we finally made it to the observation deck at the top.

Every day was beautiful, and today was no exception. The sky had a crystal blue tinge, and there was light breeze blowing into my face. The view was mind blowing. Gloria and I were standing on a volcano, looking out at the brilliantly-colored landscape and ocean below, which blended colors, designs, and shapes into an astonishing masterpiece of beauty that only God could create. Our stay at the top wasn't long. When the boys spotted us they were ready to go down, and that was fine with me. After a brief rest, and having our picture taken on the deck, we started our descent….

Please join me next month for another segment of God & Me and Hepatitis C.

Take care and God Bless!!

Daniel

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Important Information
Category: Religion and Philosophy

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"The Man in the Mirror" - from God & Me and Hepatitis C
Category: Religion and Philosophy

Thank you my friends, your wonderful thoughts, prayers, comments and messages are very encouraging, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I hope and pray the chapter segment below from God & Me and Hepatitis C – "The Man in the Mirror" will give you, or someone you know, a little added Hope and Inspiration.

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My health was failing and my dignity was crumbling. While the doctors scrambled to find out what was wrong with me. I was desperately searching for a way to repair my tarnished relationship with God.

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The needle whizzed by the 300 lb. mark and settled at 323. My eyes widened in disbelief. I was only seven pounds from the scale's limit. What's going on? Where is the weight coming from?

How could I be sick? It can't happen to me. I've never been sick. I didn't want to admit something was wrong. This'll pass, sure it will. It just needs a little more time. I'm sure it'll go away. I stared at the number on the scale below me.

Each day I ate less—my appetite was fading. I went to bed before 7:30 each evening. I'd lie in bed, propped up with pillows, trying my best not to cough through the night. The fact that I was sick finally sunk in when my body swelled to the point where I couldn't fit into the bathtub. I just couldn't accept the fact that I was sick. I thought I was bulletproof. Gloria was on my back day in and day out to go see a doctor. After what seemed like an endless pursuit, I buckled under and agreed to go….

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An ugly feeling crept over me while I stood in the corner quietly waiting to see the doctor. I looked out of place. I was bigger than anyone in the room. When I looked down I could see my pant legs tightly stretched over my swollen legs and my shirt stretched to the limit in order to cover my huge belly. My fingers were grossly swollen and I haven't been able to wear my wedding band in weeks. I felt like a freak standing there for everyone to see. I should be in a tent at a carnival or circus, I thought to myself….

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Your symptoms may be related to congestive heart failure—your heart can't pump enough blood into your body's other organs—and we're going to check it out." The doctor's words stunned me, and my mind went blank. I didn't know what to say or do, and I stood there staring at him with the words "heart failure" echoing in my ears. I didn't expect anything like this.

"Do you drink alcohol?"

"Yes, I do," I replied.

"How many drinks a day would you have," he inquired.

"I like beer, and I probably drink anywhere between eight, ten, or twelve beers a day depending on what I'm doing and how I'm feeling," I said.

The doctor's eyes widened and he leaned forward in his chair. "Are you an alcoholic," he asked.

"No," I replied, "I just like beer."

"You're drinking too much and that may be part of the problem," he said. "I'm also concerned with your obesity, the large volume of fluid in your abdomen, the jaundice and edema in your legs. Right now, I'll give you a prescription for diuretic medication that will reduce the fluid in you."

Fighting My Fear

I felt his hand wrap around my arm and I heard him say, "Come with me Daniel, I'm taking you to the blood lab for tests." He opened the door and led me across the waiting area, past the reception counter, and down the hallway. He's got a hold on my arm. I can't run out now. My head turned from side to side as we walked. I could see patients in their rooms; some were standing, some were lying in beds, and others sat in wheelchairs. I was scared and I could feel my fear of blood tests following us like a shadow.

We reached the blood lab, and I could feel my fear wrappings its arms around me while I sat there watching the doctor talk with the lab technician. I couldn't hear what they were saying but I knew it had something to do with my blood test. The doctor was standing a few paces away and I realized there was no escaping this time.

I sat in the chair like a hopeless man pondering his future. What will Gloria and the boys do if I drop dead from a heart attack? I felt sick sitting there with all those thoughts rolling around in my head. The technician picked up a few things from a tray then turned towards me. An ice-cold shiver shot through me when I saw the needle she held in one hand and the thin rubber strap and blood tubes she held in the other.

My eyes didn't budge from of the shinny needle. What is my problem? I've played sports all my life and have had my share of bumps, bruises, and cuts. I've been in fights and bar-room brawls and I've been stitched up a few times. So why does a blood test scare the daylights out of me? Is it the test or what the test might reveal? I wanted to turn and run, but what about Gloria and the boys? What would I tell them? This is serious stuff and I need to take control of my life I thought. I can't let fear rule me. I am the boss of my body. Good or bad, I need to find out what's going on.

When I looked up I saw the technician's eyes keenly scanning my arms. "Which arm would you like me to use?" she asked. "It doesn't matter," I replied, sliding my eyes down to the needle she held in her hand. My heart pounded in my chest when the technician wrapped the strap around my arm and pulled it tight. My arm bulged. I thought it was going to burst. I wanted to get up and run. I could feel stomach gas boiling up to back of my throat. I felt sick, but I didn't turn away. I thought about Gloria and the boys, and wondered what would happen to them if I died. I needed to beat my fear right now. I had to find out what was wrong with me. The vicious fight in my head was raging; I fought harder and harder, and finally beat my fear into submission. I'm not leaving. Let's get on with it….

Rekindling a Tarnished Relationship

The toilet in our bathroom is located in a narrow inlet, and I could touch the walls on each side of me with my elbows while sitting on it. Across from me, behind the sink, was a large mirror. When I looked into the mirror I suddenly realized I wasn't alone. Right in front of me was the head and shoulders of a man in the mirror looking back at me. He looked tired and worn out. His face was bloated, there were red blotches on his cheeks, and his eyes were filled with tears. A cold, clammy feeling came over me while I sat there staring at the man in the mirror. Depression was back again, flooding my mind with all kinds of negative thoughts. The doctors words, "I don't know what it is right now, but we're going to find out," floated around in my head. "What's wrong with me," I said to the man in the mirror. "Do I have some sort of rare disease? Am I going to die?" The man in the mirror didn't answer me. He just stared back with a puzzled look on his face. He looked scared and I could see tears beginning to roll down his cheeks.

Maybe it is my time to die. "But what about Gloria and the boys?" I said to the man in the mirror. I remembered a promise I had made to my wife years ago. I promised her that our boys would get postsecondary educations and that we would have a good retirement, and keeping that promise has been my lifetime goal. "And now look what's happened to me," I said to the man in the mirror. He didn't answer me. He stared at me with a hopeless look on his face. It was finally sinking in that I was sick, and I needed help. I knew I was in another jam, only this time it was serious. I wanted to ask God for help but I felt a sense of guilt edging its way over me.

The guilty feeling was sticking to me like another skin. Only a couple of months ago I was asking God to help me, and when things turned around I forgot about him. Now here I am with a serious problem and I need his help. I leaned forward and took a closer look at the man in the mirror. He looked rough, and I thought maybe his days were numbered. The man in the mirror glared back at me. It was if he could read my mind and he didn't like what I was thinking. I didn't want to die. I needed God's help, but I didn't know how to approach him. My track record with him wasn't that good.

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“For better or worse – till death do us part”
Category: Religion and Philosophy

I would like to thank all my friends who sent me Birthday cards, comments and messages. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your encouraging words. God Bless, you all.

For better or worse, those words don't pertain to me. How could they? Everything in my life is rolling along just fine and that will never change. "In sickness and in health", I've never been sick with anything more than a cold or flu.  I'll never get sick; those words can't be aimed at me. "Till death do us part", I'm a young man in excellent health. Dying isn't in my plans. Those thoughts were running through my head while I stood beside Gloria at the front of the church listening to our wedding vows. I wasn't listening closely; my mind was focused on the drinking and partying after the reception.  To me all those words were just a bunch of mumbo-jumbo to legalize our marriage. I had good health, a good job, the future looked bright, and I had come to believe that I was bullet proof. When I was diagnosed with Hepatitis C, and told my liver might last a year, my life changed as quickly as flipping a coin. It went from good to bad in a flash. And it was a big letdown finding out that I wasn't as bullet proof as I thought I was.   

Thank God, Gloria took our wedding vows seriously. As Hepatitis C slowly ate a little more of my liver each day, causing my body functions to break down rapidly, to where I could no longer care for myself.  I've always been proud of the strong role that I played in our family and Hepatitis C stripped it away from me. As time passed, my body wasted away and I soon became a man with no purpose and all of my family responsibilities were heaped onto my wife's shoulders.  

The bible says – "A worthy wife is a crowning joy"

Twists, turns, ups and downs, our lives were rolling over and over and being pulled inside out. It was a never ending roller coaster ride, and Gloria was strapped in the front seat. She stepped up and played the roles of mom and dad to a tee and balanced the lives of our four sons. She managed the family finances, dressed and care for me with the delicate touch of a personal valet, drove me to appointments like a top notch chauffer, and stood at my side through thick and thin, without tiring, skipping a beat, or shirking her added responsibilities. And somehow, she always managed to find a way to get the job done.

I was dying, and I needed my wife now more than ever, and she never let me down. Whenever I fell into a negative trap, she ignored my cursing and swearing and soothed my mental wounds of frustration that I was experiencing. She always balanced my negative comments, with positive ones, and at times it felt like we were dueling to see who'd get the last word in. Death had a hold of me, Gloria had a hold of me, and neither wanted to let go. Gloria just wouldn't quit, she never gave up. Her pursuit to keep my spirit strong was relentless. I knew deep down in my heart that she was doing everything within her power to rekindle the raging fire that once burned inside the man she married.

Someone once said: "Behind every great man there is a great woman". Well' behind my great women, there's a very fortunate man.

My wife was thrust into a life and death support role and I am truly grateful to her for re-living those painful memories. Here are a few of her segments from God & Me and Hepatitis C. I hope you enjoy them.  

Gloria:

The day started out uneventfully—Dan had left for work and the boys were at school. But before noon Dan called me from work. Something was very wrong. His voice was slurred and I had a hard time understanding what he was saying. He told me he was feeling very sick and throwing up a lot, and he was coming home right away. I was very worried and told him that I would come to pick him up. I didn't want him to drive home. He sounded terrible and I felt he was not coherent enough to drive safety through the afternoon traffic. But of course he refused my suggestion, told me to be ready to take him to the hospital when he pulled into our driveway, and then hung up the phone. What was happening now? He had seemed okay when he left for work. It felt like forever while I waited and watched out our window, looking for his truck to come down our street.

My stomach was flip-flopping and I hoped and prayed that Dan would make it home safely. Then the phone rang. I was petrified to pick it up. "Oh my God, he's been in an accident," was my first thought. When I answered the phone the sales manger was on the other end. His first question to me was, "What's wrong with Dan?"

"Dan was fine when he left for work. What are you talking about?" I asked.

He told me that he was out of town and had just received a call from head office saying Dan was not making any sense during a recent phone conversation. They were very concerned about him and said he seemed incoherent, and they wondered if he had been drinking. I told the sales manger that, no, he was not drinking, but that had Dan called me and said he was not feeling well and was on his way home. After ending that conversation I went back to the window to look for Dan's truck. Finally, after what seemed like time had stopped, I saw the truck coming down our street. I headed down the stairs to the front door just in time to see him drive past our driveway, across the corner of our lawn, and into a pile of topsoil in the neighbor's yard. As I was running over to the truck I could see that the truck tires had plowed deep tracks in the dirt where the new neighbors were planning to lay sod.

I quickly opened the driver's door. Dan looked horrible; he was slumped over the steering wheel. "Dan! Dan! What's wrong?" I yelled as I pulled him back from the steering wheel. I quickly looked around the street to see if there was anyone there who could help us, but no one was in sight. Climbing up into the truck I pushed and shoved Dan until I had him over on the passenger side. I then backed the truck out of our neighbor's yard and started driving toward the hospital. "Oh my God, what is happening to you?" I said. I can't remember hearing anything he said—it all came out mumbled. I knew he needed immediate help so when we arrived at the Victoria General hospital I drove right up to the emergency entrance. As I struggled to get Dan out of the truck a nurse raced over to help us. Somebody else quickly brought over a wheelchair and started asking us a bunch of questions. After a few more questions from the triage nurse they put him in a bed, checked his vitals, and told us a doctor would be in to see him. Dan was awake but had no idea where he was or what was happening to him.

When the emergency doctor arrived he checked Dan over and asked if he was on any medications. I told him he was taking water pills to remove the fluid from his body. The doctor wanted to know the exact kind of water pills and asked me if I would go home and bring them back. I hated to leave Dan alone, but I said I would. I felt like I was betraying him, leaving him there alone with these strangers and not knowing what was wrong with him. I tried hard to hold back my tears. I told myself I would be alright; I just needed some fresh air to help me settle down. I was walking by the nurse's station when one of the nurses who was looking after Dan stepped into my path. She looked at me and said, "Don't worry; I'll take good care of him. He's where he needs to be right now." Then she told me that I need to take care of myself too. I thanked her and told her I would be back later, then hurried out to the truck. Once inside the truck my tears came like a rainstorm. After releasing all that pent-up emotion I felt my body relax. I knew I would need to be together when I saw our boys, who would be coming home from school, expecting me to be there. And now I have to tell them that their Dad is in the hospital and we don't know what is wrong with him. As I drove home I could feel my eyes welling up again. How am I going to tell them about their Dad?

I arrived home just before the kids. When they came through the door I was waiting for them. I asked them how their day was, as I do every day. I usually received the same answers—day was okay, nothing new, can you sign this paper for the teacher? oh yeah I need money for a field trip... Then they would make their way to the kitchen for food then hurry downstairs to play Nintendo or power up the computer so they could get on MSN to talk to the friends that they just seen at school. But today it was different. They were asking me the questions. In my rush to make it home before the kids I had left the truck parked in the driveway instead of putting it in the garage. So now they were asking me, "How come Dads home so early, and where is he?" At that point I just told them that Dad wasn't feeling well, so he came home from work and we decided to take him to the hospital so the doctors could check him over. I felt they didn't need a lot of details yet. I didn't want them to worry about their Dad. I told them I would be going back to the hospital, and depending on what the doctors said maybe Dad would be home tonight or maybe they would want to keep him there to run more tests. I would know more later on. Knowing the boys were not keen on visiting hospitals I told them that their dad was very tired and sleeping a lot so it might be better to visit him tomorrow if he was still in the hospital. They seemed satisfied with that and said okay. I didn't want them to feel pressured about going with me to the hospital that night. We didn't have any clue as to why Dan was so ill, and until we had more information from the doctors I wanted our boys to continue with their everyday routine. My protection mode was on high alert, just like a lioness protecting her young.

After getting the kids settled for the evening I drove back to the hospital with Dan's pills. I was hoping someone would have some answers about Dan's condition. As I walked towards his bed I could see a different doctor talking to him. I stood in the distance for a few moments watching the doctor check Dan over. Hopefully he knows what happened. I quickened my steps to reach them. The doctor introduced himself as a specialist in gastroenterology. He told me he was in the hospital seeing other patients and the emergency doctor had asked him if he would take a look at Dan. The doctor then asked me if I had brought Dan's medications. I handed him the pills. He asked me if I had noticed any other problems with Dan's health. I told him that at times Dan had a sweet, sickly smell on his breath, a pungent odor coming from his skin, and, most noticeably, yellowing eyes. The doctor then told us that he wanted to admit Dan into the hospital and take him off all of the pills in order to give his body a res