25 years down, how many to go

I'm not big on anniversaries. Others, sure. Mine? Nope.

So it shouldn't have been a big deal on April 26, 2009. Seems like an innocuous date. Actually, for me, it should have been. it wasn't.

See, 25 years ago on that date, I was diagnosed with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis at Scripps Hospital in Carlsbad, Calif. It is an idyllic setting for such a traumatic occurrence. Other than the day I was saved (which I don't recall), this was the most important date in my personal life.

For better or worse, that diagnosis changed my life forever. Little did I know the many hardships and blessings, surgeries and surprises, and backslides and hiccups the disease would present over the next quarter of a century.

I think of the time I spent at the Mayo Clinic, where after three days and a battery of tests, the doctors didn't have any answers for me. Or about the many times my family stood by my side during times of adversity when no one else was there to comfort me. And I think of the nights when after the frustration of dealing with a disease of this magnitude, God showed up in the middle of it and provided the right answers at the right time.

My dad recently recalled a day, when I was just a teen, when I told him something that I had learned about having the disease. He remembered it 25 years later, but it resonated with him.

"The disease has made me a better person," I told him way back when.

Yes, that's true. In it's weird way, having this crippling disease has made me a better person, I believe. Then again, it's all how you try to look at things. That, more than anything, is what I've tried to do in each of these 25 years.

If only for myself. Happy anniversary.

This didn't just happen. Oh, yes it did.

They say when it rains it pours. God says He will supply all my needs according to His riches and glory. Basically, as a Christian believer that means giving your baggage to God to carry. That was especially important the day of my foot surgery. As luck would have it, the night before surgery, I felt a kidney stone pushing through. I've had a history of these things and I know them like a dog can smell an earthquake. My prayers the night before asked the Lord to provide a way for the stones to come out and for me to have a successful operation. Who wouldn't want that, right? Knowing I might need to get it removed, I still cautiously arrived at the hospital. I worried they might cancel my original surgery because I wasn't healthy enough to go under the knife.

"I may be getting a stone and it's almost out," I told the surgeon.

He didn't seem bothered, unlike me, I was panicking.

Moments later, his surgical assistant told me they would likely catheterize me under anesthesia because the surgery would take four to five hours. I was relieved. I knew from prior experience, if a catheter was placed in there, it would create an opening large enough for any stones to exit peacefully. The above pic was taken two days post-op, moments after the catheter came out and I tried to go to the bathroom for the first time. Actually, three popped out, all about this size.

This is a good time to say, "God is good!"

Looking for the right answer

This is resurrection day. How appropriate. I had a minor setback last week. The eight months spent waiting for the fusion to heal correctly has left the ankle with more time to crumble apart. After meeting with my surgeon, he said the ankle is "99 percent gone," so instead of the ankle replacement I'd anticipated having for over a year, we have to further straighten the foot. That, sadly, means another surgery, this time what's called an "osteotomy." It's much more invasive and means another three months of staying off the foot. And t does nothing to help the pain I still have in the joint itself. I'm getting a second opinion just in case, but I will proceed with the original surgery date. Getting another set of eyes to look at it will give me peace of mind, anyway.