I have been thinking of that call by a young sports journalist in the 1980 Olympic Games when the United States Men's Hockey Team led by coach Herb Brooks defeated the mighty Soviet Union by the score of 4 to 3. With three seconds left to play an exuberant Al Michaels put to words what the world had just witnessed.
That victory seemed to ignite a sense of hope in America that President Ronald Reagan was able to seize and put an end to the Cold War and the feeling of impending doom we children of the eighties felt hanging over our heads each day.
Recently I have been entrenched in my own feeling of doom. I have chronicled my battle with Crohn's Disease on the blog and the latest chapter will be written this Thursday when I go in for my second ileocolic resection in three years.
So far I have suffered through seven months of sharp pain and withering away. I am now 145 pounds, down from my jolly 200, and find myself singing that catchy Pants on the Ground song made famous on American Idol as my trousers, cinched like a potato sack around my waist, prove gravity right with every step I take.
I am fortunate to have a trusted gastro in Dr. Barry Jaffin who has thrown every treatment available to us to try and curb this latest inflammation: Flagyl, Cipro, Levaquin, Remicade, Entocort, Pentasa and Tylenol 3, but my last CT scan proved the course of this disease to be irreversible and another appointment with my surgeon Dr. Randolph Steinhagen inevitable.
I was hospitalized this June after I showed up to Dr. Jaffin's office for my first Remicade treatment in acute pain. He and Dr. Anthony Weiss wasted no time in sending me to Mt. Sinai despite my stubborn refusal. After all, I had a conference call that afternoon with important clients.
I was admitted through the emergency room, which was packed and I was reminded by the yellow body next to me and the desperation abounding that although I was grinding my teeth in pain, my problem was not the worst. In a panic, I scrambled to clear my schedule that afternoon, which was thwarted by AT&T's lack of service from the ER, but as I could not bear the thought of letting my clients down, I convinced an attending physician to take me to a spot where I might get reception. Unfortunately my Blackberry was still not working, so she agreed to take it outside the building and search for a signal so the e-mails I had written to my clients and colleagues could be sent. She saved the day.
Later that evening, I was wheeled into the CT room and there was a hold-up as a signature was missing from a form. I could hardly stand up at this point, the pain was fierce. They were about ready to roll me back to the ER when suddenly the door opened and Dr. Jaffin appeared out of nowhere and completed the paperwork so the test could proceed and afterward I could be sent to a room where I would spend the next five days.
I left the hospital with a sense of hope that I would not return for a long time. I was confident that I would respond to treatment. I was having a good year at work as a salesman and like a pitcher whose team is depending on him, I did not want to come out of the game.
Turns out the treatments kept me in the game through October and enabled me to see my second six-figure deal of the year close. They allowed me to celebrate my third anniversary with my beautiful wife, Jackie, whose love and support has been overwhelming during this time. Of course, like a prisoner on death row waiting for the mayor to call, I met with Dr. Jaffin once more to see if surgery could be avoided. For us Crohn's folks, we know that surgery can alleviate symptoms, but it cannot cure us. It's frustrating to think I may face another recurrence again and the odds say I will, but I am still fueled with a sense of optimism and have recently become a member of the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation of America. Perhaps it stems from the many calls from mom (each day) and dad and sister Dee and Aunt Peg and Dom and cousin Kev and colleagues from work and cue the music in the middle of my speech before I thank everyone who has helped me throughout this ordeal.
Although I don't consider myself a religious man, I do have a strong faith in God and His Son and I have prayed daily for a miracle that this Crohn's Disease leave my body and let me be. Maybe after surgery it will. I am not afraid and I know the Lord has listened to me. All the while I have been praying for a miracle, He has been bestowing them upon me.
That victory seemed to ignite a sense of hope in America that President Ronald Reagan was able to seize and put an end to the Cold War and the feeling of impending doom we children of the eighties felt hanging over our heads each day.
Recently I have been entrenched in my own feeling of doom. I have chronicled my battle with Crohn's Disease on the blog and the latest chapter will be written this Thursday when I go in for my second ileocolic resection in three years.
So far I have suffered through seven months of sharp pain and withering away. I am now 145 pounds, down from my jolly 200, and find myself singing that catchy Pants on the Ground song made famous on American Idol as my trousers, cinched like a potato sack around my waist, prove gravity right with every step I take.
I am fortunate to have a trusted gastro in Dr. Barry Jaffin who has thrown every treatment available to us to try and curb this latest inflammation: Flagyl, Cipro, Levaquin, Remicade, Entocort, Pentasa and Tylenol 3, but my last CT scan proved the course of this disease to be irreversible and another appointment with my surgeon Dr. Randolph Steinhagen inevitable.
I was hospitalized this June after I showed up to Dr. Jaffin's office for my first Remicade treatment in acute pain. He and Dr. Anthony Weiss wasted no time in sending me to Mt. Sinai despite my stubborn refusal. After all, I had a conference call that afternoon with important clients.
I was admitted through the emergency room, which was packed and I was reminded by the yellow body next to me and the desperation abounding that although I was grinding my teeth in pain, my problem was not the worst. In a panic, I scrambled to clear my schedule that afternoon, which was thwarted by AT&T's lack of service from the ER, but as I could not bear the thought of letting my clients down, I convinced an attending physician to take me to a spot where I might get reception. Unfortunately my Blackberry was still not working, so she agreed to take it outside the building and search for a signal so the e-mails I had written to my clients and colleagues could be sent. She saved the day.
Later that evening, I was wheeled into the CT room and there was a hold-up as a signature was missing from a form. I could hardly stand up at this point, the pain was fierce. They were about ready to roll me back to the ER when suddenly the door opened and Dr. Jaffin appeared out of nowhere and completed the paperwork so the test could proceed and afterward I could be sent to a room where I would spend the next five days.
I left the hospital with a sense of hope that I would not return for a long time. I was confident that I would respond to treatment. I was having a good year at work as a salesman and like a pitcher whose team is depending on him, I did not want to come out of the game.
Turns out the treatments kept me in the game through October and enabled me to see my second six-figure deal of the year close. They allowed me to celebrate my third anniversary with my beautiful wife, Jackie, whose love and support has been overwhelming during this time. Of course, like a prisoner on death row waiting for the mayor to call, I met with Dr. Jaffin once more to see if surgery could be avoided. For us Crohn's folks, we know that surgery can alleviate symptoms, but it cannot cure us. It's frustrating to think I may face another recurrence again and the odds say I will, but I am still fueled with a sense of optimism and have recently become a member of the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation of America. Perhaps it stems from the many calls from mom (each day) and dad and sister Dee and Aunt Peg and Dom and cousin Kev and colleagues from work and cue the music in the middle of my speech before I thank everyone who has helped me throughout this ordeal.
Although I don't consider myself a religious man, I do have a strong faith in God and His Son and I have prayed daily for a miracle that this Crohn's Disease leave my body and let me be. Maybe after surgery it will. I am not afraid and I know the Lord has listened to me. All the while I have been praying for a miracle, He has been bestowing them upon me.