Tui xin một cái topic nhé....

EMOTIONAL ROLLER COASTER
by Michelle Hickerson
As Mother's Day approaches, I can't help but remember back to an
afternoon three years ago when I drove up to the place that I hoped would
fulfill my dream of becoming a mother.
The only detail that stands out in my mind is the sinking feeling that
came over me as I stepped off the elevator into the enormous waiting room
filled with nervous people.
I had imagined a much smaller setting with perhaps two or three
patients waiting to be seen. I had certainly not expected the many chairs
and couches crowded together, all occupied, the large television set and
the tables stacked with magazines, newspapers and pamphlets, all of which
seemed to guarantee a long wait.
For all the people, the room was quiet, with the exception of the
television. The mood was not one of hope, but of desperation.
So began my journey with infertility treatment.
As I sat in that room trying to be optimistic, I wondered how many of
the women there would ever actually give birth. Twenty percent? Thirty
percent? I had no idea. I did not know anyone who had undergone
infertility treatment, or so I thought at the time, and I simply had no
idea how many people were affected.
Infertile couples are often hesitant to discuss their situation. For
me, it took about two years. I was in denial at first, and after that I
was just too mortified with the diagnosis to let anyone know. In my denial
period, I assumed that perhaps I was just too stressed or maybe my
calculations had been off. It was much easier, and much less frightening,
to find an excuse than to acknowledge a problem.
Even when I did reluctantly schedule an appointment at an infertility
clinic, I half expected the doctor to laugh and question why I was there
when everything was working just fine. After all, mine is a family where
the running joke is that a woman need only think of getting pregnant and
she is. And surely, there was no problem on my husband's side as he is one
of six children.
But alas, everything was not working just fine. Over time, what began
as a suggestion that we might be ready to start a family became a very
costly and painful science experiment. As much as I swore I would not let
it, our infertility began to take over my life. I fluctuated between being
absolutely positive I was pregnant to knowing for certain that I never
would be. Everybody around me was having babies and it seemed so
effortless for them. I felt like a failure, and as a type-A overachiever
this feeling was devastating. The combination of the emotional
rollercoaster and the often extreme physical discomfort created a gray
cloud which colored every good thing in my life.
All I wanted was to be a mother.
My husband and I had decided to wait until we were financially stable
and emotionally ready. We felt that would make us better, more responsible
parents. Now I felt I was being punished for our intentional delay. We
decided to pursue adoption but found the hurdles and the wait equally
agonizing. As a child, I never envisioned my path to motherhood would be
like this. Every Mother's Day I would think "by next Mother's Day, I will
be pregnant" and then before I knew it another year had passed and still no
baby.
But I know I stand among the lucky ones.
Not a day goes by that I don't remember how fortunate I am and thank
God for what I have been given. My healthy beautiful twins will be seven
months old this Mother's Day. As difficult as those years were leading up
to my pregnancy, I would do it again in a second.
Everyone has crosses to bear in their lives and this was one of mine.
I know that the love I have for these two babies is not any greater for
having carried this cross. Instead, my cross has reminded me of life's
uncertainties.
Of all the women who have passed through that waiting room and similar
waiting rooms around the world, I don't know how many will never have
children. But I know there are many. They are women like me who would
have made wonderful mothers, who always expected they would be able to bear
children, who waited until the perfect time to begin trying, but for whom
God had another plan. They will eventually stop infertility treatment and
may even decide not to pursue adoption. They will come to grips with their
fate and go on to lead happy and wonderful lives. They will, of course,
know joy and love, but they will never be the mother of a child.
They are the ones I'll remember this Mother's Day.
-- Michelle Hickerson <mhickerson @ mindspring.com>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

FUNNY THINGS KIDS SAY
Daniel and his wife Lisa were taking their kids to the mall. They
live in Napa Valley, California, and they drove by a pasture full of dairy
cattle. Their youngest daughter, Nina, 11, looked out the window and said,
"Hey, look, those cows are pasturized!" -- Daniel McPherson of Napa,
California
One time when the family was on vacation, Jason, 3, had trouble
adjusting to sleeping in a different place. He kept calling his mother in
for different reasons -- a drink of water, etc. Finally, his mother said,
"I've made my last trip. You need to close your eyes and try to go to
sleep." A few minutes later a little voice called from the bedroom,
"Mommy, can you come in here so I can see how pretty you are?" -- Colleen
(mother of Jason) of Cincinnati, Ohio
Ian, 2, was staying with his grandparents while his parents were out
of town. His grandmother was trying to get him to take a nap, but Ian
wanted no part of it. Grandpa came into the room and said, "Ian, you have
to take a nap so that you can grow." Ian thought for a few seconds and
then replied, "I'll stay short, Granddaddy!" -- Lisa Parker (grandmother
of Ian) of Savannah, Georgia
When JoAnn picked up Jeremy, 4, from Sunday School, he told her they
talked about "Nobody's boat." "Nobody's boat?" the adults in the car asked
in amazement. "Yeah, No one's boat," came the clear reply. After a minute
JoAnn asked, "Do you mean Noah's Ark?" "Yes," said Jeremy, wondering why
the adults were laughing. -- JoAnn Melton (mother of Jeremy) of Palm
Harbor, Florida
Moushumi is a teacher in South Africa. Her students had all been
photographed and she was trying to persuade each one to buy a copy of the
group photo. "Just think how nice it will be to look at it when you're all
grown up and say, 'There's Nondumiso, she's a lawyer,' or 'That's Kyle,
he's a doctor.'" A small voice at the back of the classroom rang out, "And
there's the teacher... she's dead!" -- Moushumi Maharaj of
Pietermaritzburg, South Africa
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

NOT SCARED OF ANYTHING
by Patricia Wiegand
It was mom and me most of the time, it seemed.
Dad drank a lot. Mom always said he wasn't feeling well, or his back
was hurting him.
We lived in a small trailer in Eureka, California, and it was hard to
stay out of his way. Mom didn't drive so we would take the bus or walk to
where we wanted to go.
On the weekends we were off and headed to the park, shopping, and the
movies. We went to the movies a lot.
I remember one movie we went to see during the evening. The movie was
called "Them" -- a story about giant ants that grew under the city and came
out and killed people. Well, that kind of movie was right up my alley. It
was in the early 50s and I was 10 years old.
Those were the days. Scary movies, without a lot of blood, *** and
bad words. But nevertheless, it was a pretty "bad" movie for a 10 year old
to see.
But mom was a pillar of strength. She never got scared. She was
always brave. I was never afraid with her. If mom was with me, nothing
could get me or hurt me.
When we left the movie theater later that night, it was pitch black.
I couldn't imagine us being out that late, or for that matter, seeing that
kind of movie. Even back then, mom censored what I watched at the movies.
We didn't have a television.
I remember the street lights shining off the wet pavement. There was
a light drizzle in the air -- a cool mist curling up around our ankles.
Not a soul was in sight, and everything was closed up tight. I was holding
mom's hand and my eyes were darting everywhere -- looking for unseen
things, fearful things, lurking in the dark.
I was plying mom with questions about the movie. Could that really
happen? What would we do if it did, and how do you know nuclear tests
couldn't do that kind of thing to ants? I knew mom was the smartest and
the bravest thing I ever saw. But, come on -- a nuclear scientist she
wasn't. Even at 10 I knew that.
We were walking down this one sidewalk by a service station. There
must have been some kind of machine behind the station where pressure was
building. It was letting off a horrible sound -- a sound like steam
escaping, or probably not unlike souls being tortured, or a screeching
noise from deep inside a giant ant.
I screamed and jumped, and headed away from the sound. When I started
toward the road, mom's hand had griped mine so hard and she had me out in
the middle of the road before I could take two steps. Fear swept through
me. I had to doublestep to keep up with her.
I was quiet for a while and did my best to keep up.
"Are you scared mom?"
"No," she said ever so calmly.
"Then why are we walking so fast down the middle of the street?" I asked.
She said, "Because I know you are scared, and probably feel safer away
from the buildings. Besides, it's late and we need to get home."
What a mom. I never doubted for a minute that she wasn't scared of
anything.
-- Patricia Wiegand <royalee @ cdepot.net>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

WHEREVER YOU ARE
by Roger Dean Kiser
It was not easy for a ten year old, runaway boy to walk the streets of
Jacksonville, Florida.
Even at that young age I already hated the Children's Home Society
Orphanage where I lived. I had already been there for four years and
little did I know that I still had six more years of hell to go.
When the school bell rang, I headed out the back door and down Spring
Park Road. I traveled for what seemed to be miles before I crossed over
the Main Street Bridge. I walked, as fast as I could, through the downtown
area hunting for something to eat.
I made my way down to Bay Street and I stopped and stood in the
doorway of the Trailways Bus Station. I watched as the dirty looking bums
drank from their brown paper bags and argued with one another.
"Sonny. Can you go into that store across the street and cash in
these here glass bottles for me? I'll buy you a candy," said the old
woman.
"Sure. I can do that for you for noth'n," I told her.
I loaded the bottles into the store a few at a time. Her large wooden
type wagon cart was filled to the top with all varieties of soda bottles.
I cashed in the bottles and I walked back out of the store to give her the
money.
"Can you count the money out for me, Sonny?" she asked me.
"Can't you count?" I questioned.
"It's not that, Sonny. I just can't see very well," she told me.
As I stood there counting out the money in her hand, two large boys
walked up and began pulling on her coattail. One of the boys was trying to
grab the money from our hands while the other boy pulled her backwards. I
immediately closed my hands and I fell to the ground trying to catch the
coins which had fallen.
"OUCH!" I yelled out as the one of the boys stomped on my hand,
pinning it to the ground
"Boy, you sure stink lady," said one of the boys.
"You boys go on now. Leave us alone!" she yelled out at the two.
"Shut up you retarded old bag!" yelled the young man as he started
across the street with his friend.
I got back down on my knees and I picked up what money had fallen to
the ground. Again, I recounted the money and I placed it in her hands.
"You sure count awful good for being little like you are. And you can
count fast too," she said, as she laughed.
"Are you retarded too, like me?" I asked the old woman.
"You ain't retarded boy. You as smart as a whip. Look how fast you
can count. And you real cute too," she replied.
"You really think so?" I said, with a big smile on my face, and my
eyes open wide.
For the remainder of the day, I walked around and talked with the old
woman. I stayed as close to her as possible. All the while hoping that
she would once again say something nice about me.
Throughout the years, I have often thought about that old woman.
Especially when I drive through a large city and see someone pushing a
shopping cart down the street.
I could count on one hand the times that any grown adult ever gave me
a compliment or made me feel proud of myself. The few times that it did
happen, I soaked up the experience like a sponge soaking up water.
I can remember exactly what she looked like and exactly how she
smelled. I can remember her legs being fat at the ankles and the many
veins in her legs were dark and broken. Her lips were rough and cracked
and her hands were scarred and she had many sores about her hands and
wrists.
But what I remember most about her was her kind smile.
Not the kind of look that one has when they actually smile -- it was a
look that she must have been born with -- a constant smile which stayed on
her face even when she was resting on the bus stop bench.
I can remember we parted company late in the afternoon on that day we
met. I stood for a while watching her as she disappeared into the evening.
I never saw her again after that.
But that was okay with me.
Even if it was only for a moment, she gave me what I needed from a
"mother" -- the thought that I might not be retarded, that I was handsome,
and best of all, that I was "smart as a whip."
Those few words turned into feelings and they followed me for the next
fifty years of my life.
This year the Mother's Day flowers are for you. Wherever you are.
-- Roger Dean Kiser <trampolineone @ webtv.net>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

INNOCENCE AND BEAUTY
by Betty King
My four year old granddaughter picked a handful of dandelions the
other day, handing them to me. Then she turned around and ran off. Lydia
hollered back in my direction, "I love you grandma."
Most people detest dandelions and use weed killers to rid their lawns
of the pest. Some purchase a special tool to dig them up by the roots.
Others believe it is time to mow the grass as soon as the yard becomes
laden with yellow polkadots. Looking out over most lawns, these little
yellow persistent fellows, eager to appear and reappear, are simply, to
most, a nuisance.
I have noticed as children become adults, what they perceived as
flowers often becomes weeds. Eyes see things differently as years
accumulate. "Why is that?" I ponder.
It seems the simple beauties in life become confused and entangled,
finding their way to ugliness and offensiveness. Carefree innocence and
virtue, give way to guilt and mediocre pleasantries. Our guarded cynical
views, as adults, keep us from enjoying much life has to offer.
The Bible tells us to be like a little child -- to have the faith of a
child. Jesus understood the little children and their ability to love.
Their innocence gives them the ability to see things as they truly are. It
is a gift we adults should seek to maintain. Oh, the things we find
annoying and unpleasant. We pass over so much of the beauty in life as we
age. The precious moments we miss, by disregarding true beauty and
exquisiteness in the mundane.
There is nothing that opens my eyes to reality, and the beauty that
surrounds me, like my grandchildren. The tiniest bug or ant becomes an
interesting creature. Each leaf, in its intricate individual pattern,
becomes a map of nature. A rain puddle becomes a lake, a source of
pitter-patter pleasure. An earth worm, in the hands of a child, is a
fascinating life form. Each color in the rainbow is a painted palette of
wonderment. Each raindrop in the open mouth of a child is a delicious
delicacy. The clouds become billowing picture patterns, an adult in their
analytical mind could never understand. A sunset, seen through the eyes of
a child, is a painting Picasso could never have painted.
I took the dandelions Lydia gave me, and paused to really look at them.
A handful of delicate petals reflected the sunshine of a beautiful
bouquet. Only God could have formed both the beauty of the dandelion and
the wonderment in the eyes of a child.
I saw in my hand flowers of beauty, the sweetness of an innocent
child, and the glorious face of God.
I took from my cabinet a small clear glass, which also made a
beautiful vase. It mattered not to me that it was not crystal, for it
seemed to be in my eyes. I filled it with cool, clear water and placed
each dandelion on the surface. They floated like gorgeous lilies, and I
truly saw, for the first time, the beauty of dandelions.
I saw in that moment, a flower instead of a weed.
I placed them beside the smiling portrait of my beautiful grandchild,
and I thanked God, for the innocence and beauty of a child.
Lydia, I love you too.
-- Betty King <baking2 @ charter.net>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

Thanks for the story, gio_mua_dong. It's true that when I grow up, I cannot appreciate "innocent" happiness like children. I cannot laugh and cry that easily. However, looking at it from the bright side, I feel lucky that I've changed. I may no longer be innocent, but now, tears and laughter got a new meaning. They are feelings, emotions, experience, efforts, failure, success, love, desperation, desire, hatred, ................. and guilt

MY HANDSOME MAN
by Bonnie D. Evaschuk
"Thank God, you came! Nobody else answered the newspaper ad and we
would have had to put him to sleep tommorow," said the receptionist sitting
behind the desk.
She proceeded to explain that somebody had found this guy on the side
of the road and he had been hit by a car. The anonymous rescuer brought
him to the clinic to hopefully be fixed up.
They called him Snickers and he was absolutely the ugliest cat I had
ever seen in my entire life. Being a Catholic, I was forced by guilt into
bringing this mess home.
Snickers was a complete mess. His fur was full of dried blood and he
had a hair-lip because his jaw was broken in the accident. They had just
taken the wire out a few days before I arrived. He was completely blind in
his left eye and the pupil was totally dilated -- it had that eerie reddish
glow to it that you typically see in photographs. His left ear also had a
large chunk taken out of it.
Little did I know, at this time, how he would affect my life unlike
any other cat!
The first thing on the agenda was to change that name! Bogie was
appropriate because he sort of looked like he should have a cigarette
hanging out of that hair-lip as he said, "Of all the gin joints in the
world..."
The second thing on the agenda was to get to know one another. For
the first two weeks it was like I didn't have a new cat. I couldn't even
find him. I knew he was there, of course, by the empty food dish and the
full cat box. With some pleading, begging and sweet cooing, I finally
managed to get him to come out of his hiding spot. I found out that when I
told him how handsome he was, he somehow knew what I was telling him. He
would stand taller and act very proud and confident.
For many years Bogie brought me happiness, love and companionship. If
I was sad, he would come over and start purring and rubbing on me, as if to
say, "It will be ok, don't worry." He followed me everywhere, from New
Hampshire to Cleveland, then back to New Hampshire and finally down to
Florida -- meowing ALL the way! How he howled for 26 straight hours on our
drive to Florida, I will never, ever figure out!
Eventually he began to slow down. We had been together for 13 years
and I knew that he was about 18. I knew that the inevitable was coming and
I needed to prepare myself. I prayed and prayed that he would go quietly,
in his sleep.
It was late on a very stormy Sunday night when I returned home from a
business trip. I couldn't wait to see my handsome man. After the long
delayed flight from the West coast and all the air turbulence, I was ready
to be home. I had been away for 2 weeks and he was being cared for by the
critter sitter.
Normally, when I walked into the apartment, Bogie would trot right up
to me. This night, he did not. I figured he was probably angry with me
for being away for so long. I started searching for him and calling his
name. I walked into the bedroom and noticed the closet door was ajar. I
opened the door all the way and I fell to my knees. There was my handsome
man, my champion, lying there. Just as I had asked for, he died quietly in
his sleep.
It still hurt so bad. I couldn't believe that my guy was gone. We
had been through so much together, after all, those were my maturing years.
We went through my parents divorce together. We traveled all over the
eastern half of the country. He was there for me after many relationship
breakups. He was there waiting for me to come home from my first day on a
few new jobs. He was always there.
What would I do now without him?
He is still very much in my thoughts today. He really taught me a lot
in our many years together, including patience and consistency. He also
taught me that it is not what is on the outside that matters but what is in
the heart.
When friends and family would meet Bogie for the first time, they
would be shocked and immediately ask, "What the heck is wrong with your
CAT?!"
I would smile and say, "Nothing. Nothing at all. That is my handsome
man!"
-- Bonnie D. Evaschuk <Bonns66 @ aol.com>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .
Được gio_mua_dong sửa chữa / chuyển vào 22:50 ngày 19/05/2003

A SIMPLE THANK YOU
by Michael Segal, MSW
My mother-in-law is kind, loving, and generous -- boy, is she generous.
Every year, Ami (her nickname, given to her by her grandchildren),
takes the entire family on a week long vacation. Through the years, she
has taken us to Jamaica, Turks and Cacos Islands, cruises, Disney World,
dude ranches in Wyoming and Colorado, and Club Med in Florida.
I remember all of Ami's vacations with fond memories. However, I
remember Club Med perhaps even more.
Being pulled by a rope at 20 miles per hour sounds painful, unless you
are being pulled in a rubber tube by a motor boat. And that's exactly what
I did everyday at Club Med Sandpiper in Port St. Lucie, Florida. Besides
the tubing, and the time I spent with my family, there were many other
activities that occupied my time.
I also tried sailing, volleyball, being in a show, and even water
skiing. What made those events so special for me was the fact that I am
disabled. But the staff said, "If you want to try, we will do our best to
accommodate you." And accommodate me they did.
I had such a good time that week. I was so happy when they included
me in the staff's water ski show. I was so proud when I got up on water
skis. It was so much fun when the trapeze artist in the circus attempted
to have me hang onto him while he attempted to swing from rope to rope.
That week was truly a blast.
As soon as we returned home, I wrote a thank you note to the CEO of
Club Med at their corporate office in New York City. In the letter, I
mentioned all the members of the staff in Florida who had been so kind to
me. I sent a letter, assuming that I would receive a glowing return letter
of thanks and appreciation.
A few weeks later I did receive a letter from Club Med's corporate
office. I ripped open the envelope ASSUMING that the note would read:
Dear Mr. Segal:
We're so happy that you enjoyed yourself at Club Med.
We pride ourselves in hiring only great staff and we are
so happy that John, Mary, Bob, were so helpful.
Instead, upon opening the letter I read a standard form letter that said:
Dear Sir,
We thank you for taking the time to write. We
understand your concerns and are currently looking
into them.
Sincerely, Club Med
I read the letter again. I could not believe it. My letter was
thanking the organization for what the staff had done for me. However, the
organization's letter was quite confusing. I wanted to know what
"concerns" it was referring to that required "looking into."
I quickly drove in my car to the travel agent who had booked our fun
vacation. I "demanded" from him an explanation after shoving the letter
before his eyes.
After scanning the letter he chuckled and exclaimed, "Mike, you don't
understand? Club Med and other vacation companies receive so many letters,
and about 99 percent of the time the letters are negative. Club Med
receives countless letters. Being in the service industry they want to
respond quickly. Therefore, one person's job is to open the mail and send
a form letter reply, often, unfortunately, without reading the letter.
Another individual's job is to read the letter and reply appropriately to
the guest."
The travel agent concluded by stating that he would be shocked if I
did not receive a "more suitable" letter from Club Med in six to eight
weeks.
Sure enough, in six weeks I received that letter. The new letter made
me feel good as I realized that "my friends" at Club Med might get some
well deserved recognition.
Now, I am constantly writing letters in response to some kind of
service. Whether the service is good or bad, I believe the company wants
to know, and should know, how the guests had been treated. If someone does
not let the company know, it will simply assume that everything is perfect.
So, I write letters -- usually "thank you" letters -- but occasionally I
write letters of complaint (or to put it more positively, letters of
"constructive criticism").
I have been so busy writing letters to companies that I have forgotten
one major thing: "Thank You for Everything, Ami!"
-- Michael Segal, MSW <MSegalHope @ aol.com
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

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Date: Tue, 13 May 2003 21:26:55 -0400
Subject: a heartwarmer: On His Own Terms
From: "Heartwarmers" <moderator@heartwarmers.com> | This is spam | Add to Address Book
To: gio_mua_dong@yahoo.com


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The best thing to happen to mornings since the Sun!
Your morning thought for the day:
Everyone dies but not everyone lives.
-- A. Sachs
William tells us about a man today who decided to go out on his own
terms. No one was going to tell him how to live, or die.
Have you had any experiences with friends or relatives who felt the
same way? And, by the way, how do YOU feel about setting your own course?
___________________________________________
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ON HIS OWN TERMS
by William Santoro, MD
In 1986, I opened a family practice medical office eager to care for
patients.
I was excited when I got a call from a surgeon referring a patient to
me from a local nursing home. The surgeon told me the patient was very
ornery and had multi-system failure. He also had a tube draining from the
liver abscess and a nasal-gastric feeding tube -- the kind that goes up his
nose and into his stomach for the purpose of obtaining nutrition.
The patient had refused further surgery and was being sent to the
nursing home for comfort care only. The surgeon thought he would live only
a short time.
Arthur had just celebrated his 77th birthday.
I went and met this curmudgeon. He made it clear that he was not
going to have anyone do anything further for him. I was young and naive
and thought I could talk some sense into him.
Well, by the end of our talk I had agreed to every demand he made.
Even though I believed he would not live very long, I still believed he had
every right to live his remaining days as he wished.
The next day I got a telephone call informing me that he had removed
his drainage tube. I rushed in to see him, thinking the worst. There he
was, quietly sitting in his bed waiting for me. He was not as angry a man
as I originally thought. He told me he just was tired of the tube sticking
out his abdomen. I reminded him that the tube was supposed to be
surgically removed.
He told me it had been surgically removed. "I reached down and
surgically pulled the damn thing out," he said.
"What were you thinking?" I asked him.
"I don't know what I was thinking then, but I'll tell you what I'm
thinking now. You pull this tube out of my nose and let me eat or I'll
surgically remove it as well."
I removed the tube. I thought for sure that he would not be able to
eat. Wrong again. He ate like there was no tomorrow. At first, he
refused to go to physical therapy. He said he didn't need it. I asked him
if he thought he would ever get out of bed or leave the nursing home. He
told me he planned to do just that. I told him if that was ever going to
happen he'd need physical therapy. I was starting to believe in him.
He went to physical therapy and got stronger. I joked with him and
told him that at the rate he was improving that the nurse would hold the
front door open while I kicked his butt through it. He joked back and told
me I'd have to catch him first.
The nurses informed me that on the days he did not have physical
therapy, he did his exercises when he thought nobody was looking.
Four weeks later, he walked out on his own power. I called him "My
Miracle Man".
He came to my office several times a year for his medical care. Over
the years, he suffered a few minor setbacks but I tried and ultimately
succeeded in stopping several of his medications. I had him consult with
the surgeon that had written him off years before. Eventually everyone
referred to him as "Our Miracle Man".
The rough exterior soon revealed the soft, gentle but firm man within.
Don't get me wrong -- he was also opinionated, stubborn, self-assured and
proud of it. He always walked in the office and kept a serious look about
him until I got in the examining room. Then he would smile. The hard
features of his face would still be present, but the smile and twinkle in
his eye were giveaways to the gentle man within.
By 1998, it was evident that his health was starting to fail. I was
not going to bet against him, others had already made that mistake. He
still refused any procedure, but accepted my medication and we both enjoyed
his visits.
"My Miracle Man" died March 3, 2001, just about 4 months short of his
92nd birthday.
He left this world on his own terms, in his own home, in his own bed,
surrounded by those that loved and admired him.
-- William Santoro, MD <Drsantoro @ aol.com>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

AN ALARMING STORY
by Linda E. Newman
I love to camp. When my dad was still alive, he and his wife and I
went camping each summer. And of course, Buddy, the family dog, always
came along too.
We had just bought a used mobile camper. It was a real monster --
longer than a schoolbus. And it had ALL the amenities. (Not really what I
consider camping!)
It was equipped with a bathroom, shower, stove, microwave, oven, and
not only with a smoke alarm, but also a propane alarm in case of a propane
leak -- which could be deadly.
At night, I slept on a single bed made up where the table and benches
were, and my dad and stepmom slept on a double bed that pulled out over
where the couch was -- covering most of the aisle.
On one particular trip, my daughters were at Girl Scout Camp for the
week which gave me a much-needed break. Buddy, their black-and-white
Springer Spaniel, liked to sleep in the "****" under the bed in the camper.
This way he did not have to worry about being stepped on if someone got up
in the middle of the night.
One night, we were all sleeping peacefully when, at about 5am, the
propane alarm went off!
As if it had been choreographed, each one of us leaped straight up in
bed, then made a mad dash for a different door or window to open them and
ventilate before we blew up.
However, the windows were already wide open! It had been a beautiful
and balmy night. It didn't make any sense. We were well ventilated, but
there it was -- the propane alarm was screaming at us in the middle of the
woods.
But wait. Where was Buddy? Oh, there he was -- way up front on the
floor under the steering wheel shaking like a leaf.
I forgot to mention that the propane alarm was on the low front wall
of the couch, which happened to be under the bed when it was opened up --
the **** where Buddy slept. As soon as we picked up the covers and
ventilated under there, the bloody alarm stopped screaming at us!
Now what on earth could have possibly set that alarm off under the bed
in a very well-ventilated camper?
You don't think it could have been... Buddy?
He was a gassy dog, but was it enough to set off a propane alarm? Yer
darn tootin' it was!
And that is exactly what happened! Buddy absolutely refused to sleep
in his **** after that, choosing to sleep on the floor under the steering
wheel -- as far away from that alarm as he could get!
The camper is gone now, but the memories of that night remain. Buddy
crossed the Rainbow Bridge several months before my dad, and I am sure was
waiting there to meet him when he arrived almost three years ago.
And I'll just bet there are NO propane alarms in Doggy Heaven!
-- Linda E. Newman <GramLin99 @ aol.com>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .