Writings of an inspritation (continued)
Michael Wlach
Presented at a faculty retreat in 1997.
Every time I’ve been on a retreat and was asked to give a talk or presentation, I would always begin with a prayer. I think that is a good way to begin many things in our lives, including each day, our meals and other parts of our lives. However, today I’d like to begin with a short article in the reflections column of a magazine written for people suffering from arthritis. It was given to me a few years ago from my father who does suffer from arthritis. It was written by a man named Jim Ochs and is titled “A Very Lucky Man".
“I consider myself a very lucky man. I’ve had rheumatoid arthritis in just about every part of my body for 27 years. Of course, I can barely bend my knees, which makes sitting in a chair or rising from it difficult. My toes and hands are gnarled because of the arthritis, which presents a problem when I try to find comfortable shoes or tie the laces. Putting on socks is impossible, but my good wife helps me there. So why should I consider myself lucky when the disease has left me so weak I have to use both hands to hammer in a nail?
Although I’ve lost a lot of mobility and I’m unable to do many of the things I once could, I have been left with some things I can do - things for which I am thankful.
I can see. I can still observe the beauties of nature around me, look at the family members whom I love, watch TV programs or movies, and read books just as well as I could when I was young.
I can hear. I enjoy listening to good music and communicating with my wife (including the nagging, which she insists is for my own good). I can listen to the soft water sounds of a stream or a fountain and the happy sounds of birds singing.
I can eat. I still enjoy good food (even the stuff that I occasionally cook) and savor the smell of my wife’s cooking in the kitchen.
I can feel the velvety softness of rose petals, or the rough texture of a thick rope.
I can still walk, although not briskly. But I get around.
I have gotten over the way bank tellers and store clerks look at my hands when handing me change and the way people stare as they pass me on the street.
As bad as arthritis pain is, it could be worse. In the morning, when I awake with pain and stiffness, I often think of other people who have been hit harder by the disease than I have. As the day progresses, I don’t dwell on the fact that I can’t make a fist with either hand, or think about how I was before I was struck with arthritis. I don’t think about what I’ve lost, but rather what I have left. And when I do, I realize I’m a very lucky man."
Although my situation is different than that of Jim Ochs in many ways, I too consider myself a very lucky man. Since the summer of 1984, I’ve viewed my own life as a matter of perspective. The first 30 years of my life had been very rewarding and also very happy. I had a wife and a son, a job that I enjoyed and my health. I couldn’t have asked for much more. Everything that I ever really wanted I had - and I was grateful for it.
After completing my first year as the assistant headmaster at Xavier H.S. and completing the last of my courses at N.Y.U. for my doctorate, I was ready to enjoy the summer with my wife Pat, who was seven months pregnant and our son Christopher, who was 16 months old. However, on August 20 all of that changed drastically.
After taking what was to be our last vacation alone together at Newport, Rhode Island, I decided to make an appointment to see the optometrist. Since I had been doing a great deal of work as the assistant headmaster and also on my doctoral dissertation, I thought it might be time for me to wear glasses. After all. I was 30 years old at the time and both of my parents had been wearing glasses for some time. It would not surprise me if I did need them so I really didn’t think much of the upcoming eye exam.
From what I can recall, it consisted of reading the eye chart, testing for depth of vision, peripheral vision and one or two other tests. I do remember that the last test involved putting drops into both of my eyes in order to dilate my pupils. After waiting a few minutes for my pupils to dilate, the optometrist examined my eyes with a special instrument. At that point, he said that he noticed some swelling on the optic nerve of my right eye.
I remember feeling a little nervous at that point because something didn’t seem quite right. But, in all honesty, I was confident that everything was fine. After all, I had lived a good life and taken care of my body. I was about 30 pounds lighter than I am now, I exercised on a daily basis and had never smoked anything or taken any non-prescription drugs in my life. A few months earlier, I had received my second degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do and completed the N.Y.C. Marathon back in October 1983.
Nevertheless, I drove about 20 minutes to see the neurologist who did a very similar exam with the eye drops to dilate my pupils. He basically said the same thing as the optometrist - there was some swelling on my optic nerve but he didn’t know nor could he tell what was causing the swelling. He wanted me to get a CAT scan to determine the cause of the swelling. Now I began to feel very nervous. The only thing I could remember about a CAT scan was a scene from a movie by Woody Allen in which he gets slid into this huge metal cylinder. It looked both menacing and frightening.
I drove again, yet to another medical facility to have the CAT scan taken. After it was taken, I asked the technician or the radiologist what the results were. He said that he couldn’t tell me anything. I would have to drive home and call the neurologist. I remember the ride home felt like an eternity. When I got home, I told Pat what had happened and that I had to call the neurologist.
I can still picture the moment that I called. I was in our kitchen standing by the side door where the phone was. Pat was at my side and Christopher was at our feet. Over the phone, the neurologist said to me “You have a massive brain tumor. We need to operate as soon as possible so meet me in the emergency room of Nyack Hospital immediately.” The phone nearly dropped out of my hands. I didn’t know what to do because Pat was more than seven months pregnant with Aidan and Christopher was only 16 months old. I called my brother-in-law Don who also lived in Rockland County and he said he’d be right over. In a few minutes, he came over with his wife Katie, Pat’s twin sister and their four-month old son, Greg.
Don drove me to Nyack Hospital where the neurologist was waiting. I was wheeled up to an examining room to meet the neurosurgeon. When the neurosurgeon walked in, he did not look anything at all what I had pictured a neurosurgeon to look like. Somehow, I had visions of a doctor who looked like Ben Casey, Dr. Kildare or someone on an afternoon soap opera walking in.
Instead, the neurosurgeon who walked in looked about 100 lbs. overweight. My confidence in my own situation was nearly gone. To top that off, it was a hot summer afternoon and as he was examining me, sweat was pouring off his forehead onto me. He explained to me, Pat and my parents that due to the size and location of the tumor, it was inoperable from his standpoint. There was nothing else that he could do for me. I didn’t bother to ask what would eventually happen.
Fortunately, my father had the sense to suggest calling my friend Joe, a Xavier graduate who was working then as a radiologist in New York Hospital. He suggested that I come down there in the morning and let one of their doctors take a look at me. He explained that they had some of the best doctors in the world there and I would certainly have nothing to lose by it.
Meanwhile, my wife Pat was going to see her obstetrician to check that everything was O.K. with her pregnancy with Aidan due now to this unexpected stress. While sitting in his waiting room, one of the nurses noticed how upset Pat was. She asked her what the problem was and when Pat explained the situation to her, the nurse, who happened to be a Catholic, gave Pat a small card from her wallet and said “This is a prayer I’ve used many times when I didn’t know what to do. Listen to its words and I will pray for you too.“
“Let Go And Let God”
As children bring their broken toys
With tears for us to mend,
I brought my broken dreams to God
Because He was my friend.
But then instead of leaving Him
In peace to work alone,
I hung around and tried to help
With ways that were my own.
At last, I finally snatched them back
And cried "how can you be so slow?
"My child", He said, "What could I do?
You never did let go!"
Throughout this whole time I think I was in a state of shock. I couldn’t believe that my whole life seemed to be falling apart and I was frightened at the thought that it may be ending. I remember praying and bargaining with God but in all honesty, only recently have I come to accept or at least realize that no prayers we sincerely bring to God will go unanswered.
The realization of that came to me at two different times in my parish. The pastor, Monsignor Kane, said back in October 1995, "It’s not a question of ‘Will God answer my prayers?' but rather 'Am I ready to accept God's answer to my prayers?'" In a similar reflection written in the bulletin by Deacon Warren Winkler he wrote
"If we do not receive what we pray for, it is not because God grudgingly refuses to give it but because He has some better thing for us. There is no such thing as unanswered prayer. The answer may not be the answer we desired or expected; but even when it is a refusal it is the answer of the love and the wisdom of God."
The following morning I was driven down to New York Hospital by the local volunteer ambulance corps. There I met Dr. Richard Fraser, the neurosurgeon who could have played Ben Casey or Dr. Kildare. The first thing he did was request another CAT scan because the original was not completely clear to him.
After getting the results of that, he met with me, Pat and my parents and said that the tumor was indeed very large and probably from the other neurosurgeon’s perspective, it was inoperable. He said it was about the size of a small orange and it would take a number of operations to remove it. It was likely that I would never be able to walk again or return to work as well.
I wasn’t particularly thrilled with that prognosis but it certainly seemed better than the first one I had received. The following morning, I underwent the first of my major operations. It began around 7:30 A.M. and was not finished until after 9:00 that night. When I came out of that operation I was completely paralyzed on my left side, I could not speak and did not recognize the people in my life. Subsequently, I underwent four other major operations and when I was finished I had over 500 stitches in my head. I was confined to a wheelchair and could barely talk for a few weeks.
After a few weeks, I was transferred to Burke Rehabilitation Center in White Plains. There I spent about three months undergoing daily physical, cognitive and occupational therapy. Meanwhile, Pat was trying to raise a new baby and watch after Christopher as well. Whenever she had the chance she came by to visit me. Besides Pat, my parents and Pat’s family, the only regular visitor that I had was Fr. Vinny Biagi, S.J. He gave me a book to read which I have found very helpful. It was Harold Kushner’s book “When Bad Things Happen To Good People”. Harold Kushner is a rabbi and he was trying to make sense out of the fact that his young son had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and would probably not live past his teens.
During my three months at Burke, I kept looking for solutions to my problems and answers to my questions. I think more than anything, at this point in my life, my faith pulled me through. There were no logical answers to my question “Why did my life turn out like it did?” For the most part, I accepted it with my faith. However, Kushner offered some good stories and examples that helped me put things in a better perspective.
One such story came from Thornton Wilder’s “The Eighth Day” where Wilder offers us the image of a beautiful tapestry. Looked at from the right side, it is an intricately woven work of art, drawing together threads of different lengths and colors to make up an inspiring picture. But turn the tapestry over, and you will see a hodgepodge of many threads, some short and some long, some smooth and some cut and knotted, going off in different directions. Wilder offers this as his explanation of why good people have to suffer in this life. God has a pattern into which all of our lives fit. His pattern requires that some lives be twisted, knotted or cut short, while others extend to impressive lengths, not because one thread is more deserving than another, but simply because the pattern requires it. Looked at from underneath, from our vantage point in life, God’s pattern of reward and punishment seems arbitrary and without design, like the underside of a tapestry. But looked at from outside this life, from God’s vantage point, every twist and knot is seen to have its place in a great design that adds up to a work of art.
Kushner also mentions this image a contemporary teacher has used: “If a man who knew nothing about medicine were to walk into the operating room of a hospital and see doctors and nurses performing an operation, he might assume that they were a band of criminals torturing their unfortunate victim. He would see them tying the patient down, forcing a cone over his nose and mouth so that he could not breathe, and sticking knives and needles into him. Only someone who understood surgery would realize that they were doing all this to help the patient, not to torment him. So too, it is suggested, God does painful things to us as His way of helping us."
He says our misfortunes are none of God’s doing, and so we can turn to Him for help. Our question will not be Job’s question “God, why are you doing this to me?” but rather “God see what is happening to me. Can You help me?” We will turn to God not to be rewarded or punished, but to be strengthened and comforted.
“We can be angry at what has happened to us, without feeling that we are angry at God. More than that, we can recognize life’s unfairness, our instinctive compassion at seeing people suffer, as coming from God who teaches us to be angry at injustice and to feel compassion for the afflicted. Instead of feeling that we are opposed to God, we can feel that our indignation is God’s anger at unfairness working through us, that when we cry out, we are still on God’s side, and He still on ours.“
One of the reasons I always liked mathematics was that it usually offered solutions to problems and answers to many questions. However, now I was in a situation where there were no foolproof solutions and no logical answers. That is where my faith stepped in.
I was released from Burke just before Christmas 1984. In all honesty, I don’t know how Pat managed. We were alone up in Rockland County and I was literally out of it -physically, mentally and emotionally. She had to help me in the bathroom and also get me around the house. In addition to that, Aidan was only a few months old and Christopher was not yet two. By June, she decided we had to move back down to Queens so that we’d all be able to get some help. It was a struggle for all who were involved. A physical therapist came by once or twice a week but there was very little I could do on my own.
When I returned to work in September 1985, the position of assistant headmaster was a little overwhelming. I could do all the things that were asked of me but I had no initiative to find out what I should be doing. At the end of that year, I was asked to step down and try to return to the classroom on a part-time basis. I was devastated when I was told this because in my mind, I was doing my job. Looking back at it now, I know it was the right move for everyone.
Meanwhile at home, I was trying my best to be a husband and a father but it didn’t come naturally. A part of me was so wrapped up in my own mental and physical recovery that I had little left to offer Pat and our sons. I certainly wasn’t there for them like I wanted to be. After standing by me for years and constantly supporting and encouraging me, Pat asked for a separation in 1993. She said she’d be unable to continue raising the boys and helping me, especially when most people thought that everything was back to normal now that I was back at home. It couldn’t have been farther from the truth. We legally separated in 1993 but are still very close and it certainly was an amicable separation.
I often think that if God came to me in the night and He said “Mike, I’ve been looking through your chart up here and it seems that someone has made a terrible mistake. You were a good man who was helping people. That tumor wasn’t meant for you. I know I can’t remove all the pain you've already gone through but I can give you back your marriage, the use of both your arms and your legs, and your memory and brain the way they were before. The only thing I’d have to take away is the inner peace you feel each night when you go to sleep because that is a direct result of all you’ve been through. What do you think?”
I know I wouldn’t have to hesitate for a moment to say “Thank you, Lord, but I’ll live out my days the way I am now because I sincerely believe that the inner peace I feel each night will be with me for all time when you finally call me home.”
A prayer I first heard a number of years ago was also on a faculty retreat.
“And God Said No”
I asked God to take away my pride
And God said “No.”
He said it was not for him to take away,
But for me to give up.
I asked God to make my handicapped child whole, And God said “No.”
He said “Her spirit is whole,
Her body is only temporary. “
I asked God to grant me patience,
And God said “No.”
He said that patience is a by-product of tribulation, It isn’t granted, it is earned.
I asked God to give me happiness, and God said “No.”
He said He gives blessings,
Happiness is up to me.
I asked God to spare my pain,
And God said “No.”
He said “Suffering draws you apart from worldly cares And brings you closer to Me.”
I asked God to help me love others as much as He loves me, And God said, “Ah, finally you have the idea.”
Over the last twelve years, I’ve asked God for many things. I’ve asked Him for the use of my left leg again so that I could run, play basketball and teach karate. He said “No.” I also asked for the use of my left hand so that I could play the piano again with two hands. He said “No.” I’ve asked Him for my memory back and a brain that works the way it should. He said “No.” Most of all, I’ve asked God for my marriage back and the chance to live with my sons once again. Yet He still said “No.” Finally, I asked Him to help me to accept the person I’ve become and make the most of my unique situation. God did not say “No” to me then and I know He is with me every day and every step that I take.
What has also helped me tremendously is listening to the words of different people in my life. Here are three such examples.
The first one comes from my father who has probably been hurt by this whole ordeal as much as anyone, including myself though he would never let me or anyone else know it. He told me a story about a man who was upset because it was raining heavily and he had no rubbers or goulashes to wear outside with his newly rented tuxedo. When he went to look out of the window again, he saw a man with no feet. He then stepped back and put his life into a better perspective.
The second example concerns one of our neighbors. About eight years ago, there was a heavy rainstorm one night and our basement began to leak heavily. Since neither my father nor Pat’s father were home to help, Pat decided to go outside to see if she could figure out where the water was coming in. She noticed that the gutters on our roof were clogged with leaves and that’s where the problem was. Both of the boys were asleep and I was watching television so Pat took out a ladder from the garage and climbed up to the gutters in order to remove the leaves. As she was tossing them down, she was crying.
At that point, our neighbor heard her and came outside. He simply said “What’s the problem? What are you crying all about?” Pat probably felt like throwing the leaves into his face but instead she said “It’s late at night, my basement is leaking because these gutters are clogged and I have two sons and a handicapped husband to take care of. That’s what’s the matter.” He simply but sincerely said “Well, you know it could be worse."
He was right but it wasn’t something Pat wanted to hear at that time.
The last example was a story that Pat’s mother told all her children. She was a wonderful woman who had a great outlook on life. She would always tell her children to try and look for some good in every person or situation and when you find it, even if it’s one small thing, it will help you to deal with the bad things.
To illustrate this she told them about the time that her husband Peter came home from work and said “Why don’t we all go out to dinner tonight?” Now with a family of eight children, that didn’t happen too often. Everyone was very excited and they all got into their Volkswagen bus. When they got to the restaurant, it was very crowded and there was a long wait to get in. The restaurant was also noisy and dirty. When the waitress came to their table, she looked less than thrilled to be waiting on a family of ten. The service was awful and the food was cold and tasteless. To top it off, it was more expensive than anyone had expected.
As their family was leaving the restaurant, each of the eight children made some comment about the evening. Peggy, the youngest girl said “That waitress was really rude.” Tommy the youngest boy said “This restaurant was filthy.” Johnny added “My food tasted awful.” Pat remarked “My food was cold as well as awful.” Her twin sister Katie said “Did you see the dirty table cloth?” Mary, the oldest girl, said “This whole place was a mess. Jimmy said “Even my silverware was dirty.” Johnny and Peter Jr. agreed with everything that had been said. Now, it was time to see their parents’ reactions. Peter Sr. simply said “To top it all off, you should see the price of this bill. It’s outrageous.”
All eyes now stared at Pat’s mother, whose philosophy of life had always been “Try to look for one good thing or point in a person or situation and when you find it, that will help you to deal with the bad things.” She then basically agreed with everything that had been said by saying “You know, you’re all right. This place was a total disappointment. The atmosphere was dark and dull, the waitress was slow and rude, the food was cold and tasteless, the tablecloth and napkins were all dirty and Peter, you know the bill was outrageous!”
All of the children smiled at one another as if to say “We’ve got her now. She couldn’t find one thing good about this place.” But before they could enjoy the satisfaction of that feeling, Pat’s mother said “You know despite the rotten atmosphere, poor service, dirty linen and cold food, didn’t they have good pepper?”
I think I’ve tried to live my life with that attitude. I know I’ve had my share of hard times and bad breaks but I’ve always tried to look for the good pepper in my life. It’s not easy to find but it is out there. I can see it in my two sons and Pat, my parents, the faces I’m looking at now and believe it or not in the eyes of the students we teach.”
Before I end, I’d like to read one last prayer that was read on a faculty retreat in Manhasset a few years ago:
“PEDAL”
Jesus and I were riding a tandem bicycle.
At first, I sat in front; Jesus in the rear.
I couldn’t see Him, but I knew He was there.
I could feel his help when the road got steep.
Then, one day Jesus and I changed seats.
Suddenly everything went topsy-turvy.
When I was in control, the ride was predictable --
Even boring. But When Jesus took over, it got wild!
I could hardly hold on. “This is madness!” I cried out.
But Jesus just smiled -- and said, “Pedal!”
And so I learned to shut up and pedal --
And trust my bike companion.
Oh, there are still times when I get scared
And I’m ready to quit.
But Jesus turns around, touches my hand,
Smiles, and says, “Pedal!”
In closing, I’d ask you to keep three thing in mind based on what I’ve said today. First - “Let Go And Let God”. Let God be the one controlling force in your life. If there’s an important decision to be made in your life, spend some time in prayer before you make a choice or a decision. If you’re honest with yourself and you listen to God’s words, you can be certain that he’ll lead you down the right road. It may not be the road you wanted or expected but if it’s the road God has chosen for you, you can be sure that it’s the right road. He has never led me astray in my 43 years.
Second - Look for the “Good Pepper” in every situation and every person you encounter. It may be hard to find but I know it’s out there. I can see it in the eyes of my two sons and my wife, my parents and in the faces of you, my colleagues. Believe it or not, when I step into my classroom every day, I also see that “Good Pepper” in the eyes and hearts of each and every student that we are all entrusted to teach. I challenge you to find it as well.
Third - When all else fails, keep one word in mind:
“Pedal”. Christ will be there for you. He’s been there for me and I couldn’t have survived without Him.
Finally, after you leave here today, take some time to reflect on the whole day and think about the prayers I have read and the story I’ve told you. After doing that, take an inventory of all the blessings that God has given you in this earthly life - your health, your family, your vocation, your job and anything else you may have taken for granted in life. After doing that, ask yourself one question about yourself not about me, Jim Ochs or anyone else -“Am I a lucky person?” If you’ve taken an accurate inventory and you’ve been honest with yourself, I think that your answer will be a resounding “Yes.” God bless you all!
Michael Wlach
July 15, 1997
Copyright © 1997-1999, 2000 Michael Wlach
The following essay was shared with us by CRA member and regular contributor to this newsletter Michael Wlach a TBI survivor. It was written by his 17 year old son Christopher as part of his college application package. It is a true testament to the love of a son for his father!
My father is not a normal father. He is present but not fully there. Though he is my father, he is not a fatherly figure. Nevertheless, his life and actions have molded me into the person I am today. I try to emulate him in every way. I look up to him. My father- with his limp, with his crooked left hand, with his bald and scarred head- he is the strongest person I have ever known and the reason I am who I am.
When I was two and a half years old, my father was diagnosed with an inoperable meningioma. After seeking a second opinion, however, he underwent a dangerous operation to remove it. Miraculously, he survived, but lost much of his memory and all use of his left side. I was unaware of it at the time, but my father was a changed person. Prior to the tumor, he had been a doctoral candidate at NYU, a published musician, a marathon runner, a black belt, and the Assistant Headmaster at Xavier High School. Now he was in a wheelchair, told by doctors he would never walk again, certainly not run, play music, or work.
Yet my father persevered. He had to relearn everything he had ever been taught. From simple speech, to walking to living day to day. He relearned it at a frustratingly slow, arduous pace. Every simple task was a tremendous challenge. Furthermore, the first two years after the operation seemed to confirm the doctors’ claims that he would never walk again or live anything close to his former life. But with an unfaltering patience and constant effort, he went from a wheelchair to a cane and from a cane to a mere brace on his left leg. He relearned the piano using only his right hand. By writing everything down, he was able to cope with his poor memory and eventually even returned to teaching. Although he knew he could never be the same, he refused to resign from life.
I have never known the extremely intelligent, musically gifted athletic man my father once was. I have only known the father with the deficient memory and the paralyzed left side. This man, though, has been the prominent example for me throughout my life and continues to be so to this day. My father’s tumor has let me be thankful for everything I have in life: an insatiable desire to learn, a passion for writing, a love for music, and a fascination for foreign languages. Watching his daily triumphs and challenges has caused me to work my hardest, both in and out of school. There is no real choice for me. My father, who has so many disadvantages in his life, still uses all he has to his greatest extent and is never bitter with his share in life. Anything less than my best effort would be wasting all that I have been given in life. My father has done only his best, sculpting my character with his twisted left hand, with his stumbling walk, guiding me steadfastly down life’s path.
Christopher Wlach, December 2000.