In 1889, the artist Thomas Eakins was commissioned to paint a huge canvas depicting a surgical theater with an operation underway. The surgical team is dressed in white smocks. No masks. No gloves. One of the team members holds the patient down. The men in the spectator gallery are dressed in street clothes.

Fortunately, times have changed.

The painting is now in the Philadelphia Museum of Fine Arts. I took my grandsons to this museum last year. One of my grandsons, Donovan, was quite taken with the painting. He studied it for a long time. Apparently, it made quite an impression on him. I say this because at the end of my hospital bed — on the wall — is Donovan’s rendition of my operation to remove a cancerous tumor from my stomach and esophagus.

In the drawing, Dr. Gandhi, my surgeon, is at the head of the bed holding the tumor triumphantly over his head in one hand and a scalpel in the other. In the picture, I am tethered to the bed by a number of tubes, wires and machines. The attending nurse, at the other end of the bed, is also holding a scalpel in one hand and a pennant in the other and appears to be dressed like a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader.

This can be filed under: "It will never happen to me."

Well, it did.

Fortunately, I was in the right place at the right time. I had missed all the signs or had attributed the symptoms to something else....everything from altitude sickness to indigestion. So I ended up at Ingham Regional Medical Center in Lansing. Everyone from radiologists and techs to surgeons, nurses and aides have been fantastic. The-operation itself was eight hours long -— tedious and out of the ordinary. Irish pluck got me through it.

The cause that kept me in the hospital so long is that I had a tiny pinprick leak in my "new stomach." Finally, after seven barium swallows, the surgeon determined that the leak had sealed itself and it was OK to dine on clear liquids.

My first food experience after 20 days of chewing ice chips: I asked if I could have a popsicle. The nurse checked with the surgeon, who gave her the OK. Never in my life has a grape popsicle tasted more wonderful. I have since gone through the flavors of grape, cherry, lime, and orange. I'm working up to banana flavor.

There have been minor triumphs along the way, such as being able to walk the halls of the wing twice without assistance of a walker; being able to climb three stair steps; being allowed a cup of ice. Finally, I was able to leave my bed and sit in a chair that allowed me to trim my own toenails. Little triumphs!

My mother was a nurse for 55 years — almost until the day she died. I remember her in a starched white uniform and the little white hat with the black velvet stripe on it signifying that she was a registered nurse. She was one of the "angels in white." Starched white uniforms have gone the way of the Studebaker and Edsel. Now,nurses and aides wear bright-colored smocks with symbols of the season on them. I have seen mostly younger nurses just starting their careers.
Where have all the older nurses gone?

I made an informal survey as to the needs of the hospital. A wish list. The radiologists wanted two complete X-Ray units and rooms. Others wanted more wheelchairs. Everyone wanted more volunteers. Salaries were mentioned "certainly a country that will pay a soccer player 300 million dollars to kick a ball around a field can afford to pay nurses what they are worth."

When I finally left the hospital, one of the nurses aides, Ms. Emily (a real character in her own right) put me in a wheelchair and spun me around. She pushed me through a phalanx of nurses and aides who gave me "high and long 5’s" as I passed by. That really brought tears. I thanked them all for the excellent care and compassion that I had received from them during my long stay.

Finally, I am home. It feels so good to be here. Since I missed Christmas and New Year’s celebrations, I will be leaving the wreaths and Christmas tree and swags on the front porch. Festive. I am forever grateful to our wonderful friends who helped set the house up for my home care, brought in food, sent cards, flowers, reading material, .....call, visit...and who have sent good thoughts and prayers my way. Thank you!

Now I will recuperate for a couple of weeks so that I can start chemo and radiation therapy.

There are no answers. Seek them lovingly.