A Christmas Miracle

I had emailed and written to three expert neurologists regarding Midge's condition, and the next day, I heard from the first, who was in Toronto, Canada. This response from a prominent expert made my heart sing! I decided to call and talk to this Dr. Terhorst before I told Midge and her parents about it. Later in the day, we heard from a prominent neurologist in Paris, Professor Junias. His comments in French, translated to English, reflected Dr. Terhorst's, but this email also went to Charles, Midge's father. He was highly excited and demanded in his strong French accent, "Steef, we must share this with Miriam's doctors—then they will do surgery. Eet must be done right away!” I agreed but told him I still wanted it confirmed by another prominent local neurologist at the National Institute of Health; otherwise, I knew the naval doctors already had a wait-and-see conviction. Charles looked doubtfully at me. He wanted to aggressively press Miriam's doctors into action. Finally, I said firmly, "Charles, I am working on it.” Late afternoon, I received a further confirmatory email from Dr. Terhorst, followed by that of his associate, Dr. Willis, a prominent neurosurgeon, who advised that surgery was better sooner rather than later. I made a special trip to share these emails with Midge and her parents, who were having afternoon coffee in the rehab center cafeteria. Midge surprised me with, "Oh no! This is so horrible! I do not want another surgery!" She started to cry. I said, "Do you realize what this email is saying? Surgery now, and you will walk again!” Charles began speaking rapidly in French, trying to convince Midge and enlist her mother, Marcelle's help in the process. Marcelle was rubbing Midge's arm trying to comfort her but said relatively little as she listened with wide eyes. She appeared to be about to cry as well. Midge said, "I do not trust the doctors here. Look what they did to me!” "Miriam, please. Read the email.” She read it quickly, crumpled it, and threw it onto the tabletop, causing it to bounce toward Charles, who was perfectly stunned by her reaction. He looked worriedly at me, and I could see the thought crossing his mind that I had gotten it all wrong. I grabbed the paper and smoothed it out, thinking, "Did I miss something?” "Miriam, what do you think it says?” "It says I need another embolization procedure. I already had two. I cannot bear another.” “Miriam, that's not what it says! It says the AVM fistula needs to be surgically removed. There is no mention of an embolization procedure. Don't you get it? There is a chance you will be cured!” Charles read it, and it was funny to me that he was translating it for his daughter the English-language expert. "He is right! He is right! Professor Junias was right. Now we get these doctors to operate!” Miriam became teary-eyed. "I'm not sure I want them to operate here. They already screwed up twice. What if I get worse?” Although I could tell she was trying to control her emotions and think through what to her was this sudden, unexpected news. I had hours to think about it and comprehend what it meant. Still, Miriam's reaction was all so sad, and looking at Marcelle, I could tell she was not quite sure what was happening. Here was Charles effusing excitement countered by Miriam in tears. Thank God for Charles, I thought. "OK, then,”I said with considerable conviction. "We will go there! They said you could travel by plane or by car. I will take you there. But first I will try to get the NNMC to agree they can either do it here quickly with a doctor of our choosing.” "OK, if you say so. I am in so much pain today I can hardly think straight.” 'Trust me. I'll take care of everything. I am going over to the NNMC to try to see Dr. Wilson right now. Let's see what he has to say now!” I quickly kissed her and left the three all talking at once. Charles was in the process of explaining in French to Marcelle what was happening. She had tears of joy in her now-hopeful eyes and was holding her right hand over her mouth as I turned toward the elevator. Miriam was rereading the note. I saw Charles look up at just that last moment. God, I sure did not want to disappoint them. Not now! Miriam's doctor had to agree. He did not. Later in the day, standing in a large NNMC hallway, I was smugly informed by Dr Norman, Miriam's military neurologist, that Dr. Eichkopf, the third expert from the National Institute of Health, provided a reply. NIH is a huge medical complex located across the street from the NNMC. Dr. Eichkopf had advised that he agreed with the opinions of the NNMC doctors. We had to wait six months before attempting surgery, and there was essentially nothing we could do about it. "Fine," I said. My eyes narrowed, and my chin determinedly jutted out. "I will arrange for Miriam to have surgery in Canada.” The doctor's eyes grew wide. "That may be the best course of action, but do you realize your military insurance might not cover that and you will have to bear hundreds of thousands in cost yourself?” I growled, "I will be fine. I have American Express. Besides, I have indications your commander is going to approve travel to Canada.” I departed promptly. I could feel his gaze upon me as he stared in disbelief at my back. I was surprised and comforted a bit to hear him say, "I am so sorry! Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help!”I turned and waved quickly to acknowledge I had heard what he said. A few days later, coordinating with Drs. Terhorst and Willis, I had all the arrangements either made or in the works with plans to be in Toronto, Canada, a few days after Christmas—preferably before New Year's Eve.