Almost Two Years
So much has happened since I had my heart catheterization in March 2021. I’ve shared the incidents leading up to having a heart catheterization and subsequent triple heart bypass before. But now it’s time for me to see my cardiologist for an annual revisit. I don’t recall that I was told to make an appointment to follow up with him, so it’s been almost two years. My family physician casually asked if I had the follow-up and I was embarrassed to tell her that I hadn’t. I made the appointment. It’s now time to face the music. There were a few sour notes since I last saw him.
It will be almost two years to the day when he did the heart catheterization and this appointment. That procedure said that I either needed several stents put into place or I needed bypass surgery. He advised that since I still had a healthy heart (no previous heart attack) that I go for the bypass operation. Because I was a diabetic, the stents would only provide temporary relief and I would eventually need to have them redone. I was shipped directly to the hospital and three days later, I was under the knife.
The hospital ran several tests before they split my sternum to gain access to my heart and the vessels that service it. One thing that they did was shave my hair from my neck to my ankles. I’ve heard of men who voluntarily go to have “man-scaping” done and I don’t understand why they would subject themselves to being scrapped or waxed. Hair itches like crazy when it grows back and being shaved made me feel even more naked when I went to surgery the next day.
I’ll have to share all that’s happened since then. The two things I’m sure he will be worried about are the episodes where I had double vision and the triglyceride lab test being so high. I believe that the two incidents are inter-related. It will be interesting to see what he has to say. I’m sure I will be chastised for not making the “first” annual appointment to see him. There may be fireworks in the month of March. I’ll have to wait and see.

 I resurrected this post from my archives after someone reminded me that it was Ash Wednesday. Sorry I'm late.

Are You Catholic
This incident occurred while I was still working in the emergency room at Frick Hospital, Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania. It was the B.C. era, meaning it was in the days before computers, so when a doctor ordered an x-ray, the nurses would have to write the patient’s name, birthday, cubicle number, what part of the body was to be x-rayed and why it needed to be x-rayed on a small chit of paper. Then the nurse would have to hand carried the requisition to the radiology room and given to the techs inside.
One day I carried a request into the radiology room and as I turned to leave, one of the techs said, “If you see the priest, tell him to stop in and give us ashes for our foreheads. We also want him to bless the x-ray machine.” It was then I recognized that it was Ash Wednesday.
Just as I reached the door my warped sense of creativity and humor kicked in. I said, “You know, when the priest comes in, you guys could set up a confessional booth in the dark room. He can open the doors for exposed sins and unexposed to give you your penance.” As in all radiology rooms at that time, there were film storage bins with doors marked as to whether the films had been exposed or whether they were yet unexposed. My mind made the comparison to the Catholic confession chamber with confessed and un-confessed sins.
I heard them laugh as I exited. Later in the day, I carried another chit for an x-ray to the techs. When I opened the door the priest was already inside. He had already placed ashes on the techs’ foreheads. One of the girls pointed to me and said, “There! That’s the one.” Apparently they told the priest what I had said about the darkroom “confesional.”
The priest turned to me and asked, “Were you an altar boy?”
“No.” I replied.
He tried again, “Are you Catholic?”
“No.” I answered again.
He tried one last time, “Do you want to be Catholic?”
My reply was again, “No!”
My response was almost lost in the two technicians’ loud laughter. The priest didn’t laugh, but I’m fairly sure that I saw a smile on his face.

Different Tastes
I had another consultation with my dietician. They were necessary after my triglycerides were more than four times the expected normal high. I’d already tried many cholesterol medications in the past. Most caused abdominal pain. The newest one didn’t cause the pain, but I had nearly every other side effect, so I was referred to a dietician instead.
On our first meeting, we went over things I eat, my exercise, drink, etc. When he ascertained that my diet wasn’t a chief factor, he started to strongly suggest that I exercise more. And to be entirely honest, I am more of a couch potato than an athlete.
Next he honed in on my rest and sleep patterns, saying I should be getting 8 hours of sleep. I explained it would never happen in the winter. I needed to wake every four hours to toss wood into my wood burner in the basement. That’s where I shared with him there is more to exercise than walking. Six times per day (and night) I walk down two flights of stairs and back up. I also haul firewood into my basement from the woodpile outside. Usually I load two wheelbarrows with wood, wheel them into my cellar, then unload them. If I do this, when Sunday comes around, I don’t have the work to haul in wood inside. I only have to feed the wood burner.
We discussed my fluid intake. I share that I drink about three liters of water, sometimes with sugar-free drink mix each day. That seemed to please him.
He‘s been insisting that I eat more water soluble fiber. Vegetables and high fiber bread, while cutting back on carbohydrates. I’ve been trying, getting closer, but not where he’d like me to be. He also wants me to drink Fair Life milk. To me when they removed the sugar and fat, they took out the taste. I explained to him I might as well use water on my cereal. He then suggested I try Fair Life Chocolate milk; he and his friends love it. I wasn’t impressed with it. I plan to take REAL chocolate milk from Whoa Nellie Farm and let him taste the real thing. I am used to REAL milk, none of this oat or almond “milk.” As a kid, my dad Carl Beck would take a gallon jar to a neighboring farm for unpasteurized, unadulterated milk fresh from the cow’s udder.
Lastly he asked about stress. When my triglycerides were high, I was having double vision, and worried whether I was having a stroke or a brain tumor. The double vision has been resolved. I have to wait until I have another blood test to see if there is improvement.

Spreading More Seeds
Friday and Saturday the biblical outreach printers “Bearing Precious Seed” from Milford Ohio visited Mt. Zion Community Church. We volunteered to assist in the assembly of printed Gospel booklets of John and Romans. Their church ministry is to print Bibles and Gospel booklets in many different languages when missionaries express a need. In past times our church has assisted in folding the covers, then stuffing the printed text inside the covers, and stapling them together before trimming and boxing the final product. In the past we have assembled the Scripture texts French, Portuguese, Korean, and Spanish as just a few examples. This time we were assembling two texts, but actually in three languages. The single language we assembled was in Spanish. It was the books of John and Romans. It is destined for South America.
The other language of John and Romans was assembled. Its destination is for the country of Malawi. Each booklet contained a dual side-by-side English translation and the language of Chichewa. Chichewa and English are the languages that are spoken in Malawi.
Our church was blessed to finish the rush orders for both languages. We finished the booklets needed to complete both orders for shipping. We assembled over 5,000 booklets of Scripture in Chichewa and over 7,000 Gospel texts in Spanish. The task was completed in record time. Often it is necessary to take a lunch break and finish the project after, but we were done by 1130 am, then went to lunch.
The difference was having extra hands. Our assistant Pastor had a boy’s teen group event Friday evening and breakfast for them Saturday morning after a sleepover. The extra hands were a real blessing. Most if not all of the young men were cheerful even after going to bed at 2:30 Saturday morning. Their youthful vigor and strength were greatly appreciated.
With the teen group there were about 40 people who made the task easier. The old adage “Many hands make light work” was certainly true. As we sat around the tables, we were able to chat with others of the congregation. I think it draws the people closer together.
I was surprised at the variety of food brought in for our pot luck lunch-break meal. I even baked some chocolate chip cookies for the affair. There was a fair amount of leftover baked goods saved to serve Sunday morning between our church service and Sunday school.

Can You Dig It, I Did.
As I grew older, the need for more room grew as well. My dad and mom, Carl and Sybil Miner Beck bought a small house along Route 711, between Indian Head and Normalville, Pennsylvania. The basement was large enough for a coal bin, large coal furnace, and a water heater. Mom found room for a wringer washer as well. The running water for the house came from a spring about 200 yards away. The rest was a crawl space.
As my parents needed more room, my dad chiseled an opening in the cinder block wall. Then I helped my dad dig the heavy clay soil. He used an old, iron wheeled wheelbarrow to haul the dirt out of the cellar. When he got closer to the outside wall he threw the dirt onto the wooden bed of an old truck.
It seemed that digging filled much of my youth. In my preadolescent years my hands were filled with a pick, mattock, and a spade. Our house didn’t have an inside bathroom. We had an outhouse instead. At the prodding of my mom Dad decided to build an indoor bathroom, I helped to dig the pit for the septic tank and the drainage lines.
My brother Ken and I had to help dig a new water line from the springhouse to our home. The old line had corroded. Water pressure had been decreasing for almost a year. Digging the line was a daily chore. Dad would assign a certain amount to be dug and Dad expected it to be done. One day he came home and was upset to see we hadn’t reached our quota. After chewing us out he went to finish what we hadn’t done. What he found was a huge flat rock almost 18 inches thick and the size of a dining room table top. It extended two feet beyond both side of the sides of the ditch. He tried to break it with a sledge hammer. When he couldn’t break it, his solution was to dig under it pushing the plastic pipe beneath it.
A small stream flowed behind our house. Dad would have us remove the silt that would fill it causing it to flood. We‘d spread it to one side lessening the flood of the winter thaw. Dad loved his lawn mowed and neat.
In the winter summer tools were put away and the heavy scoop shovel came out. Its main purpose was to throw coal into the furnace and shovel out the ashes. But when the snow accumulated, it was used to remove snow from walks and the driveway. Shoveling snow wasn’t as bad at home as where I live now. My childhood home was partially sheltered in a valley and drifts were rare.

Laddie
When I hear the word Laddie, I think of the Scottish term that describes a young man. My wife Cindy Morrison Beck was of Scottish descent. Her ancestors came from the Isle of Lewis in the Hebrides Islands northwest of Scotland.
I also have family memories associated with the word Laddie. My uncle Charles Bottomley and Aunt Violet Miner Bottomley owned a long haired dog of collie mixture. His shaggy coat was black with some brown patches and a white star on its chest. My recollection was of my uncle on the porch laughing at Laddie and me. What caused him to laugh? I was holding Laddie’s chain leash and Uncle Charles called, “Here, Laddie.” When he did, the dog was off like a shot. I was pulled from my feet and suspended in the air like a banner in the wind before gravity claimed me and was dragged through the grass behind this canine rocket. I was either too surprised or too stupid to let go of the leash.
The second memory falls to a time when I was exploring in the woods behind our home. I heard a whimpering sound and followed it. I found a puppy in a decayed hollow space at the bottom of a tree. Carrying him back to our house Sybil Miner Beck my mom said, “We can’t keep him.” Then she said, “Look at those paws. He’ll be huge. Let’s see if we can find him a home.”
I’m not sure who she asked, but the dog ended up at my grandparents Ray and Rebecca Rugg Miner’s farm. Grandma immediately called him Laddie. This could easily been the end of the story, but my grandfather had a way with animals and Laddie became his guardian angel. Laddie arrived at a good time. Granddad’s dementia was worsening. He would sometimes wander around the farm to care for animals that he no longer had. Laddie was his constant companion. Wherever Granddad strayed, Laddie was at his side.
The incident I am recalling occurred was when Granddad got lost in a wooded section of his farm. When he didn’t come back to the house Grandma became worried and called the family to search. They came and scoured the farm, checking in unused buildings and the rubble of the collapsed barn, then expanded to search the fields and woods. They found Laddie laying at Granddad’s feet watching over him. When questioned, Granddad said, “I was tired and sat down to rest.”

Fun, Facts, Fiction, Fairytales
Most of us remember times when we were growing up that we were told things that we thought were true until we became older, things that were shared at home or repeated on the playground. What started me thinking about these stories were the white half moons on my fingernails. It reminded of what I was told as a child that caused them. I believed the little white marks naturally appeared were because of the little white lies I’d told. Sometimes I’d look at my fingernails and wonder what lies I’d told confused as a kid when I couldn’t recall if I told a lie or not.
How about the tale people tell about petals on a daisy? When a girl picks the flower, she is to pluck its white petals one by one from its bright yellow center, chanting “He loves me…He loves me not” until the petals are all gone. When the last petal falls, it will reveal whether or not the person she is thinking about really loves her. I supposed that it would work if a guy removed the petals.
Another repeated tale about a flower is the one about dandelions or buttercups. Someone would pick one of the blooms and hold it just below the chin near the neck to see “if you liked butter.” That was a silly little game that we used to do.
An untruth my mom Sybil Beck shared with us as kids; she would boil water for eggs making hard cooked eggs sandwiches. If she didn’t let them cook long enough and the centers were even slightly runny, she would say that she boiled them too long. The reason…when as a child she fussed if her mom, Rebecca Rugg Miner served an underdone egg she made up the story to get my mom to eat the egg.
That reminds me of another misconception my mother had as a child. She thought cows were the mothers and horses were the fathers. She also thought cats were the mothers and dogs were the fathers. In her mind, because men and women looked different, so should the animals. Later, she used to laugh about it saying, “I grew up on a farm and should have known better.”
So many times as children we are told old wives tales. Each family has their own collection of stories that have been passed down from generation to generation. Like coveted recipes, these tales have been shared, laughed at, and loved because they show us that we were once naïve and innocent. They make us human and have created the human beings that we are.