MJ-Way

It had been over three weeks since my last interview and I continued to receive notices from the Civil Service for job openings for which I was qualified. I could pick and choose what interviews I wanted to apply for. I tried to do some research on the positions before making a choice. I had decided on interviewing for a position which would be stationed in a nearby county because I had a friend who worked there. He liked his supervisor, the people in the department, and the overall environment. It was a management position in the Secretary Treasurers’ Office overseeing vendor contracts. I made sure to clear my calendar so that I would be able to interview. When letting the principal know why I needed the time, he laughed, but said that it would be a good career move for me with my management back ground and degree. The day was set and I couldn’t wait. But sometimes this prison has other plans.

I was dressed in my best navy pinstripe Hart Schaffner Marx business suit. I wanted to make a good impression. I spent the morning completing one of my training requirements in the Administration building, and I would use the afternoon for the interview. At 9:30am in the middle of my training the “emergency siren” began blaring from the top of the chow hall inside the prison. This was not going to be a good day. From past experience, I knew something bad had happened or was happening right now. We already had our monthly emergency drill. This had to be the real thing. When the siren blows custody employees are in charge. We received directions to go to the lunchroom and wait for instruction. Our lunch room overlooked the prison grounds which were awash in color from over 20000 flowering plants grown in our greenhouse by my students. From the greenhouse they were then distributed to beds designated for them and prepared for planting. The officers felt the flowers made the prison look soft, and often referred to it as “Camp Candy Land.” Today the prison would earn a more sinister moniker.

From my window seat I watched as the yard cleared and prisoners returned to their respective housing units. Once cleared, I saw officers walking a prisoner backwards, hands cuffed behind his back, to our segregation unit. His face was expressionless. With the prison locked down I wasn’t going anywhere. Depending on the seriousness of what was happening or had happened, the prison could be locked down all day. On the sidewalk leading out of the administration building was the warden, three state troopers and what looked to be a detective. They were heading into the prison. Our trainer came into the lunch room and closed the door. He informed the class that it appeared an inmate had tied up his roommate, abused him, and then drowned him in the cells commode. The state police were here to evaluate the murder seen and gather evidence. The prison would stay locked down all day. I was aloud to make a phone call to the civil service letting them know I would not be able to interview today hoping I could reschedule. They were not sure, but would get the message to the Department Head I was to be interviewing with.

I waited to be reassigned. I felt overwhelmed and repulsed by the violence. Immersed in it, I now understood there would be no escaping the thought that I could be killed here. The unpredictability had me vexed. This was not “Camp Candyland.” In my head I said a prayer for the man killed, for the murderer. and for those working here. I also prayed for strength and protection. My colleagues and officers didn’t seem to care about the violence. Some had the attitude that as long as the violence was prisoner on prisoner, it didn’t matter. No staff person was assaulted. They were only concerned about the safety of themselves, their fellow officers and staff. Prisoners fighting and assaulting’ other prisoners was to be expected. This was prison, and things like that happened here. However, I was not prepared, nor do I think one can be prepared, for the unpredictability of the violence and depravity that can occur here instantaneously. Awash in this reality, I felt very uneasy working here, and again questioned what I thought I could accomplish. TO BE CONTINUED…

NATO getting stronger because of a “Russian Despot” SLAVA UKRAINI

I called the two contacts the officer had given me, and they gave me an earful on the “Napoleon Complex” the director displayed on a regular basis. He was just as the officer described, “a political hack.” They felt lucky to find other jobs in the state government, and felt the administrators’ job working for him was a big mistake on their part. They felt it could have been a “career killer.” They thanked God they could move into another position unscathed by any controversies. The director was cutting the department’s budget on a regular basis and expecting more from the employees each time he cut. The most controversial policy he implemented, denied what he termed “exempt employees” overtime pay, and that was headed to court. The employees were denied “on-call” pay as well. He ended losing both in court, and cost the department over a million dollars in back pay. These labor relations incidents were swept under the rug. They were not brought up in my interview. The state would hide the payout, and not reflect it in the department’s budget.

I returned the email to the nurses with a “thank you” but “no thank you response. ” I also explained to them my reasons, and I believed the director would not hire me anyway. He had final say on that decision. The response I received from them was heartfelt. They wanted me not to pull my application. They insisted I stay in the running. The committee would submit my name as the chosen candidate, and wait for the director’s response. They were under the impression, the committee’s decision was the prevailing one, and the director would only give them feedback on their choice. They asked that I just sit back and see how this develops. I had no problem with their request. In the meantime, I spoke with my boss about the interview process and what the state trooper had said about our warden. He agreed that our warden was a good person to work for, but he understood my wanting to get into management, and utilize my credentials. He also felt I could use my skills to enhance the Horticulture program in the prison school. He would support my decision either way.

I waited over two weeks to finally receive a response from the civil service about my application for the Administrator’s position with Community Health. It was a standard letter of appreciation for applying, and interviewing, but also informed me a more “experienced” candidate had been selected for the position. I sent a scanned PDF of the letter to the nurses who had asked me to wait so they could see how this played out. In a couple of days I received their response. They thanked me for my patience and not dropping out sooner. They informed me the committee agreed they would never again participate in the hiring process and felt they had been lied to by the director. It did not surprise me. I then informed them of what past administrators had said about him. They were shocked. The administrator he chose to hire now would be his third in a years time. No red flags? I thanked them for their support, and wished them well. I felt they were dedicated health care professionals and I would have enjoyed working with them. But that was not to be. I had worked for bosses who had “Napoleon Complexes” and played Machiavellian games. I would never make that mistake again. On to the next chapter. TO BE CONTINUED…

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2023/04/10/vladimir-kara-murza-final-statement-court/ His story needs to be heard.

My interview went well, I thought, and on the way back to the prison school I received a call on my cell phone. I let it go into voice mail because I didn’t want to answer it while driving. However, they were relentless and my phone kept ringing from the same number. I had to pull over on the expressway to answer it. It was the Director’s Executive Secretary. She wanted to know if I had turned in my interview questions sheet. That paper was not to leave the conference room. I didn’t care for the tone and informed her of it. “Are you accusing me of taking the question sheet with me?” She informed me that the committee couldn’t account for it and wanted to make sure I didn’t take it with me. Her tone changed to conciliatory after I informed her I did not take it. She apologized for interrupting my drive back and wished me well. I was getting perturbed thinking about our exchange and her accusation that I absconded with the interview question sheet, but just told myself to forget it. She seemed apologetic. I needed to think more positively. After all, it was a great interview.

I merged back onto the expressway and started to head home. I was on the road for about ten minutes when I saw a state police vehicle with its’ flashers on about a mile behind me. I switched lanes, left to right, and started to slow down. I thought that would give him the opportunity to pass me on his way to whatever emergency he was headed to. I was shocked when he changed lanes, got behind me, and motioned for me to pull over. Once I pulled over, I began to wonder if I was speeding, and I rolled down the window. The officer was polite and asked to see my license. He then questioned if I had just finished interviewing with Community Health. When I had informed him I had, he smiled and asked if I had taken any paper work from the interview with me. I told him I definitely had not, I had informed the director’s administrative secretary of the same fact not more than ten minutes when she called. I offered him to search. I opened my brief case, the trunk of the car and any other compartment he felt I would hide material from the interview in. He thanked me for being cooperative. When he came up empty he apologized.

He then informed me that the Director I had interviewed with was one of the biggest jerks in state employment. He was a political hack. If I was offered a position to work for him, I might want to reconsider. He gave me a few contacts to call if I wanted to know more about the director . I thanked him, and he laughed, saying, “why do you think we have cadets working in his building? No trained officer can can work for the imbecile.” Not finding any material from the interview, he informed me I was free to go and handed me back my license. He saw that the car was registered to my facilities Warden. He informed me that the Warden I was working for now, and driving his car, is one of the best Administrators working for the sate. You won’t find any better. I might want to reconsider my job search.

When I got back to the prison school my principal was waiting for me. He couldn’t stop laughing. He obviously had heard of my adventure. What was even worse, I had received an email from the nurses who interviewed me, and they informed me the committee voted to hire me. This wasn’t going to be easy but I would have to make a decision on how I would reply to them. My boss, ever the joker, couldn’t stop laughing. He had never heard of anyone having an “all points bulletin” put on them for a sheet of interview questions. He wanted to know where I stashed them I informed him I never took them. I left them in the conference room. I felt the Director was playing Machiavellian games because of his own insecurities. People in authority, who lack self esteem, have a tendency to act in ways they think bolster their self image, make themselves look strong and others weak. He was cut from that ilk, obviously. After thinking about that for awhile, and rehashing what the state trooper told me, I knew how I would answer the nurses’ email. TO BE CONTINUED…

Finland joined NATO. When you share a large border with an aggressive terrorist nation, and they threaten retribution if you join. Doesn’t leave you much choice. Welcome Finland.

Slava Ukraini

Dressed in my best pinstriped New York made blue suit, matching silk tie and shirt, this yuppie was on his way to an interview. I would not be wearing my levies, polo shirt or lab jacket today. It had been awhile since I had to leave healthcare at the university because of a failed coup-attempt by my boss, (as explained to me by his compadre-he thought he had all the votes to be the hospitals new president-except for the one that mattered most-the hospitals Medical Director!) So putting all that baggage behind me, and the negativity it entailed in my psyche, I drove towards my future. The interview would take place in the Administrative offices of the Michigan Health and Human Services building. Upon entering that building I was greeted by a State of Michigan Police cadet who asked to see my state identification. I was then directed to sign in and wait in the lobby. I was told someone would be here shortly and escort me to the conference room where my interview would take place. I waited in the lobby and within a few minutes I was greeted by an elderly gentleman dressed in a well tailored business suit.

He stretched out his right hand to shake mine. I could not help but notice he had a monogram on his shirt cuff and he was wearing a Patek-Philippe watch. We exchanged pleasantries, and he directed me to a small office next to a large conference room. He informed me that he was the Department’s Director. My interview would be conducted in the conference room next door which he would not be part of. He would leave the interviewing of candidates to the people most affected by the selected candidates leadership ability or lack of it. He would have the final decision on hiring. The selected candidate would report directly to him, as well as, write, and reinforce existing departmental policies. He queried me about whether or not I worked on our Governors’ campaign. I was surprised by the question but stated that with two young children at home and being involved in their activities, I had little time for political activity. Although, I was able to tie my students success with our garden community projects, donation of plant materials to urban gardeners, and efforts with the donation of houseplants grown by them in our greenhouse to senior citizen centers. The success of my program was a reflection on the current administration’s policies with the retraining of inmates.

He didn’t seem impressed and I wondered if he didn’t have another candidate in mind. Some one tied politically to our governor’s campaign. He got up, shook my hand, and led me to the conference room for my interview. The conference room was set up for a committee of about six people. They would be facing me and asking me questions. When they entered the room, they sat down and introduced themselves. They were an impressive group representing the many different facets of community health. They wanted to know about my past experience with Indiana University Medical Center, and the Detroit Medical Center. I was surprised to find out they had already called my references. They informed me that my references spoke well of me and my accomplishments. They had me speak on what I considered my successes, and how I managed failures. It was one of the best interviews I had ever been on and after sharing my experience I felt I could work well with this group. The interview ended positively and I was told they would be in contact with me shortly. Two of the nurses informed me they would email me the final decision, and thanked me for interviewing. I was glad to know the decision would be made quickly. I wasn’t ready for what was communicated in their email when I received it. TO BE CONTINUED….

Finland was accepted into NATO. When your neighbors no longer trust you.

Armed with my new classification, and being graded at the ninety fifth percentile on the Civil Service Administrative exam, I felt invincible. I had received a letter in the mail from civil service telling me about an open position, Bureau Administrator 18, and telling me I was qualified to apply. I couldn’t believe it. My hope soared. I checked yes on the enclosed card, indicating I wanted to interview for the position, and sent it back immediately. About a week had passed without me hearing anything back, and our school principal had asked me to step into his office between classes. Back then, I didn’t have a phone in my classroom or email. Usually he would just open the back door of the principal suite and yell down the corridor for me to see him when I got the chance. If I didn’t hear him, somebody else would and they would inform me he wanted to see me. He would also contact my colleague in the classroom across the hall by phone, and she would inform me he wanted to see me. In any event, I wasn’t hard to find if he needed me.

I thought it was a little unusual for him to request to see me between classes but I figured maybe we had company in the school and he was trying to be a little more professional. I liked him as a person. He had gone to bat for me and got my salary adjusted to what I had been promised it would be during my interview for the instructor’s position. It took three years and he was relentless. With his help and our union’s persistence, my pay was adjusted accordingly. He showed me he was a man of his word, and I respected him for it. When I stopped in to see him he had informed me that he was called about my work performance as an instructor. It seemed that the department I was going to be interviewing for an administrators position was verifying my employment. I thought that a bit odd. My boss just laughed and gave me some advice on the interview process. He basically informed me that all the department heads were governor appointments. Those appointments usually hired their own. The civil services job was to make sure the rules governing the interviewing of candidates and hiring were followed .

With my new classification status he thought I would be getting many interviewing letters, and that I should go on every last one of them. It was a good way to meet people in other departments and if the position wasn’t already filled by the appointees candidate, I could have a shot at it. So I had to laugh. Man, I was naivete. I thought the job was given to the most experienced, and qualified candidate through the civil service testing process. It was hard to hear that political appointees running the state departments had their own version of political appointee hires backed by the civil service. I appreciated his honesty and told him so. Because of his advice, I ended up interviewing at least three times a month for about three years.

With the amount of letters I was getting from the civil service for open positions I was qualified to interview for, it could have easily had been ten times a month. I actually had to turn many down and check not interested in this employment opportunity on the card to be mailed back to civil service. On the interviews I chose to go on, I got to meet a lot of interesting people all throughout the state of Michigan, and it gave me a new respect for the jobs they did. The stories they told me about their employment with the state were fascinating. When I shared them with my boss, he patted me on the back laughing, and called them “war stories.” I began to understand. Not all is well in this states’ departmental administration. This fact being told to me by the people who have to work in it. Political and family nepotism was rampant through out the civil service. All the years I spent earning my Bachelor of Science and MBA gave me the chance to interview for positions that were pretty much already filled. I tried not to let the wind blow through my sails but the tears were too many. I had to form a new plan. I would create my own “interviewing war stories.”

To Be Continued…

Mathew 18: 1-10

“Stop right now!” I gave a direct order to two prisoners, one in a wheel chair the other pushing, as they struggled to move out of the prison school garden and roll back to their housing unit. It was not the first time, and would not be the last time I would catch prisoners stealing produce from the garden. The disability didn’t prevent his thieving. Instead, he lashed out at his pusher to go faster. Unfortunately for him, two officers were waiting for them on the sidewalk next to the garden. This latest team of produce thieves were now caught. The officers wanted to know if they were my students and I informed them they were not. They were stealing produce in an area clearly marked “out of bounds.” They were then asked to produce identification and they claimed they needed to go back to the housing unit to get it. The officers laughed. The yard sergeant came over and identified them. The vegetables were bagged. They informed me they would take care of this. The culprits were pissed, and the wheel bound chair inmate claimed he would put a hit on me. The officers laughed again and informed him he didn’t know who he was threatening. “This instructor is nicknamed by the current education administration ” Godfather.” They were quite sure I didn’t get that nickname because I was a nice guy.

In all honesty, I don’t know when I was given that nick name but I had heard our new school principal call me that most recently in a staff meeting. When I questioned her about why she called me that, she informed me it came from my exploits in Lansing, and the current education administration new all about the way I interviewed for promotional opportunities. I did go on quite a number of employment interviews. I was graded into the first ring, 95th percentile, through the civil service administrative exam process. By civil service standards at the time, I had the right to interview for all open administrative positions grade 16 and above. I did take advantage of this and interviewed at least twice a month (if not more) for over two years. It was all futile. (The stories of the state’s interview process I’ll write for another time.) The disabled inmate, after hearing what the officer said about me, just huffed and asked if he could leave. At the same time the Housing Unit Manager came over and identified the inmates. She told them they were in big trouble and began speaking with the officers. All assured me that this situation would be corrected, and the officers took the evidence to the control center to be photographed. I went back to my classroom.

My academic colleague was in my room before lunch to go over the GED testing schedule. I was entering student names into the computer when my phone rang in the classroom. I put it on speaker phone and the captain told me the inmates are claiming the confiscated vegetables were not the ones taken by them. My colleague spoke up and asked, “there were more?” The captain laughed, “must have been.” I assured him the vegetables confiscated from the inmates by the officers came from the garden where they had been caught pilfering by me. They both were identified by the Resident Unit Manager and yard sergeant. They claimed they did not have their ID badges on them, and asked to go back to the housing unit to get them. A day or two had passed and while giving the GED exams in my classroom I received a call from the Resident Unit Manager. She informed me that both inmates had been transferred to another facility. She had found a large amount of produce hidden in their rooms and it appeared they were operating a market. Selling produce to other inmates. I thought, if the disabled are finding it easy to steal from the garden, the more capable (two legged deer as noted by my colleague) are having a field day. I requested a camera to be installed over looking the garden to our new school principal that same day. She informed me she would request one from our warden.

To BE CONTINUED…

This was not going to be easy, but I was determined to be healed. Walking up stairs was probably the hardest, and most challenging. By the time I reached the top stair I was exhausted. I now realized I had some serious surgery. The hospital sent to my home a physical therapist 3 times a week, and a visiting nurse daily. I met with my surgeon every two weeks at his office in the hospital. Once I started gaining my strength, going up stairs became easier, and I was able to take walks outside with my therapist. My wife would walk with me bringing our dog Kasha who couldn’t understand why we weren’t going on our five plus mile hikes. The healing process seemed to go on forever but even though I lacked the patience at times, I was thankful God decided to keep me here. I was looking forward to going back to teach with my colleagues at the prison. I survived this. I had a zipper incision in the middle of my chest, and my chest plate was held together with American steel cable. World class technology kept me alive. My surgeon, Dr. Omar Habib, informed me that seeing the size of my biceps and chest, he made sure to use heavy duty medical cable to close my chest plate. I thanked him for that.

I began thinking about an experience I had working in one of the factories as a teenager. I was (supposedly) accidentally gassed to unconsciousness. As I got older and was working at the Detroit Medical Center, I received a call from a doctor who wanted me to go up to the power house on the roof of the Hudson building, and let him know of anything being on the ledge of the sixth floor. That ledge was only visible from the power house on the roof. The Medical Facility Maintenance personnel supervisors were the only ones who would have access to that power house. I made my way to the power house. Upon opening the doors of the power house and looking out at the ledge, I could see what looked like an old beat up tennis shoe. I called the doctor back and let him know what was on the ledge. I was curious on why he was asking about this? He was an accomplished surgeon and had begun tracking his patients’ near death experiences known as NDEs. He gave me the exact description of the tennis shoe on the ledge given to him from one of his patients who had recently been resuscitated. The patient claimed to have an NDE. Seeing the shoe was the proof. It was not visible from any area in the hospital they would have access to. I was intrigued by the phenomena and spoke with him in depth about his research.

The NDEs’ the patients talked talked about made me think about what I had experienced in the factory after being gassed. However, I was surprised I did not experience an NDE while being operated on this time. My heart was stopped and I was hooked up to a heart blood pump while the grafts were completed. The operation took 12 hours. I had no recollection of this surgery. I awoke on a ventilator a day later, with my hands restrained, and the nurses removing me from the ventilator. I do remember questioning them about my hands being restrained, and their knowing smiles. “You’re back on earth,” they chided after undoing my restraints and handing me an Italian ice to eat. I felt at peace, a real peace, I hadn’t experienced in sometime. I was now well aware of my mortality but was not fearful because of it. I had an understanding instead. If my Creator wanted me, that would have been prime time for Him to take me, and that obviously didn’t occur. Again, I felt relaxed and at peace. I knew that I had been shown every bit of kindness by the medical staff, my family, friends, and colleagues who wished me a speedy recovery. Most importantly, my relationship with God grew even stronger. My recovery would be imminent. I felt assured in His grace. That was my peace. I will continue to work on being the best version of myself I can be.

TO BE CONTINUED… If I was still teaching, this is Black History month and I would be showing the poetry of Maya Angelou to my students via her readings on you tube: https://youtu.be/NzQtGCw49uc Copy the link and enjoy.

I had an exceptional team of Doctors, Nurses, and therapists who brought me back to life. I stayed on the ventilator for a day, and when I awoke my hands were restrained. I kept falling in an out of sleep but my nurse informed me they will be removing the breathing tube. They wanted me to eat. She unfastened the restraints on my hands and another nurse removed the tube. It felt good to breathe. My voice was hoarse as I tried to ask why my hands had been restrained. She offered me some Italian ice and smiled. It seems I pulled all my wires and tubes and decided it was time to leave the hospital. A bad unconscious decision on my part. I wasn’t surprised. Sounds like something I’d do in a conscious state. I looked under my patient gown noting two tubes coming out of my chest and what looked like color coded electrical wires. All I could think of was that my heart is running on batteries, and the tubes were draining what looked like a zipper incision in the middle of my chest. I was wearing some kind of chest bandage with handles. I was instructed by my nurses to pull the handles together when I coughed or got up. This two handled wrap, that looked like a bra, was holding by rib cage together, and my surgeon completed closing my cracked open chest plate with a permanent sutured steel cable. Hence, a zipper. Wow!

While thinking about all the medical personnel who were working for my quick recovery, I couldn’t help vision them as a team of professionals each doing their separate jobs effectively and passing me on to the next professional so they could do their part. I was healing quickly and began walking the next day. That was my awakening. After about ten steps, I got very tired. The nurses assured me to keep trying and I would get stronger as I healed. They were right. Everyday I kept doing more and I did eventually grow much stronger. I could walk down the corridors and walk back without being tired. Before being discharged from the hospital my tubes and wires would have to be removed. I was asked by my surgeon if I wouldn’t mind surgical residents viewing the removal? It was fine by me. I was still a teacher and wanted to continue to contribute to education. My battery wires would be removed first and then the tubes. The process was completed quickly and I didn’t feel anything. Being numb with pain meds helped I’m sure. The only thing I was hooked up to now was an IV. A finger clamp monitored my vitals and could be removed easily for when I wanted to walk. I was amazed by how fast I was getting back my strength. It seemed everyday I could do more, and my surgeon had to remind me that even though he used a extra heavy duty cable to put my rib cage back together, I still needed to rest so it could heal properly

I was able to celebrate being married 37 years to my wife, August 1, 1981. There was a chance that almost didn’t happen. She’s unbelievable and stayed by my side the whole time. My surgeon set up appointments to see me in two week intervals, a visiting nurse would visit me daily, and a physical therapist would visit me two times a week. The surgeon informed me I was not allowed to drive, and when I was in a car traveling, I had to be in the back seat. Taking an air bag to the chest in an accident would be a major concern for me while my chest plate was mending. I thought about the team of medical professionals I was leaving and about the team of educators I someday hoped to return to at the prison school. I missed them all. Their jobs were no less glorious than the medical professionals I had just spent ten days with. They always seemed to give their best given the extreme stress of the prison environment, and looking back at it now, I was glad to be their colleague. It would take me a three months to recover fully, and I did eventually. Thanks be to God! TO BE CONTINUED…

Life for me comes what seems to be in triplet. The three unproductive employees no longer affected the decisions made in our school. The mismanagement and harassment was gone. I was informed by my colleague that there were only three Horticulture Instructors left teaching in the DOC and when Instructors left they were not being replaced. The curriculum my colleagues redesigned was a herculean effort and for the first time our students would be able to secure, upon passing the testing process, Michigan Department of Agriculture: pesticide licenses. In addition, our students could study and test through the curriculum of the Michigan Landscaping and Nurserymen Association. Passing the exams would guarantee them a credential once they were released from prison and they began working in the green industry. I had to give my colleagues credit. It was a huge effort on their part, they faced many obstacles because of the prison but their persistence paid off. However, there were only 3 instructors left to teach it.

The stress the prison environment had created for me over the years began taking its toll on my physical health. I started feeling tired after hiking a couple of miles with my dog and over the next few months I seemed to get a whole lot worse. I made an appointment with my doctor and he ordered a stress test. I flunked the stress test and was told to make an appointment with a heart doctor. I made the appointment but never made it. The day before my appointment I came home from work exhausted and had a strange pressure in my chest. I had coworkers help me make a donation of around 500 lbs. of produce grown from our prison gardens to our local food bank earlier in the day but I just seemed to be getting worse. The pressure in my chest was increasing and when I got home my wife took my blood pressure. It was very high and she called for an ambulance. I was feeling exhausted, by the time the ambulance arrived. I knew from experience this was not going to be a good thing, and made peace with my creator. I felt I gave life my best shot and if I was now cashing it in, I better make it right by him. So of course I prayed. Even this shall pass, and hopefully not me Lord.

When the medics arrived I was immediately treated and transported to Ascension St. John Hospital where I was kept on an IV of nitroglycerin. I was then sent to the heart lab where the Doctors determined three of my arteries were blocked at 98, 97, and 96 percent. I would not be a candidate for angioplasty. To stay alive, I would need triple by pass surgery. That news had me saying some immediate prayers. The Doctors informed me that the nitroglycerin was keeping me from having a heart attack. Had I waited one more day, my wife would have been widowed. I met the Doctor in charge of thoracic surgery, and he introduced me to the surgeon, his colleague, who would be doing the surgery. His name was Dr. Omar Habib. He explained that he would remove a vein from my leg, my arm, and my chest to by pass the arteries that were blocked. He also explained that it would be minimum 8 hour surgery. I would be put on a ventilator when the surgery was completed and moved to the intensive care unit where my healing process would begin. He shook my hand , and told me not to worry. I would heal well. I thanked him in advance and prayed a whole lot more hoping the three mined veins would be healthy. My life, prayerfully, would not end in a surgical attempt of saving it with triple by pass surgery. To be continued….