Epiphany in Life, Epiphany of Business and Society.

? R.J. Godlewski, September 3, 2020, All Rights Reserved.

One of the greatest epiphanies within life is when we realize that we are not 20 years old anymore. That while our minds may seem youthful and energetic, that our bodies long since passed the extended warranty phase. As many of my friends may know, my “epiphany” actually took place back in February, 2019 when I had a large cancerous growth removed from my left shoulder, but I remained too foolish to admit it and so life had a much broader lesson for me to discover later, on December 29th, 2019.

After having suffered through extreme head and earaches, a nasty fever, and severe coughing – what today would raise concerns regarding COVID-19 – I decided to take the day off and simply rest. Unfortunately, by 7 p.m. that faithful day, I was on the floor with a great deal of abdominal pain. My sister, who serves proudly as an RN at our local hospital, quickly recognized the symptoms of a kidney stone and “suggested” that I come in and have the situation evaluated. A couple of hours later, an MRI diagnosed me with both a kidney stone and gallstones, and I soon found myself riding an ambulance fifty miles to MercyOne in Des Moines. The initial prognosis was that my gall bladder was acting up and after they shaved off what little hair that my body offered during preop, they decided that my liver was too inflamed to continue with the procedure and so I was unceremoniously carted back to my room where on Friday I was even more unceremoniously told that they needed my room and so I must vacate the space as quickly as possible (remember, I had arrived in extreme pain by ambulance from over an hour away). Having just had the kidney stone removed via urethral surgery, I was not quite motivated to listen to them, but I made the necessary arrangements, nevertheless.

Fast forward a month and, well, in late February as I was sitting in a Clive, Iowa office for a routine consultation with my gastroenterologist, he discovered that my liver AST was reaching a staggering 2900 (which, for the uninitiated, should have been down around 45 and, again for the uninitiated, meant that my liver was in full shutdown mode). When initial concerns moved away from the gall bladder as representing the culprit and cancer being somewhat ruled out, a biopsy identified my predicament as autoimmune hepatitis (AIH), essentially my body’s defense systems had declared my life-supporting liver as a threat to itself and so antibodies were sent to literally ‘kill’ the liver. Making the situation a bit more embarrassing for me, at least, was that my condition was common for young girls but exceedingly rare for older men.

First, in December, I had a physician state that he had NEVER treated a patient with both kidney stones and gallstones, now I had several doctors telling me that they never witnessed an older male with AIH. I simply countered with, “Well, when I get sick, I really get sick.” Nevertheless, there is a side note to this tale, something that I learned about when serving as caregiver for my wife, my father, and, finally, my mother. My actions did not support my appearance, or my lab test results. My doctor, who sincerely believed that he would find me lying down and gravely ill, actually had to tell me, “Ron, when you get to the emergency entrance, please act like you are sick!” In hindsight, I was more than likely entering that euphoria stage that illuminates the passage from this world into the next. Less than a week after I had been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness, I literally walked out of the hospital of my own accord without any escort.

The primary treatment for my condition was Prednisone – which due to a “professional” misunderstanding, involved double the dose of the steroid than I was supposed to have – and it remained until mid-June before I was finally off the drug and onto the “maintenance” option, which may last for the next 3-5 years. If anyone declares that the “cure” is worse than the disease, they are not kidding! Nevertheless, the reader will kindly acknowledge the implications of possessing a shattered immune system within a world of rampant coronavirus.

Fast forward again to July, August, and now, September and you will find me relatively back to “normal” with my liver enzymes ‘behaving’ and me back to my professional responsibilities. Yet, I am not the same person. There are a few things that I cannot consume again – ever. I remain susceptible to osteoporosis, diabetes, Parkinson’s disease, etc. I bear ten-hour migraines, nerve spasms, a shaky right hand (took me weeks to be able to write my name legibly) and suffer through a few blank spots within my memory. Anyone who had ever found themselves placing the milk into the cupboard or tossing the car keys into the sink understand preciously what I mean! Fortunately, most of these conditions are side effects of the medicine and will diminish with time. Finally, and for the first time in twenty years, I bear hair upon my head! ?? Being strapped to a hospital bed with IVs, heart monitors, etc. makes it decidedly difficult to shave every day and therefore I opted to go with a ‘new look’ – my version of the Stanley Cup playoff beard. The longer that I remain alive, the longer it will grow.

You will now kindly forgive me for this rather lengthy preamble regarding my health. I simply wanted to place the reader within the proper context. For six months, give or take, I have been “quarantined” to one room and the kitchen. My hobby of the time – watching the street sweeper move back and forth in front of my window at a blistering 3 m.p.h. I also wrote and followed the news as best as I could stomach. Society, in my best estimation, is in just as bad shape as I was back in February, but at least I managed to come back to life. Society has not…yet.

I cannot believe some of the things that I had discovered without an appropriate method of escaping the news. Those endorsing National Socialism are calling others Nazis. Antifa seeks to burn down businesses and homes of those who do not agree with their manifesto – though a recent “commander” was virtually pissing in his pants when he was arrested possessing a flamethrower. House leaders want to bail out the “self-funded (by mandate)” Postal Service so they can affect the forthcoming election. And cities are burning down all around the country ostensibly due to a few black individuals being killed by police officers, whose departments are now being defunded by amateurish politicians.

In many of my books, I presented – as but one cause for the further arming and training of individual citizens – that as populations grew, taxpayer-funded services such as police and fire departments would diminish. Now, our duly elected officials are placing us into extreme danger by appropriating justice in the name of affirmative inaction. In other words, governments, retailers, athletes, and entertainers are placating to a mere <12.6% of the population to the detriment of a so-called “privileged” 72.4%.

Permit me to divert a bit on the nature of being “privileged”. In 2015, I had to abandon my business ambitions to become caregiver for my mother. I simply stopped my responsibilities and ended up – to this day – with a mountain of obligations that have to be fulfilled. To “start over” I relocated to Iowa, took up a position with a large retailer, and in the four years since, suffered through a broken jaw, cancer, and AIH – and missing merely two days of work from the first two calamities. AIH was endured because, frankly, I bore the foresight to invest within disability insurance.

Lately, however, I see a disturbing trend. Retailers such as Amazon and Walmart have singled out the black community for featured movies, books, and other promotions. Why? February remains Black History month, so why are we singling out one race when statistics suggest otherwise. This past February, when I myself remained near death, the hospital placed me on the 9th floor – the cardiac floor. As I walked the floor doing my best to keep focused, positive, and moving, I could see each room as doors were rarely closed. I encountered virtually every race within America, and they were all receiving the best care available. I saw white police officers joking with black patients. I saw black medical personnel rushing to the care of elderly white patients. My own doctors hailed from the Philippines, Korea, and South Africa. The first chaplain that came to pray with me was a priest from Africa. The second was a Protestant minister from Alabama (working within a Catholic hospital). Within that tiny community everyone was helping everyone else.

And, yet, after fighting like hell to come back to life I find hell fighting like mad to destroy our country. I see politicians destroying America rather than coming up with traditional solutions that have always worked throughout human history. I see pundits trying to reimagine America as anything but the pantheon of freedom and liberty that it is. And I see race baiters criticizing everyone else as bigots and racists. Bullshit! Not in my America!

In my life, I have held more friends who were “non-white” than probably a great deal of America and I always treat everyone the same whether they liked it or not. Yes, a great many infuriate me. And, yes, a great many groups of people irritate me. But I am not to judge on what you are anymore than I care to judge on who you are. What you do, however, permits me to formulate an opinion on how to deal with you. For instance, you chance an opportunity to harm me or those I care about, then you are going to face the Wrath of God even if I must act in His stead. And, folks, America remains one of my greatest loves. Period.

“Coming back to life”, per se, has given me an opportunity to discover what America really needs; and this is not socialism, reeducation, cancelism, or bigotry in any form. We need jobs, less reliance upon satanic China, and less government intrusion within our lives. Memorials towards American history are being torn down and removed everywhere. Yet, memorials to Big Government – namely, Washington and outrageous regulations – are being hailed as if new deities.

As I gaze upon my most recent photographs, I remain shocked over how much I look like my dad. There is always some resemblance to parents, but one image (with me in the sunglasses, blue shirt and white hat) simply nailed the comparison. My dad served in the Army Air Corps during WWII, drove a truck, worked within a factory, and loved his family and his country. All things that I share with him. His generation did everything to keep America great. I will do everything within my power to keep Americans safe too. But I possess far more “tools” than my father did – and I am not afraid of anything. How much more time that I possess is known only to God, but what I intend to do with that time is not for the faint of heart. ??

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