We tend to think that the plans we make allow our lives to proceed in a linear manner. Go to school, get married, raise a family, etc. With the gift of hindsight, let me show how little of what we plan really matters. What seems to matter is that we remember to be kind to others because it will come home in ways that we could never anticipate. My tale goes like this…
“Marburg 2? Who do you know to get in Marburg 2? That’s where VIPs go for recovery.” So said Fran, a friend, a kidney transplant recipient, and now a volunteer at Johns Hopkins Hospital, when she ran into Mrs. Commish in the corridors of the hospital in late November 2011.
This was my second encounter with the famed institution.
Some 60 years before, my mother was told by Dr. Arnold Lavenstein, her pediatrician, that he didn’t know why her infant son was having convulsions. What he was sure of, though, was that someone he knew at Hopkins could figure it out.
That was my first experience at Hopkins.
In the intervening six decades a remarkable “Butterfly Effect” of coincidences and choices made and not made wove the tapestry that became my life. Now I can see how so many seemingly random and unassociated events put me in a place to be saved from a feared sentence of leukemia as a child (it turned out to be a “simple” ascorbic acid deficiency) and from the very real incidence of prostate cancer as I approached my retirement years.
I have always been dog person, a “Big Dog” person to be precise. No yappy little barkers for me. In fact Chow Chows were the smallest dogs I ever had and then in June of 1969 I bought a Persian kitten. It wasn’t for me, of course; she was a surprise wedding gift for my lovely bride-to-be. Despite the fact that “Misty” peed on my tuxedo going from the church to the reception hall, she turned out to be the perfect gift.
Misty was the first “butterfly” in this saga.
The second butterfly was borne out of tragedy. Mrs. Commish wanted to have kittens and, like so many foolish young people, we bred our pet Persian to another pet Persian we had acquired in Rochester, N.Y. and anxiously awaited the kittens’ arrival. A botched C-section by a “dog vet” left a dead mother cat and us with five newborns. We found a cat breeder that said she would try to help us but that there was little chance for the kittens to survive. This was how we met Louise Otto of Chatalain Cattery. To this day neither of us can remember how we found Louise; but even with her assistance all of the kittens died.
From this sad experience we became life-long friends with the Otto’s and learned how to be serious cat breeders. For the next 30 years, long after Louise had passed away, we bred and showed many Best in Show Persians with more than our share of Regional and National winners and Grand Champions.
Wanting better facilities for our cattery, we moved from Baltimore City to build a new home in Sparks, Maryland in 1978. North of Hunt Valley, Sparks was country. No neighbors, just woods and the occasional moo of a distant cow. From here we were able to create our own bloodlines and a distinct “look” for our show cats. When you are breeding for top show animals there are also many terrific pets that need to have homes also. One of the nicest couples we ever sold a kitten to was the McCullochs, Duncan and Kitty. Since we seldom advertised, it was less than a 1 in 100 chance that we would have an ad in the Sunday paper but this one particular Sunday we had placed an ad and that particular Sunday Kitty was bereft because her long-time pet had died. She saw our ad, we lived close by, and later that day she and Duncan came to our home and purchased the only 2 kittens we had.
They were to become the next “butterfly” in this tale. Throw in a legendary gambler and railroad tycoon, gourmand, and philanthropist from the roaring nineties (that’s 1890’s folks) and all of the pieces were finally in place for this last butterfly to save my life some twenty-five years later.
Kitty and Duncan loved the two Persian boys they bought that day and invited us to visit “Rusty and Buffy” and have dinner with them. This happened many times over the next few years and I later learned this was out of character for Kitty since she was a very private person but they treated us not just as friends but as if we were family. Anyway, the directions to their home took us through the campus of Oldfields School (a boarding school for girls). We knew exactly where they were because we sent our daughter, Gwaltney, to a pre-school program that Oldfields had recently opened. When she was 5 years old she left Oldfields pre-school and went to Montessori for a few years before going to public school for 3rd grade. Gwaltney had gone to Oldfields because it was close and convenient. She went to Montessori because a good friend of ours (and a fellow cat breeder) taught French there and loved the school. She went to public school because the schools in the Hereford Zone were excellent and they cost thousands less than what we had been paying.
Duncan, a good Scotsman, showed me how single malts are the only way to enjoy Scots whiskey and how to concoct “Kilt Lifters,” the only acceptable way to adulterate scotch. We enjoyed solving the world’s problems over a wee dram or two; and then, way too soon, he became a widower as Kitty became ill and died. Several years later he remarried and we got to know Beth, his second wife. In the ensuing 15 plus years, Beth has become as close to Mrs. Commish as a sister.
Beth was not a country girl and to acclimate herself to the area she began having Duncan entertain more. As she learned about the area she also learned about the McCulloch family and their history in the area. When we would go to a cookout at their home, more often than not there would be teachers and staff from Oldfields. I didn’t think anything of this since it was necessary to go through the campus to get to their home. We later found out that Beth had been instrumental in getting Duncan and the rest of the McCullochs once again involved in the school that they had founded just after the Civil War. In fact, Duncan’s father had been the headmaster when Duncan had been a youngster. Beth was also key to getting Duncan re-involved with Immanuel Episcopal Church, the little church we attended that was just across the street from the school. From this we also found out that Duncan’s Grandfather had been the second Rector of the church.
For over a decade Duncan and I had discussed politics, sports, religion, etc. and never once did any of his personal history come out. There is more too, like the precedent-setting Supreme Court ruling of McCulloch vs. Maryland and all of the historic homes he had lived in like Filston, Clynmalira, and other “Carroll” family connections but the Oldfields connection leading to his involvement with Immanuel Church is my butterfly effect.
Not long after 9/11, Duncan led an adult education course at the church. Since it was going to be more of an historical look at the first millennium rather than a “doctrine” class, I decided to attend. It was a free-ranging class and we had great discussions not only amongst the 8 or 10 regulars but also with guests such as the head of Baltimore’s Islamic Center. Through these discussions I was introduced to a couple I had seen at some of Beth and Duncan’s cookouts but really had never spoken to, Drs. Alex and Emily Haller. They went to the same church I did (admittedly I didn’t go very regularly) but I didn’t know it because they liked to go to the early service and when I did go it was always to a later service. Anyway, Alex was an extremely brilliant fellow but humble and as soft spoken as he could be. Even though I immediately liked him, if I hadn’t gone to these sessions we probably would not have known each other except to occasionally wave when we passed on the road.
Now to wrap this all up…
After a biopsy in October 2011 I learned that I had prostate cancer. Not knowing anything about it, I thought I should get a second opinion since I was not really comfortable with the surgeon, but where to go? Mrs. Commish was worried and talked with Beth McCulloch who told her not to let me do anything until she spoke with Alex Haller. Alex said he would talk with his friend at The Brady Urological Institute at Hopkins, Patrick Walsh, and get me a second opinion. Dr. Walsh was no longer taking patients but put Alex in touch with his associate, Dr. Jacek Mostwin and I got an appointment for a second opinion. Since Alex had recommended Dr. Mostwin and Mrs. Commish and I were comfortable with him, when he recommended surgery we scheduled it for as soon as possible, about 2 weeks later.
After a biopsy in October 2011 I learned that I had prostate cancer. Not knowing anything about it, I thought I should get a second opinion since I was not really comfortable with the surgeon, but where to go? Mrs. Commish was worried and talked with Beth McCulloch who told her not to let me do anything until she spoke with Alex Haller. Alex said he would talk with his friend at The Brady Urological Institute at Hopkins, Patrick Walsh, and get me a second opinion. Dr. Walsh was no longer taking patients but put Alex in touch with his associate, Dr. Jacek Mostwin and I got an appointment for a second opinion. Since Alex had recommended Dr. Mostwin and Mrs. Commish and I were comfortable with him, when he recommended surgery we scheduled it for as soon as possible, about 2 weeks later.
Another one of our good friends from the cat fancy is a nurse at Hopkins. In the 20 years we have been friends I never knew what unit she was on but it turned out that she was one of the head nurses on Marburg 2. She did scold me for not letting her know in advance so she could have gotten me the best care but after she found out who my surgeon had been she calmed down and said, “He is the best. Period. But I still could have gotten you a better room!”
Well, it seems that Dr. Mostwin is not only Professor of Urology and Director of the Division of Neurological and Reconstructive Urology at Hopkins but in 1982 along with Dr. Walsh they had pioneered this particular surgery (radical prostatectomy) and are the world’s foremost experts. Not a bad recommendation, do you think? Thanks again to the Hallers.
Speaking of the Hallers, I was talking with my mother about the surgery and mentioned that a friend from church, Alex Haller, had called Dr. Mostwin and set up our meeting with him. She asked me if Alex Haller been a doctor at Hopkins.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Was his wife also a doctor? Were they both pediatricians?”
Again I told her, “Yes, why?”
It turns out that Alex Haller was the Hopkins pediatrician that Dr. Lavenstein had sent me to when I was having convulsions as an infant. I had been Dr. Haller’s patient some 60 years prior and neither of us knew it, but, once again, he was instrumental in my return to good health.
One last thing to wrap up. Remember I was in the James Buchanan Brady Urological Institute at Johns Hopkins? I thought that Brady was some great doctor that they named the hospital’s urologic division after but I was wrong. My pastor from Immanuel came to visit me just before surgery on the day before Thanksgiving (he was there for a checkup himself) and he asked me that same question. The answer is that James Buchanan Brady was a famous gambler better known as “Diamond Jim.” Diamond Jim Brady was cured by Hopkins doctors of some undisclosed condition (syphillis?) that was preventing him from eating the prodigious amounts of food that he loved to consume. He was so grateful for the cure that he funded the creation of the urologic institute that is named after him.
In essence I owe my entire good fortune to a gluttonous gambler with intestinal problems and a kitten that peed on me many years ago. From that little kitten forward, friends and people who love me in spite of myself have created a series of events that put me where I needed to be at the time I needed to be there.
And the ripples don’t just end with me. Some 10 years after leaving the Oldfields pre-school program, Gwaltney suddenly said that she had always wanted to go back there for her schooling. With her persistence and the McCullochs assistance she was able to attend this remarkable school for her high school years. The extent of those ripples are still yet to be determined.
We may never know how our actions affect others but be sure that “the Butterfly Effect” is not an illusion. It is real, only it can’t be seen except by hindsight. With this in mind a little selflessness will go farther than you can ever imagine. You just might not be aware of who it helps down the road.
Thank you, everyone.
