Heaven Must Be A Little Like Powdered Sugar

mmmm...beignets from Cafe Du Monde


Remember...I always have to put
up with this type of behavior


But so does Angie


She loves Cafe Du Monde

I know that's a crazy title, but I didn't know what to call this post. I just wanted everyone to understand that my baby-mama loves Cafe Du Monde. I've attached a few pics and a video for those of you who don't like to read long blogs. Y'see, I have a bad habit. If you ask me what time it is, I'm likely to tell you how the clock works. So, impatient peeps...watch the short video and then move on to another web page. All others, please scroll down to the narrative for an awe-inspiring, true-life story of God working through the hands of a doctor.




For those who want more...here's the story...

Angie became ill in 1996. It started out with some rather bizarre symptoms. She woke up one morning and one of her feet was numb. She said it was similar to having your foot go to sleep, but it stayed that way all day. The next morning, her other foot was numb. I told her she probably had pinched a nerve. We had just moved to our present house and I figured that she strained her back picking up boxes. On the third day, one of her thumbs went numb. On the fourth day, the opposite hand's little finger was numb. Finally, she had a circular area on her torso go numb. We were completely perplexed.

In the second week, tiny red bumps began appearing on her lower legs. Plus, her feet began hurting...a completely different sensation from numbness. She went to a doctor here in Monroe, but no diagnosis was made. She went to another doctor, and then another, and finally another. Each doctor wanted to do different tests, but not one of them knew what was causing the unusual symptoms. Eventually, the pain became unbearable. She described it as having someone wrap her feet in chicken wire...tighter than she could bear...and then the chicken wire was lit on fire. She was miserable to say the very least.

In October, she visited her parents in Mobile and her father made her an appointment with his dermatologist. The red bumps on her legs were now black and scabbed over...similar to a wound. The dermatologist asked Angie this question, "You're an R.N, but you don't know what gangrene looks like?" She was astounded and answered, "Yes, I know what it looks like...I just didn't expect to see it on me!" He told her that she needed to go to Ochsner Medical Center in New Orleans...immediately! He made her an appointment the very next day.

This won't be easy, but I'll try to be concise. She saw a couple of doctors at Ochsner's and they were intrigued with her symptoms. They took photos of the sores on her legs and asked if they could use the photos in a medical journal. One decided to refer her to a neurologist that worked on "special" cases. Unfortunately, we had to wait a couple of weeks to see him. We went back to New Orleans the week before Thanksgiving in 1996. The neurologist had scheduled a battery of tests before we were to meet him; and the worst one was the nerve conduction test. They started by placing electrical probes into Angie's feet and sent electric currents into her body. The test determines how fast nerves can send a signal. It also discovers if nerves are damaged. Over the course of 30 to 45 minutes, the doctor ran electrical signals from Angie's toes all the way up to her head. At the end of the procedure, she was curled up in the fetal position...bawling. A few minutes later, we met the guy responsible for ordering this medieval torture. When he entered our examination room, I actually thought one of the psychiatric patients had gotten lose and put on a doctor's lab coat. He was so full of confidence and energy. His name...Dr. Kevin McKinley. He immediately told us that he knew what Angie's disease was and he knew how to treat it. No one else had even told us anything close to that...and he was the 10th doctor Angie had seen. He told us it would require 18 to 36 months of chemotherapy followed by high doses of steroids. Do what?!?!

I had serious reservations and asked for a second opinion from another doctor at Ochsner's. The other doctor told me that my question should be, "Do we do the chemo here in New Orleans or do we go back home for the treatment with someone who has never seen this disease?" We started the chemo at Ochsner's the next day and we set up a schedule for monthly treatments in the oncology clinic.

We tried to make the trips down to N.O. as fun as we could. Well, at least before the treatments. Because afterwards, Angie was always sick and tired. One month we'd stop at a casino in Vicksburg. The next trip we'd take the kids to the city park and mall. But, no matter what, we always went to the French Quarter, visited the flea market, and ate beignets at Cafe Du Monde. It made Angie feel better...and, it still does to this day.

In closing, I'll tell you that the disease Angie had was extremely rare. Dr. McKinley called it Isolated Vasculitis with Multifocal Peripheral Nerve Involvement. He told us that her immune system was attacking her vascular system and was shutting off blood flow to random parts of her body. The chemotherapy caused Angie's immune system to shut down. Then, after treatment was stopped, her immune system woke back up and essentially reset itself. Dr. McKinley said it was similar to rebooting a computer. Crazy, but it worked. By the way, she only had to take nine months of chemotherapy. The high doses of steroids, which she took for 16 months, helped her blood flow during the process. Angie and I both give Dr. McKinley credit for saving her life. Had her immune system shut off blood flow to a major organ, we wouldn't have known until an autopsy was performed. It scares me to think about it. Sadly, we heard that Dr. McKinley committed suicide after Katrina. We don't know the whole story, but we still grieve his loss. We talked about him several times while we were in New Orleans this weekend. He was a great doctor. He loved jazz music...New Orleans-style food...difficult medical challenges...and...he loved his kids. He talked about them everytime we were there. Thanks to him, my wife gets to spend more time with our kids. Even if that means that they put powdered sugar on her in a public restaurant.