THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, December 1, 1995 TAG: 9511300172
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 23 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: PRIME TIME
SOURCE: Pam Starr
LENGTH: Long : 169 lines
Pat McCarthy didn't start writing until after his wife died of cancer in 1970.
Writing was a kind of spiritual release for the former public relations professional, devastated by Betty's death and left with two of his four children still at home. Three nights after Betty died, McCarthy said the Holy Spirit came to him and told him to deliver his message. Although that revelation ``scared the living daylights out of me,'' the devout Roman Catholic began penning meditations, themes, poems and the occasional essay.
But he never submitted any of his work for publication until October, when he heard about the nationwide Legacies writing contest for seniors. Legacies was founded in 1991 by the nonprofit Leibovitz Foundation to encourage older adults to write down their life stories and experiences for future generations. Harper Collins company published 162 of the best stories in an anthology titled ``Legacies'' in 1993.
Seniors choose from five topics: Tell a story of when something happened that changed the direction of your life; describe the greatest challenge you've ever faced; tell a story that you would want your great-grandchildren to know; describe a spiritual experience that had a strong influence on your life; and what is the funniest or best thing that ever happened to you?
McCarthy, a Norfolk native who graduated from Maury High School in 1939, chose the fourth category and wrote about the time he faced possible disability through a risky back operation. He said the night before the operation an angel, in the form of a man, appeared in his hospital room and told him not to go through with the operation. McCarthy took the angel's advice and recovered in 10 days.
The uplifting spiritual message in ``An Angel's Advice'' stole the judges' hearts. McCarthy won $100 for first place in that category and was then awarded $500 as the grand prize winner overall. His story was selected from 85 entries and 56 participants. All five winners will be entered in the national contest and be eligible for $15,000 in prize money.
``I prayed about the contest,'' said McCarthy, 76, a resident of Russell House. ``I hate to say it, but I knew it would win. I just left it up to the good Lord - thy will be done. It's a way to deliver his message.''
Since winning this contest, McCarthy is toying with the idea of publishing his various works in a book. But for now he's content to spread God's word wherever he goes.
``I try to get people to love God and each other,'' McCarthy said. ``All of these things happening to me now - it's a beautiful life.''
Following is McCarthy's tale:
AN ANGEL'S ADVICE''
It all started after a severe blizzard, back in January 1966. Not only the city of Fairfax, but all of Northern Virginia and Washington, D.C., was snowbound. I ventured out to the parking lot to clear the snow from my car. Suddenly, my feet went out from under me! I landed on the base of my spine, and that was the beginning of the most painful year of my life.
At the time of the fall there was little pain. A numbness slowly made its way down my legs, but I was able to rise and make my way back to our apartment. I sat down in my favorite chair, and it was then I knew that something was seriously wrong. No matter how I tried, I could not get comfortable. The pain had increased! In the next several months, I saw seven different physicians, but none of them could help me. Instead, things became worse. My right leg became paralyzed and shrunk. I then went to a neurologist, who called in a surgeon, and they put me in a hospital. After extensive X-rays, they advised surgery that would fuse the spine with plastic at a point they found a ruptured disc. I was advised that it was a delicate procedure that might confine me to a wheelchair for quite a while. This diagnosis left me severely depressed. The doctors gave me 24 hours to discuss the situation with my wife. If I consented, they would operate the following day.
That evening my wife came over to visit me. I could feel the tension she was under from our conversation, though she tried so hard to hide it. We just couldn't see an alternative to the doctor's advice, but just then the nurse came in with my sleeping pill. I asked my wife to come see me in the morning, and we would decide then. Tears started rolling down her cheeks, as she leaned over to kiss me goodnight and then left. Tears started in my eyes, and I closed them as she, and the nurse, walked out. I prayed ``LORD GOD, IF THIS BE THY WILL, THEN LET IT BE DONE. YET, AS THY SON DID ASK OF YOU, SO DO I! PLEASE LET ME PASS THIS BITTER CUP!''
Hours later, I woke from the pain, and noticed there was a middle-age man lying in the other bed that was previously empty. I must have slept soundly, for I never heard any of the noise that probably would have awakened me at the time. Slowly, I rearranged my pillows, trying not to disturb him. I figured I owed him that much courtesy, but I did have to turn on my night light, so that I could check my watch and see how much time had passed since the last pill.
He turned his head toward me, smiled, and said, ``Hello, I hope I didn't wake you, I've been told that I have a snoring problem.''
I smiled and assured him that it was the pain I was experiencing that woke me. Meanwhile, I pressed the signal button for the nurse. I then introduced myself to him, and told him of my problem, plus the agony I'd been suffering for the past year. Just then, the nurse came in and asked if I needed help. I told her the pain had awakened me and asked if I could have another pill. She told me that she had to check my records. She left, telling me that she would be back as soon as possible.
My new roommate had propped himself up on his pillows and asked me, ``What sort of treatment do they have in mind for your spine?''
``Surgery,'' I answered. ``They are going to operate in three days, by fusing my spine with a plastic. It's going to disable me for awhile, and I'll probably be in a wheelchair for several months.''
The look on his face became anguished. In a forceful voice, that seemed to sound like a command, he said, ``Don't let them do it!''
He had swung his legs over the edge of the bed and was looking into my eyes with a pleading stare. ``You will regret it for the rest of your life! Listen closely to what I tell you!''
He proceeded to tell me of an orthopedic surgeon by the name of McKenzie. This doctor was renowned for saving the life of a local football player who had broken his neck during a recent game. He then advised me to call Dr. McKenzie in the morning and make an appointment for that afternoon. I asked him if I could get an appointment that quick, being he was such a good physician. He assured me adamantly that he would accept me and treat me. He also went on to tell me that I wanted a bone doctor not a nerve surgeon to operate. That is, if surgery was necessary.
At that time, the nurse came in with another pill for me. I took it with a glass of water and she turned the lights out, then left. I noticed that she had completely ignored my fellow patient. Anyhow, I said thank you and told him I was going to follow his advice the first thing in the morning. He told me that he was glad and wished me a good night. Evidently, the decision I had made was a relaxing factor. I fell asleep in seconds.
The next thing I knew, it was daylight, and I turned to see if my roommate was awake. He was gone! The bed was made up as if no one had lain in it. I assumed he was either transferred to a private room or was out taking some tests.
The nurse and orderly from the morning shift came in for the a.m. wash up. I asked her of the whereabouts of my new roommate. She looked at me with a puzzled frown and told me that I had no roommate. That no one had been assigned to that room but me! I felt a shiver go through me just as the doctor walked into the room.
Without hesitation, I told him that I wanted more time to ponder the decision. I used financial reasons for the delay and he accepted that. He had the nurse bring in release papers which he signed, and told me I could leave that morning.
My wife came in a little later and I told her to call Dr. McKenzie. Amazingly, they told her to bring me right over! Two hours later I was in one of his examining rooms. They X-rayed me and I asked the doctor, ``What hospital am I going to for the operation?''
He told me that an operation was the last thing he wanted to do! He handed me a prescription for a muscle relaxer, told me to go home and make a bed on the floor. He said for me to stay in bed, take a pill in the morning and at night, and instructed me on some exercising that would strengthen the muscles guarding the spine. I was to do this for 10 days and report back to him on the 10th day.
On that final day my right leg was back to normal, the pain was gone and I got up. I showered, shaved, dressed and drove my car to his office. I walked into his office, and he looked at me and asked how I felt.
``Doctor,'' I said, ``if you were a woman, I'd kiss you!!! I feel like a new man!!!''
He looked at me, smiled and told me to keep up the exercises as long as I could but stop taking the prescription. I asked if I could play golf and he said that he saw no reason I couldn't. I shook his hand, blessed him and told him that I would always be grateful. I went to the front desk to pick up my bill. IT WAS FOR $46, INCLUDING THE X-RAYS!!! It was then that I knew, that God had sent an angel to me in the hospital! ILLUSTRATION: Pat McCarthy won the $500 grand prize for his tale in the
writing category: Describe a spiritual experience that had a strong
influence on your life.
Staff photo by
D. KEVIN ELLIOTT
WRITING AWARDS
The first place winners in the Legacies writing contest are
Robert Christin, ``A Visit to the Mediterranean;'' Madeline Nevala,
``Senior Cub Reporter;'' Margaret Burke, ``Coup de Grace; Pat
McCarthy, ``An Angel's Advice;'' and Sarah Bradshaw, ``The Turtle.''
All are Virginia Beach residents except for Bradshaw, who lives in
Franklin.
by CNB