Jack Canon's American Destiny

by Greg Sandora

  The day we arrived, the organizers warned us we probably wouldn't get everything accomplished that we planned. African pace and progress was slow and difficult for Westerners to understand. They cautioned us not to get discouraged and to keep in mind the main reason we were there - to let the kids know and the soldiers see - people cared. As much as we would like to finish the work, the probability was other missionaries would someday finish what we started.

  My father was the type of guy who liked to jump right in and get everybody going; he wanted to roll up his sleeves and get the job done. I think he mainly wanted to burn off some steam by getting busy. We might have completed the school if he’d had his way. The problem was, half way through the project some of our supplies were confiscated. It was heart wrenching. We heard from the driver that the truck carrying framing wood, cement, and food was stopped at a checkpoint just miles from the orphanage. The military helped themselves to the contents we needed to even think of finishing the school. My dad was so disgusted he tried to reorganize our efforts toward planting a vegetable garden. The organizers told us water was too scarce; we'd be wasting our time. Water was available for drinking only. I'll never forget my father getting more frustrated by the day as he settled on patching roofs before the rainy season.

  Outside the gates, kids would come around begging for food. I noticed one little boy who was just lying on the ground against the gate day after day. Even among the poor children, he was left alone. I wanted to be his friend and while he spoke only a few words of English - together we decided his name was Rico.

  The boy was about ten like me but only half my weight due to starvation. His dry skin was shriveled from the sun and looked like burnt powder. Rico was so thin I could count all his ribs. I was afraid he was going to die so every morning I stuffed some of my breakfast into my pockets and went by the gate to feed him. The rusted black iron gates were locked with heavy chains so I had to pass food through to him. One afternoon I snuck into the kitchen and took a small clear bowl of something resembling cream of wheat. I hid it under my shirt and made my way out to where he was lying and placed it into his frail hands. He scooped the bland porridge up with his little fingers and ate it like the finest meal fit for a king. Many memories stayed with us about our trip. I remember getting off the bus trembling from fright, my parents were angry, feeling mislead about the danger. The adults were discussing the horror we just witnessed. My older brother, Roger, bending down and hugging me. Laying his head on my small shoulder, something he'd never done before.

  Saying, “Don't worry Jackie, it'll be okay… you'll see. We'll be back home before you know it.” It was years later after Roger returned from Viet Nam he told me what that awful smell had been.

  I don’t remember the drive over because the next thing I know I’m pulling into the area reserved for private aircraft.

  The area for corporate and personal jets is separated from the public areas and the staff gets to know you pretty well there. I flashed my ID at the security guard and drove right to the door of hanger number 82. The large overhead door was already opened so I pulled in and parked. TenStar leased the large blue Quonset hut shaped hanger area. The building was about 75 feet wide by 120 feet long, just large enough to hold three corporate jets.

  I’d been in this hanger only twice before, once when Joe Brenner brought me up for a get acquainted flight. I met the pilots, the flight and ground crews. It was fun when Captain Ben, a retired Navy Pilot, let me take the controls.

  The second time was shortly after the first when I’d surprised Kathy with a flight to Boston. The Gulf Stream 450 is an awesome plane, able to fly Mach .80 and cruise over 4000 nautical miles without refueling. Jets of this type usually hold up to 19 passengers although ours was configured more luxuriously and held just 12. This plane had been for Joe’s personal use prior to it being loaned to us and it had every conceivable creature comfort. What this jet lost in seats it gained in a galley kitchen and long couch that folded into a queen size bed. There were coordinating tables and six oval curtain covered windows on each side of the fuselage.

  The crew had gotten Sandy’s call and was preparing the Gulf Stream, the only jet in the hanger when I arrived. One of the guys greeted me and motioned towards the stairs, “Pilots on his way sir should be here in fifteen minutes to a half.”

  “Thanks,” I said ascending the stairway. Entering the plane, I felt lucky it was warm inside - my jacket was no match for the cold and howling wind of a Washington January. Deciding on a seat, I moved to the lone couch up in front, pushed aside a couple accent pillows and sat down.

  The seating consisted of glove soft cream-colored leather with warm tan accents. I couldn’t help thinking - here I was on this beautiful jet while my mother lay in a hospital bed. God only knows what my dad was thinking if he could even grasp the gravity of the situation. Kathy had sent me a text with the number to Dr. Shapiro who was the physician attending to Mom.

  I dialed the number and heard Dr. Shapiro answer, “Senator Canon?”

  “Yes?”

  “I saw your name come up on the phone, how are you sir?”

  “Doctor, how is my mom?”

  “Well she’s had a massive stoke that has partially paralyzed her left side. The stroke must have happened in the middle of the night because she was found in the morning by her nurse, Elsa.”

  Thank God for Elsa, I thought, she knows my mother’s habits well enough to know she would have been up and about well before she arrived and went right in to check on her.

  “Dr. is she going to live; will she recover?”

  “It’s difficult to say to what degree she will regain mobility, but only time will tell. Due to the stroke occurring in her sleep, she did not receive immediate attention. The hours with her lying there unattended allowed the damage to go unabated. Sometimes severity can be reduced if medications are administered within minutes of an incident.”

  “Dr. I’m at the airport waiting for my family, as soon as they arrive we will be flying down there to be with her.”

  “Senator, we have a nurse sitting with her and I am monitoring her condition. Rest assured she is receiving the best of care. I do think she will survive this, although I don’t know what quality of life will return.”

  I felt guilty… had there been around the clock care for Dad she may have been discovered earlier. I tried to rationalize… they could have all been sleeping anyway including the nurse.

  The whole situation is very difficult when dealing with an ill person and especially hard on the caregiver. If Mom is able to recover enough to ever go back home, I knew we would have to have someone twenty-four hours to care for both of them. I had some time before Kathy and the girls arrived, and my head was whirling with thoughts of the debate on Sunday, the fundraiser, the Saudis… I tried to push everything out except my mom.

  When Kathy and the girls arrived I jumped up and ran down the stairs to greet them, “I love you guys,” grabbing all three of them in a group hug.

  Kathy said, “We’re all here, Jack, as a family, how is she?”

  “Is Grammy going to be okay?” Bethany asked her little face looked up, so concerned. She’s a little angel I thought.

  “I think so Honey, we’ll be leaving to see her in a few minutes.” Martha was holding tight around my waist looking up at me. I could not help but think how pretty she was becoming, her eyes as big a saucers over a little freckled nose.

  “Daddy, are you okay?”

  “Yes, Honey,” I kissed the top of her head, “the doctor said Grammy is going to make it through this but he doesn’t know the extent of the damage the stroke may have caused.”

  A member of the crew came aboard and quietly asked, “May I have your keys? We will have someone park the cars in the far corner of the hanger while you’re away.”

  I gave the man my keys and said, “This set starts both.”

  “Thank you sir, the captain has given the go ahead to push back out of the hanger onto the tarm
ac.”

  Kathy said," Girls, let’s get ready to go, pick a seat.” Kathy and I sat on the couch together and the girls each took a chair opposite us.

  Bethany said, “This is a pretty plane, Daddy, it smells nice.”

  Martha chimed in, “It’s toasty warm and the seats are cushy soft.”

  I felt the gentle motion of the plane being pushed out and heard the whirl of the twin engines being fired up. While we were taxiing to the runway, a pleasant woman-flight-attendant checked our seat belts and then sat down in the rear of the cabin. Captain Ben, who I had seen busily readying for takeoff called back on the intercom, “We are next in line for takeoff and are awaiting clearance.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  We arrived at Lexington Memorial and went directly to Mom’s room. Her nurse was seated beside her, “She’s resting comfortably.” Mom looked ashen under the eyes and very pale like the blood had been drained form her face.

  Her nurse was a young, tiny, brown haired 24-year-old. She had great big brown eyes and long eyelashes making her look more like a Disney character than a healthcare worker.

  Speaking in a sweet little voice, “She hasn’t spoken yet but she did move her right hand, are you Senator Canon?”

  “Yes and this is my wife Kathy and my daughters Bethany and Martha.”

  "I’m Casie,” the nurse said.

  “I’ve been with your mother since the start of my shift. Mrs. Canon is on blood thinning medication and we are hoping she responds well to that. I have not left her side since. Before I got here, another nurse was with her through the night. Let me call Dr. Shapiro, he told me he wanted to meet with you as soon as you arrived.”

  “Thanks, Casie,” I moved over to Mom’s ear and whispered, “We are here Mom. Kathy, Martha, and Bethany are here to see you. Can you hear me Mom?”

  Waives of dread spread through my body. Seeing my mother in that condition was horrible because she was always so strong and healthy. Between the two of them, I thought it would have been my father in this position. Waiting for the Dr. I thought of all the things my mom had meant to me. She had always built me up and given me confidence no matter how trying the circumstances. Kathy was rubbing Mom’s arm. The girls were whispering softly, “Grammy we’re here and we love you so much.”

  I remembered flying onto that dirt road with the A10 and causing Mom and Dad to freak out - and my dad being so upset. I have to laugh sometimes at all the crazy things I’ve done over the years. Now, with my mom lying here in the hospital may be the craziest. Trying to be president and change a system so out of whack, it barely resembles the founding fathers’ vision.

  Casie entered followed by Dr. Shapiro, “Good afternoon, Senator. Sorry to meet you under these circumstances.”

  I introduced my family and asked, “What is the prognosis, doctor?”

  “Well Senator and Mrs. Canon, there are basically two types of stroke. One is caused from a burst blood vessel. It can be in an artery in the brain or somewhere else in the body that travels to the brain causing death to brain tissue. The second type is the kind of stroke your mother had.”

  “Kathy asked, “How can you tell?”

  “Following standard procedure we did a CT scan on your mother-in-law when she arrived. We discovered she had a blood clot or clogged artery that stopped the flow of blood to part of her brain. Usually, if we can catch it in time, say within a few minutes to three hours, blood thinning medication will help to lessen the symptoms.”

  “She didn’t get treatment in time, did she, Doctor?”

  “My fear is—your mother was not discovered for longer than that, the paramedics could not administer thinners on site for fear if she had a burst blood vessel the medication would have made it worse. She was non-responsive when paramedics arrived.”

  “Has she spoken at all since this happened, Doctor?”

  “Not that we have heard. The nurses have been with her, monitoring for me the entire time. I will say - I’m guardedly optimistic based on the CT scan and Nurse Casie’s observation that your mom moved her right hand. Another promising sign is her facial muscles are only slack on the left side. Usually that means she will regain some speech and mobility using her good side. We should know more in a few hours. You can pray the drugs take effect and there has not been too much damage.

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  The doctor was walking towards the door.

  “I will check in with your mother through out the day and the nurse will inform me of any developments. Please call me at any time,” he said, leaving.

  “Senator,” Nurse Casie said, “Dr. Shapiro is the best doctor we have dealing with stroke victims and he’s also a wonderful surgeon. He would have operated if the CT scan revealed a broken vessel. I want to give you hope… usually from what I have seen patients like your mom do gain some speech back. She will have to have therapy.”

  “She’s a fighter Casie,” I said.

  I looked over at Kathy and she welled up with tears, still rubbing my mom’s arm. Bethany pulled a chair next to the bed and she and Martha were both trying to sit in it. We were all watching Mom for about a half an hour when the girls started to get restless sharing the chair, each trying to gain a slight advantage.

  The coats, hats, and gloves balanced on the chair back had fallen onto the floor from their squirming.

  Irritated, mind whirling from the situation, and all I had going in the next few days, I scolded, “Girls do you realize the gravity of the situation? Cut it out, your mother and I need some peace in this room to think!”

  Kathy spoke more quietly, “Martha, I want you to take your sister downstairs to the cafeteria and get something to eat, alright?”

  “Okay, Mom, come on you little brat.”

  “Be good to each other, you girls will be best friends someday. Grammy wouldn’t be happy knowing you aren’t getting along.”

  As the girls were leaving the room, “Martha, Honey, be sure to leave your cell phone on and available and just go straight to the cafeteria and come right back.”

  “Okay, Mom, they chimed and then scurried out of the room.”

  I picked up the coats and other items from the floor and placed them behind me in the chair and sat down facing Mom, “What do you think, Hon? Do you suppose she’ll come out of this?”

  Kathy crooked her head to the side, speaking reassuringly, “Your mother is a strong woman, Jack. I think she will.”

  An hour went by and Kathy decided she would take the girls home to get them settled. My phone rang. It was a call from Bud.

  “Hey, Bud,” I answered.

  “Any change with your mother, Jack?”

  “We probably won’t know anything till later tonight or tomorrow.”

  “Jack…there have been demonstrators at Faneuil Hall, they say they’re holding vigil for you until the debate.”

  “You’re serious? That’s unreal, Bud.”

  “The message is hitting a nerve in the Northeast and your popularity numbers are growing. Last I checked there were about a thousand people gathered with about a hundred or so in tents.”

  “That’s amazing. A thousand people? It’s freezing up there!”

  “There could be thousands by Sunday night if the crowd keeps growing.”

  “I have been so concerned about my mom, I haven’t even turned on the news today, what are they saying?”

  “People being interviewed are saying the system is unfair and we need Jack Canon’s Energy Plan now!”

  “Are the majors covering this?”

  “The major networks have been covering the scene. Once we got wind of this thing happening we sent a couple dozen of our people down there hoping they would be interviewed. We passed out signs for folks to hold up for the cameras. Our people in Massachusetts brought over every sign we could get our hands on. We have more being printed, the ones with the blue background and white lettering, that say Canon, We Can! And, American Energy Works!”

  “Great work, Bud, I’ve got
to leave this to you.”

  “So far we’ve gotten a few of our plants comments taped, hopefully for the evening news.”

  “Who’s out there, Bud?”

  “For the most part it seems like an educated group of citizens who are with you and want to hear more about what you’ve got to say. The crowd is peaceful and in control, and so far the cops are just monitoring and letting it happen.”

  “That’s really good, Bud, it means people are getting it. Try to get some young faces out there. They’re the only swing vote; we’re already going to split everybody over fifty voting the ticket with Griffin. If we can get the kids, we’ll demoralize her.”

  “We’re keeping our people close to the cameras and calling everybody in that we can, but this thing is taking on a life of its own. It’s mostly the demo we want anyway.”

  “Great, Bud, we have to shake her loose up there, winning New Hampshire will really bring in the donations, and will loosen the wallets in New York Tuesday Night. Keep the pressure on. The only people Griffin is getting in Iowa are the old guard and you can’t win like that. This will drive her crazy - put everything on this while we have the chance.”

  “It’s exciting up here, Jack, you know once we win New Hampshire everybody and his brother will be calling us. I love this!”

  “Hey, Bud, one more thing and then I’ve gotta get back in with my mom.”

  “What, Jack?”

  “Have someone they can’t trace to the campaign stir up the crowd right before the debate Sunday night. Pass out some leaflets on the basic science of producing our own bio fuels. Show how reducing demand on foreign oil will bring the cost per barrel down.”

  “Great idea, Jack.”

  “Bud, show some math…for every dollar spent to subsidize energy made at home…we save like ten times that on foreign wars, not to mention untold healthcare and loss of life and limb.”