Carper's Corner

Statement

Carper's Corner

After graduating in 1968 from Ohio State University, where I had been a Navy ROTC midshipman, I headed for Pensacola, Florida. There, I began training to eventually become a naval flight officer and mission commander of the Navy's P-3 aircraft, used in low-level surveillance missions off the coasts of Vietnam and Cambodia, as well missions involving Soviet nuclear submarines throughout the world.

Before we set foot in any aircraft in Pensacola, however, we put our bodies to the test in a rigorous physical conditioning regimen that lasted the better part of a month. I was in decent shape when I arrived in Pensacola, thanks to an active youth playing baseball, basketball and football. But by the time I left Pensacola and headed west to my next training squadron, I was arguably in the best shape of my life. I made a vow to myself to try to maintain that level of physical condition for as long as the good Lord would let me. That is a promise I have kept, and the Lord has been — well — good to me.

For almost as long as I can remember, I've been working out five, six, even seven days a week. Year in and year out, I've worked out in military base gyms, in YMCAs and in hotel fitness centers around the country and around the world. I've run or biked in a lot of those same places, too. Staying in shape has been part of my life for a long time. I hope that it will continue to be for a lot longer.

Martha and I married later than most and started our family when I was in my early 40's. I think that part of what has fueled my passion to stay in shape was the desire to be able to play ball or tennis or swim or bike with our sons — now 17 and 18 years old. Fortunately, I have been able to do all of those things and more with them. Now, our oldest boy swims for his college swim team and is training to compete in a mini-Ironman triathlon in New Hampshire in June. Our youngest plays on his high school tennis team, and works out with weights several days each week. Pretty soon, they'll leave me in the dust. In truth, they probably already have.

I also work out for a lot of the same reasons that other people do. It makes me feel better physically, as well as mentally. I have more energy. I'm (a bit) sharper mentally. I tend to be (a little) kinder and more patient when I work out. And, I just feel better, too. That's probably because when we work out strenuously, our brains create something called beta endorphins, a morphine-like substance that makes us feel good. Over the years, I've also concluded that working out regularly speeds up our rate of metabolism, enabling me to eat a lot of food — most of it good for me — and still weigh 170 pounds today, roughly what I weighed when I got out of the Navy after 23 years of active and reserve duty.

During each of those 23 years, I received an annual physical from Navy doctors and corpsmen. As a U.S. senator, I've elected to pay a monthly fee — on top of paying for part of my family's health care coverage — to use the Office of the Attending Physician in the Capitol. There, several Navy doctors and corpsmen run a primary health care clinic, which provides, among other services, annual physicals.

Some people approach their physical exams with a sense of dread. I do not. In fact, those yearly visits have provided me with a lot of positive reinforcement to continue with my fitness regimen. For example, a few years ago, I received a call from the Navy doctor who had given me my annual physical, and to tell me what they had learned from my lab tests. I'll never forget him saying that I had the highest level of good cholesterol and the lowest level of bad cholesterol that he had ever seen in a man.

I'm convinced the secret to those cholesterol numbers and other positive indicators is a combination of fitness and diet. Together, along with picking the right parents — both of whom are deceased now — fitness and diet have enabled me to go for 25 years or more without missing a day of work due to sickness. Maybe, exercise kicks my immune system into high gear. Something is working.

With all of that said, three weeks ago, I broke a bone in my right foot apparently when I stepped on a stone around the first mile mark of the Caesar Rodney Half-Marathon in Wilmington, Delaware. I had somehow injured the foot the day before while playing in a volleyball tournament at the University of Delaware. I iced it down that night to control the swelling, took an ibuprofen the next morning, and headed for Rodney Square as the sun came up on a picture-perfect Sunday morning.

At 9 a.m., sharp, as honorary chairman of the event, which raises money for the America Lung Association, I welcomed some 1,500 runners to the race, a toy cannon fired and off we went. It was my 25th Caesar Rodney, and I was determined to finish it.

When I stepped on the stone, I didn't feel a snap, crackle or pop, but I did feel something in my right foot give way, and I thought, "This can't be a good thing." As it turned out, it wasn't. I did go on to finish the race in one hour and 52 minutes — two minutes off my time a year earlier — and shook hands with runners coming in behind me for a half-hour or so. Later that afternoon, I noticed my foot was swollen and turning purple. I continued to ice it down and to take ibuprofen periodically over the next 36 hours.

On Tuesday morning, though, after getting off the train from Delaware at Union Station in D.C., I headed straight for the attending physician's office in the Capitol. There, after an X-ray and cursory examination of my foot, the doctor said, "The reason why your foot is swollen and purple is because you've broken it. You've got a Jones fracture."

Upon hearing my doctor's words, I immediately had visions of my foot in a cast, and being told no workouts for a long time. As it turned out, though, the podiatrist who saw me later that day took pity on me, and said let's first try putting your broken foot into an orthopedic boot that comes almost up to your knee and then hope for a miracle.

Two weeks later, my foot felt a lot better in the boot, and I went back for another X-ray, expecting to hear ooohs and ahhhs about the miracle that was taking place in the safety and security of that orthopedic boot. Instead, the second X-ray disclosed the break was worsening instead of getting better, and that if we didn't do something about it, my running days would be over, and my walking days might not be much to brag about.

Anyway, I made my way back to my office last Tuesday morning, thinking — among other things — about my unanswered prayers of the past two weeks. When I arrived, an appointment was waiting for me. It turned out that our nation's podiatrists had descended on Capitol Hill that day, and two podiatrists from Delaware were waiting for me in my office. One of them was Scott Newcomb, a young man who is now the president of Delaware's Association of Podiatrists. And, as it turns out, I have known Scott for much of his life. His mom and dad are long-time friends of ours.

What followed was a Capitol Hill office call that was probably different from any other that took place on the Hill that day. Instead of just talking about proposed changes in Medicaid, I received a tutorial on Jones fractures and treatment options. Two days later, when it was confirmed that surgery would be needed, I phoned Scott back in Delaware to ask him to recommend a doctor who might perform a procedure that included inserting a two-and-a-half inch platinum screw in my foot. He told me that one of the finest orthopedic surgeons in the state was his dad — my longtime friend. As luck would have it, Dr. Bill Newcomb is a highly regarded surgeon who specializes in — among other things — Jones fractures. Not only that, but he was able to make room for me in his operating schedule the next day at the First State Surgical Center near Christiana.

So, on Friday morning, my wife drove me to the surgical center. The staff could not have been nicer. Intake and a thorough briefing took an hour or so, during which time I slipped into one of those glamorous hospital gowns and put on a blue hair net, while they hooked up an IV and gave me a localized anesthesia called a "foot block." Fortunately, no paparazzi appeared.

I'm told the actual procedure took an hour. So did the recovery, and then we were on our way home, with my new crutches by my side, along with a neat electronic gizmo that patients with broken bones can strap onto their fractured limbs. The device emits electromagnetic waves that apparently stimulate the circulation of blood in the area around a fracture to hasten the healing process. By wearing the gizmo for at least 10 hours a day to encourage healing, I should be good to go within six weeks, and say goodbye to those dreaded crutches.

Let me digress for a moment to say that most people are surprised to learn that there's a non-denominational Bible study group that meets with the Senate chaplain a little after noon on most Thursdays when we're in session.

There, in Room S-219, just 60 feet from the Senate Chamber and a hundred yards from the attending physician's office, a small group of Democrat and Republican senators meet weekly for 30 to 45 minutes. Our chaplain, Barry Black, is a retired rear admiral and former chief of chaplains of the Navy. He conducts something like an adult Bible school class. We read the Scripture and pray together. And we just talk with one another.

For the last several weeks, the theme of our lessons has been the blessing of unanswered prayer. That is, not getting what we ask God for, but in the end getting something even more valuable to us. As I sat in the den of our home this past weekend, with my big old foot propped up on a stack of pillows and my trusty crutches by my side, I've had a chance to reflect on my own unanswered prayers of the last few weeks. I initially had hoped to run a great time in the half-marathon. Then, after playing in the volleyball tournament, I prayed that my foot wasn't hurt. Later, after running 13.1 miles, I prayed that it wasn't broken. Still later, when he fracture was diagnosed, I prayed that by some miracle, it would heal if I simply wore an orthopedic boot and stayed off of my feet for a while. None of those prayers were answered, at least not in the way that I hoped they would be answered.

Having said that, I feel remarkably upbeat today about the predicament in which I find myself. Dr. Newcomb tells me that I'll be able to ease back into my workouts with weights in a week or so at the "Y," and not long after that, I can ease back into a little cardio there, too. Within a month, I may be able to lay my crutches aside and use a walking boot for a week or two before putting on my regular shoes again. God willing, I'll even be able to start running later this spring and should be ready for my 26th Caesar Rodney Half-Marathon next March.

But far more important than all that, I've learned, or relearned, some valuable lessons. I've been reminded over the past three weeks of how fortunate I have been to be blessed with good health for all of my adult life. And speaking of blessings, for the last three weeks, I've been surrounded almost non-stop and lifted up by the kindness and good wishes of hundreds of people, maybe thousands of them — family and friends, colleagues and staff members, fellow Amtrak commuters, constituents, perfect strangers and many more.

I've also been reminded of how fortunate I am to have access to good health care and of the need to work harder to ensure that everyone in this country does as well. I've had a hint of what it's like to be disabled and to have to face life and all of its challenges with one hand or leg figuratively tied behind one's back. And finally, when I think of the annoyance or inconvenience of hobbling around on crutches for the next month or so, I'm reminded of the soldiers and Marines, recently returned from Iraq, whom I visit from time to time at Bethesda Naval Hospital. Some of them have come home without their eyesight, their hearing, or an arm or a leg, yet they somehow manage to keep their heads up and remain upbeat about their futures. Who am I to complain about a month or two on crutches?

And speaking of soldiers, one of them — whose name we don't even know -— wrote the following about unanswered prayers a number of years ago. Chaplain Black shared it with us recently and when I read it now, I do so with a clarity and insight that was missing earlier. That prayer goes something like this.

"I asked for strength that I might achieve; I was made weak that I might learn humbly how to obey.
I asked for health that I might do great things; I was given infirmity that I might do better things.
I asked for riches that I might be happy; I was given poverty that I might be wise.
I asked for power that I might have the praise of men; I was given weakness that I might feel the need of God.
I asked for all things that I might enjoy life; I was given life that I might enjoy all things.
I got nothing that I asked for, but everything that I had hoped for.
Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered. I am, among all men, most richly blessed."

And to that, I can only add, "Amen."

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