After three years. I am grateful to God, Our Lady

Three years ago next Monday, I was told by a stranger inside a CAT Scan room at St. Thomas Hospital in Nashville that my stubborn case of pneumonia was actually leukemia -- blood cancer.

I had noticed after returning from Washington and interviewing then AG Alberto Gonzales that I could not walk as briskly as before. That was the beginning.

For a man of 47, it was supposed to be a death sentence to have leukemia with two of the three worst characteristics for the disease. And over 12 days inside Vanderbilt Medical Center in June and July of 2006, I almost died from a simple infection.

But for some reason, I survived.

Now I know that fact disappointed some folks, Gov. Bredesen, Tennessean management and folks on the political extremes left and right locally.

It was of course due to the intercession of Our Lady of Guadalupe and St. Perregrine that I lived; not by my prayers but those of good people such as my mother, my aunts, my cousin and my godson. God is sovereign.

I still take chemo, get chemo and those wonderful spinal taps. But the pain is nothing compared to the suffering I have encountered inside Vanderbilt in the chemo clinics and in the little red wagons that transport children with leukemia from tests to treatment. What heroes!

And heroics also are on display from doctors, nurses and staff at Vandy. The kindness that has been offered me has mattered the most. When you are dying, it is the most valuable currency -- not money, title or celebrity.

While I am grateful to still be alive, the price demanded for my arrogance and drifting away from God has rightly been high the past three years.

I was going to move my mother to Tennessee to live with me and make the rounds of speeches I'd give to political groups. I wanted her to get up and speak after me and tell everyone I was full of shit. But I got sick. And the guilt I feel over not being able to bring her here is relentless. And she went and broke my heart and went to heaven last June.

I lost my columnist job at The Tennessean, despite writing my column from my hospital bed.

I lost my devoted cat of 18 years who was uncannily aware of every moment I was down. He'd come over and purr and rub and give me nosies.

I lost a spot on Post-Dispatch editorial board after falling and splintering my left elbow in my driveway due to a lack of balance induced by all the chemo my body has taken. Over my surgery and hospitalization, the job was given to someone else.

I lost my marriage, at my choice, because kindness left it.

So I am humbled and broken, and deservedly so. But it is only in brokenness that God can communicate to you. And God speaks to me most readily now, along with Our Lady. I feel their guiding hands. I am so blessed.

There are many more people to feel sorry for than me. I walk among them now on the streets of Nashville. I am not in their situation. But God has blessed me to walk among them and to recognize them as human beings.

I feel most grieved for my colleagues at The Tennessean who were most recently laid off three weeks before Christmas. I wish I could address their pain and shame. Yes, it is shameful to lose one's job. I know first-hand.

For those of you hurting out there, you are not alone. Despite all I have lost, I still feel most blessed. God and Our Lady are with me, now particularly as I hurt.

There is a balm in Gilead that makes the wounded whole.