This is my father’s story, as he told it to me.
Soon after my family and I arrived in crisis-torn Haiti in 1992, I contracted dengue. Indeed, Dengue lived up to its name of “break-bone fever”—my bones throbbed with severe pain. I had a high fever, and it left me covered in a hot, red rash. After I recovered from dengue, I developed a lump the size of half a grapefruit on the back, left side of my neck.
I went to a local doctor, who, unable to diagnose the problem, sent me to the United States for an evaluation. The U.S. doctors were concerned that it was Hodgkin’s lymphoma. To be sure, they needed to take a biopsy and send it to pathology. It would be at least a couple of weeks before they could schedule me for surgery, they said.
But I couldn’t wait that long—I described how Haiti was a strange new country for my family—it was poor and dangerous—and I was not inclined to leave them alone under the current situation. Services such as trash pickup and electricity were shut down—it was very, very bad. This was all to oust Joseph Cédras and to reinstall Jean-Bertrand Aristide after the 1991 military coup. I pleaded with them to schedule an appointment sooner.
The oncology doctor was aware of the risky situation in Haiti, and he thought about my predicament. He then said the following words, which I’ll never forget: “Well, if you have the moxie, we can do the operation right here in my office with a local anesthetic. I’m teaching a young intern and want to show him the procedure.” I immediately consented.
It was a tough and messy operation and agonizingly painful. “Forget the moxie!” I thought to myself. Finally, they sewed me up, and I took a taxi to my hotel.
When I returned to Haiti and waited for the results, my brother Nick, a Catholic priest, suggested I have my throat blessed on St. Blaise’s Day at Sacre Coeur Cathedral. I was still carrying around the grapefruit-sized lump on my neck—but now it had a tube coming out of it that drained blood into a bag—an effort to diminish its size.
Three weeks later, the blood stopped filling the bag, but the lump hadn’t decreased in size. Finally, the diagnosis arrived—the good news was that it wasn’t Hodgkin’s lymphoma—the bad news was that they still didn’t know what it was.
I decided to have my throat blessed, as my brother suggested. The blessing typically only happens on St. Blaise’s Day (Feb.3) but at his request, the Oblate of Mary Immaculate made an exception, given the urgency of my situation. The priest joined two lit candles with a red ribbon, crossed them over my neck, and prayed for St. Blaise’s intercession.
Within a month, the lump on my neck completely disappeared—and we finally felt like we could move on with our lives. The relief I felt was tremendous!
Some years later the lump reappeared, but with treatment, blessings, and prayers, it again receded.
I am happy to say the problem hasn’t recurred since. I am now 72 years old, but just like when I was released from capture by the Viet Cong during the Vietnam War at age 20, I say I am actually only 52 years old because I was reborn the day they let me live.
I remain a big fan of St. Blaise. A second chance at life makes every day a gift from God.
