The Alligator Wrestler's 52-Week Devotional Guide: A Leukemia Survivor's Reflections on Life, With Bittersweet Memories, Biblical Insight and a Healthy Dose of Dry Humor

By Curt Ghormley

A year past the diagnosis of AML (Acute Myeloid Leukemia), Curt Ghormley has done it again. This time his book is a set of weekly devotional meditations drawn from childhood, career and family. Together, they form a richly entertaining tapestry of God's faithfulness in the life of a cancer survivor.

Unashamedly Biblical, each b

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alligator Publishing LLC
• Release date: Nov 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987588468

Curt Ghormley

Curt Ghormley lives with his wife Lynn in Benton, Kansas, a small town outside Wichita. He holds a Bachelor of Arts degree from the University of Kansas and an MBA from Wichita State University. In 2022, Curt's world was turned upside down with an unexpected diagnosis of Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML), a fast-moving cancer that kills 12,000 Americans each year. Doctors also identified a rare genetic mutation of white blood cells, the dreaded FLT-3 variant, that reduces the five-year chance of survival to less than 15 percent. Curt spent 83 days in the hospital with multiple life-threatening complications, but still managed to post a social media journal update every day, except for his time in the Intensive Care Unit.After retiring from a successful career as a communications technology sales manager with a Fortune 500 company, he was suddenly plunged into the fight of his life. By God's grace, he has survived it - so far - with his trademark optimism, resiliency, and humor.Curt and Lynn have two sons. Both boys completed college degrees and served stints in the U.S. Army, spending some harrowing time down-range in distant dusty places, and thankfully coming back in one piece. They are both married and gainfully employed in the private sector. There are three grandchildren. Curt's hobbies are reading, woodworking, welding, four-wheeling, shooting, and playing the tuba.Learn more about him at www.alligatorpublishing.com.

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Copyright © 2023 Curt Ghormley

All rights reserved.

ISBN (eBook): 979-8-9875884-6-8

Original cover art The Big Leuk by C.S. Fritz.

Author photo by Tony Weber.

For my wife

Introduction

I never asked for any of this; it comes out the way it comes out.

The first day I was diagnosed with AML (Acute Myeloid Leukemia) in June 2022, I read the little paperback informational guide they give you in the hospital. You and Your Leukemia, or some such. It said I had a 25% chance of living 5 years past the diagnosis.

Okay, so that’s my new reality. Mark the calendar.

And now, I’ll come clean: This book is not about alligator wrestling.

When I was confronted with cancer and spent three months in the hospital, lurching from boredom to discomfort to the edge of terror, alligator wrestling seemed an appropriate metaphor.

Alligator Wrestling: Unexpected, unplanned, unpredictable, unfamiliar, terrifying, no rules, unlikely to end well.

Settling into the room in the hospital, I didn’t feel sick, no worse than I had for the last month. All the smart people, however, seemed to think this was serious enough to confine me to an expensive bed in a private room.

At least the nurses were nice, and young and pretty. The air conditioning worked, and the food wasn’t bad. I’ve had worse gigs.

Once I got hold of a laptop, I researched the unusual variant of my cancer the doctor claimed I had. FLT-3, he called it. I still don’t know what the letters stand for, and I probably couldn’t pronounce the words anyway, but I found that it further reduced my chances of 5-year survival by another 10-15%.

That put me in the 12% range. At this writing, I’m already 18 months into the promised 5 years. Sounds dismal, doesn’t it?

However, as I learned more, I learned that the medical community really hasn’t learned much about FLT-3. There are no long-term studies. It’s too new.

Meanwhile, I am operating on the assumption that I’ll be here another 20 years or so. Moses claimed that a man’s life is 70 years, sometimes 80 (Psalm 90:10).

It comes out the way it comes out.

So... what to do in the meantime?

This medical development has given me the opportunity to reflect on where I’ve been for the last 60+ years. It’s not like my life has flashed before my eyes, but it has occurred to me that each tiny episode of daily life has its own jewel of truth embedded.

Sometimes, those jewels are pretty well hidden under broken alternators, blown transmissions and less-than-intelligent choices. Taken together, however, I can see the hand of God at work. And it could be that He’s not quite done yet.

Furthermore, He appears to have a sense of humor.

This is not a particularly spiritual book—I have trouble staying that serious for long periods—but I have tried to bring a heavenly perspective to life on this planet.

My previous book describes my 83-day ordeal in the hospital: Alligator Wrestling in the Cancer Ward: How a Christian Tough-Guy Survived Leukemia with Gallows Humor, One-Liners and a Prayng Posse.

Riveting stuff. You can find it in paperback, eBook and audiobook versions wherever books are sold. Get a signed copy from my website www.alligatorpublishing.com.

Better hurry, because you never know when I will quit signing them.

In the present book offering, I have only cheated a little bit. There are a few chapters here that are excerpts from that longer book. I included them because they seem to fit with my vibe, and I think you’ll find them entertaining even if you’ve read them before.

In this work, I have made extensive reference to my wife of many decades, Lynn, who has been by my side throughout this ordeal and remains so. For better or for worse: That’s what she was offered, and that’s the promise she made, and that’s where she is. And that’s that.

Frankly, she would rather be flyfishing... but it comes out the way it comes out.

My sincere hope and prayer is that you find The Alligator Wrestler’s 52-Week Devotional Guide insightful, entertaining, useful and, to some extent, inspiring. I urge you to make your own notes on the pages provided.

Scripture passages herein, unless otherwise noted, are from the New International Version of the Bible as found at www.biblehub.com.

Write and tell me what you think of the Guide. Find me at www.alligatorpublishing.com.

Who knows? I may still be here.

Curt Ghormley

Benton, Kansas

November, 2023

AS I RECALL: SHORT DEVOTIONALS FROM A LONG CAREER

ONE

Essential Repair Parts: Vienna Sausages (1 Samuel 21:8-9)

It may not sound all that romantic, but Lynn and I have fallen into a habit of taking separate vacations together. She flyfishes while I read books. We both like the outdoors regardless of the weather, although hot and dry is not to our taste. Flyfishing means trout, and trout means cold water; a Kansas address and a modest budget preclude epic destinations like Alaska, Montana and Vermont, but we have managed all three over the years.

Colorado is thus a favorite destination. Once we became empty nesters, we ventured a few times to the high country for autumn vacations while children were blissfully away at college. A pair of All Terrain Vehicles (ATV) followed us on a trailer. We would deposit Lynn at a fishing destination, and I would take an ATV, tent and briefcase of books to a primitive campsite on a remote jeep trail. We would meet up again in a few days, report on our adventures, spend a day hiking or fishing or four-wheeling and then return home.

We targeted Colorado State Park one year, on advice from friends, and found it pleasantly uninhabited in late summer. Jeep trails were available, so we unloaded the Arctic Cats, stocked the rack boxes with raingear, emergency supplies and food, and set off for a day of gentle and scenic mountain forest exploration.

It lasted two hours, until a shock absorber on Lynn’s machine broke loose and dragged the ground.

We found a wide spot with level ground and pleasing scenery and made it a place to examine the bike and ascertain the difficulty. We were very remote, with not a chance of outside assistance. And anyway, what help could be expected? The ATV would not drive far over rough roads, listing substantially to starboard, dragging the right rear wheel.

Abandoning it was not an option.

Leave no trace, and all that.

That 2005 model 250 Arctic Cat had four-wheel independent suspension, meaning that each wheel had its own shock absorber and mounting assembly, allowing the tire to flex up and down over rough surfaces. This makes for a smoother ride than a solid rear axle, which is preferred for working machines where operator comfort is sacrificed for rugged stability. Rough jeep trails, strewn with rocks the size of microwave ovens, are much more pleasant on a bike with independent suspension.

In this case, the lower end of the shock absorber (a telescoping steel tube two inches in diameter and a foot long), is anchored with an integrated steel loop that slides over a threaded stud (like the end of a bolt) on the frame. It is held in place by a single large washer and secured by a nut on the stud.

On Lynn’s bike, the cheap cast aluminum washer had shattered, and the shock absorber’s mounting loop had slid backward off the stud and over the nut. The frame had settled down onto the tire and the forlorn shock absorber was dragging in the dirt.

I needed a large metal washer, one-and-a-half inches in diameter, with a relatively tiny 3/8-inch hole in the center.

I usually did not carry one of those with me.

Lynn read a book; I opened a bottle of water, rummaged in the rack box for the trail mix, munched slowly, and thought about it.

About 7th grade, I read The Raft (Naval Institute Press 1942, Robert Trumbull) about three U.S. Navy aviators adrift in the Pacific for 34 days during World War II. The first order of business, after inflating the tiny rubber boat (manually, by taking turns blowing into the air tube while floating in the open ocean in life jackets, because the CO2 inflator failed) was to inventory their assets. A pair of pliers, emergency rations for one day, compass, one pair of sandals, the clothes they wore, a rubber poncho of some type… I don’t remember the list, but it was quite short.

In the forest, I inventoried my assets. Small vinyl pouch with minimal tools: Pliers, screwdriver, a few sockets, assorted end wrenches, cable ties, spark plug wrench; rain gear, matches, tinder, candle, band aids, Ibuprofen, tow strap, flashlight, bear spray, assorted food stuffs.

Including a can of Vienna Sausages.

Tiny round can. Pop-top lid, two inches in diameter. Soft metal. I gazed at the trees and sky and tried to think outside the box. How do you drill a 3/8-inch-round hole in a piece of aluminum with no drill?

At length I realized the hole does not have to be round. It is possible to put a round peg in a square hole if the relative sizes will accommodate. I opened the Vienna Sausages, taking care not to damage the lid, ate the sausages and drank the liquid.

This was bear country, after all. I didn’t need visitors.

Using a convenient log as a workbench, I punched a square hole in the lid with the flat-blade screwdriver, using the pliers as a hammer. Twisting off and discarding the pop-top pull ring, the edges of the lid were turned over and crimped flat with the pliers, making the circle into a square and adding strength to the new washer, gleaming dully in the morning sunlight, with a trace of sausage juice still visible.

While I horsed the corner of the bike up off the ground, Lynn slid the shock absorber’s loop and the new washer over the stud, then threaded the retaining nut on to hold the assembly. I tightened the nut with the socket wrench.

We were on our way once more. And yes, once at home I actually did replace the can lid with a manufactured washer, and stashed an extra in the emergency kit.

Theological Contemplations

1 Samuel 21:8-9 David asked Ahimelek, Don’t you have a spear or a sword here? I haven’t brought my sword or any other weapon, because the king’s mission was urgent. The priest replied, The sword of Goliath the Philistine, whom you killed in the Valley of Elah, is here; it is wrapped in a cloth behind the ephod. If you want it, take it; there is no sword here but that one. David said, There is none like it; give it to me.

Before King David was King David, he found himself pursued by Saul, the current king who recognized the younger man was destined to be his successor. Saul, adopting the worldview of the time, saw David as a rival and therefore sought his life.

Fleeing from the wrathful king in haste, the unarmed David came upon the priest Ahimelech, serving at his facility, and asked whether he had weapons to loan. The only asset available was the one stored for an artifact: Goliath’s sword, which David himself had liberated years before when the giant had fallen before his stone launched from a sling. The sword was not ideal, being fit for a man half again the size of David, but it would have to do. David accepted it.

In the extremity, David used what he had. The Bible does not record whether he ever used it in a confrontation, but in that time and place it was certainly a comfort.

As one surveys the Bible narrative, both Old and New Testaments, it becomes clear that God uses people as His instruments, some better known than others: Abraham, Samson, Jephthah, Moses, David, Jonah; Peter, Paul, John Mark, Euodia, Syntyche.

What God needs is a people with clear devotion, clean living and unspotted reputation.

What He has, is us.

By His mercy and through His Spirit, even we can be used for His glory.

An Alligator Reflects

How does this episode challenge you?

What lesson do you draw from this?

What will you do this week as a result of this story?

What prayer can you offer?

Two

Parallel Correction Lines (Psalm 103:12)

During a 36-year stint with a Fortune 500 communications technology company, I managed to back myself into a position as a regional sales manager selling emergency services to local and state governments. It was an easy way to make large wake-up headlines if one of our products malfunctioned (like delivering incorrect data on a live 9-1-1 call, or providing call routing information that sent the call to the wrong police answering station). Most of my peers thought I was nuts to take this job, and they may have had a point.

In the early 1990s, due to technological advances and regulatory changes in the telephone industry, most county governments across my territory (Kansas to Texas, plus Missouri to Louisiana) developed rural addressing. It is tough for an ambulance to find Route 3, Box 12, but something like 12861 SW 30th Road is a snap. Consider that many ambulance drivers are not long-term county residents; many are second wage-earners in the family who have made the EMT certification but didn’t go to high school there, and thus have no idea where the unmapped Whiskey Pass, or Beer Belly Road might be.

I learned a whole new discipline of rural mapping: Cardinal directions, odd/even addressing schemes, physical lot frontages, 3-mile limits, and many other arcane concepts. The Parallel Correction Line was my favorite.

One day I found myself with my co-worker on customer calls in Texas. He insisted we use ground transportation to travel from western Texas to Shreveport, our next appointment, a mere 8-hour drive in a rented Crown Vic. On a rural highway in the flatlands, traveling south to north, with wide visibility and a 360° view of no terrain of any interest whatsoever, I negotiated a wide, gentle turn which took us 1/8 mile to the right, then straightened out north again. There was no obvious reason for the swerve in the road.

You know what that was, don’t you? I asked.

What?

A Parallel Correction Line.

He turned to look at me from the passenger seat. What are you talking about?

That curve we just went through. Didn’t you notice it?

Sure. It was just a curve. Every highway’s got ‘em.

Of course, they do. But why that one? And why there? I gestured to the landscape. There’s no river, no gully, no mountain, no ranch headquarters, no Catholic Monastery, no reason at all to move the highway over.

He thought this over. But I’ve seen the same thing in other highways. He looked at me again. So why do you call it a Parallelo Gizmo?

Parallel Correction Line, I corrected. Okay, look, I said. As you move north on the earth’s surface from the equator to the North Pole, the meridians get closer together, right? It’s on every globe you’ve seen. They have to get closer together, so they all meet at the same point.

Yeah, just under the North Star? So?

But when a farmer in south Texas buys a square mile of land, he expects to get 640 acres, and he also expects every acre to be exactly the same size as an acre of farmland his brother might buy in North Dakota. But if the meridians get closer together the farther north you go, you either have to make the miles shorter and acres smaller—which no one will accept—or you have to have fewer miles and fewer acres between the meridians.

Maybe I see the problem, he said. But this sounds like arithmetic. Is this arithmetic?

I shook my head. Don’t worry, if the County Engineer can figure it out, you can probably follow it.

Good point, he agreed. But what’s that got to do with the curvy road?

As you travel south to north in the U.S., I said, every 15 miles there is a change. Every 8 miles of east-west becomes 7 miles of east-west. The highways, and the county gravel roads and everything else, get closer together, and of course, some roads are simply dead-ended because they are no longer needed. This allows a mile to remain a mile and an acre to remain an acre.

He furrowed his brow and thought about it. So that has to happen in every county, every 15 miles?

"Exactly. You can find it on most maps, if there is sufficient detail, and if the highway department decided to honor the scheme when they built the