Sunday Morning Coffee — August 16, 2026 — Waiting for a Call From Heaven
By Roy Berger, Las Vegas, NV
It’s been eight years and change and this retirement thing has been going quite well thank you. However, the one thing nobody mentioned anything to me about was retirement’s inseparable partner—aging.
All of a sudden, you wake up one morning and realize you have more doctors in your personal bullpen than unopened cans of Campbells soup stacked in the pantry. And the cans keep piling up in tandem with the heath care provider list that keeps expanding.
Now that I’m in the know and a seasoned vet, the first piece of advice I would give to anyone contemplating retirement would be even though you don’t plan on doing anything or going anywhere in your new life of leisure: if you lease a car, get the maximum number of miles allowed. Doctors’ visits and pharmacy pick-ups are leased car mileage killers for seniors.
Three weeks ago, I added a new one to my roster. My very first pulmonologist. And during our initial meeting, after analyzing some scan results, almost as if he just wanted to see if I was paying attention, he told me, “You’ll get a call from Heaven in a couple of days.” But he was serious.
What? Whoa! Slow down, Doc. I have things to do yet. I’ve never been to the Rock ‘N Roll Hall of Fame. I want to see at least one hockey game in Montreal and Toronto before the big Zamboni in the sky comes knocking. I’ve never been to Maine, the Dakotas or Montana. A planned week at a dude ranch next summer seems like a good way to take Montana off the list. I want to write one more book— about being an Uber driver for a year in Las Vegas, but I have one roadblock I can’t get past. Her name is Andi. I really don’t desire being an Uber driver but do want to write that book; so far it’s a no go. In December, even though I said twice before I would never do it again, I want to play Pirates baseball with the old codgers in Florida. A May cruise to China, Japan and South Korea and a riverboat journey to Cambodia and Vietnam still to do.
As the old saying goes, ‘If you want to make God laugh, tell him your future plans.’ Well on August 7, 2038, I plan to be called to read from the Torah at granddaughter Harley’s bat mitzvah. I’ll only be 86, but it’s still probably an under play. And for my finale, I want to be around long enough to see the Jets win the Super Bowl. Okay, I can hear God cracking up at that one.
My mom died in 2014. For the next four years of my dad’s life, his days were spent going to doctors’ appointments. Whether or not he needed to. As long as Medicare covered it, Monday through Friday found Dad on the medical circuit. It was more social and an activity that kept him on the go and gave him stories to tell, especially about finding great parking spots. On weekends, when the docs were playing golf, he was bored and complained about how much mileage he was putting on the Kia and how often he filled the tank. Little did I know, one day a few years later, I’d understand.
Since moving to Vegas in the fall of ‘18, I have accumulated quite the medical provider Rolodex that would have made Dad proud. On speed dial I have my concierge doc; a podiatrist; an ortho; from the eye department— an optometrist, ophthalmologist and reconstructive eye surgeon, all called into action for a partially severed lower eye lid five years ago; let’s not forget the always important urologist; a gastroenterologist; a dermatologist; an endodontist to do the dentists heavy lifting ; a hematologist and the much valued cardiologist that every heart patient needs to keep within voice recognition reach. There’s a bunch of you who know exactly what I’m talking about and any who might think I’m just exaggerating, well you just wait.
The eye opener, no ophthalmological pun intended, was two weeks ago when I added the aforementioned pulmonologist to my personal all-star team. During what I hoped would be a routine chest scan ordered by Dr. Marc Kahn, my very first hematologist, my white blood cell count was higher than Willie Nelson so Dr. Kahn recommended a chest and stomach scan. Well, turns out there was a nodule about the size of a Cheerio hanging out in my right lung. Not what you really want to hear.
Say hello to Dr. Arthur Romero, who I hoped was a pulmonologist extraordinaire. Dr. Romero said while it’s probably not cancerous, he gave it a 30% chance, it was still too large to ignore. At that point, in breakfast cereal speak, I was relieved it was only a Cheerio and not a Froot Loop. Doc said my options were to watch it for six months to see if it grows, or biopsy it. He barely got the ‘sy’ out of biopsy before Andi blurted, “That’s what we will do!” Whoa woman, slow down. It’s my lung you’re volunteering.
Well, you know the rest of the story. Like being told I can’t drive an Uber, I lost that one too. The specifics of a lung biopsy needed to be explained to me. After my 2017 Cinco de bypass, I am done with chest openings and scars. These days a tissue sample can be obtained down the throat, robotically, with a bronchoscopy. I can’t even pronounce the word but as long as it wasn’t through my chest, sign me up.
I asked Dr. Romero how long can we wait? I was looking at maybe second quarter of 2028. He said let’s get it done within the next couple of weeks. Okay doc, what happens next? He said in a day or two I’ll get a call from Heaven.
Excuse me? Of all the occupations a baby named Heaven can grow up to be, I found the one who’s a surgery scheduler. Really?
Well, in 74 years I did my very best to avoid that phone call from heaven. Now to get it over with I waited impatiently for this Heaven to indeed call.
Two days later, she finally did. In my pre-op meeting the surgical staff explained that during my CT scan the X-rays produced a 3D GPS roadmap of my lungs. A personalized flash drive tells the robot where to go, what to look for and how to find adequate samples. Dr. Romero becomes the quarterback guiding my new robotic friend on its mission. It’s ground control to Major Tom.
Reporting at 5:30 AM twelve days ago and then waiting two hours on a prep gurney at Vegas’ University Medical Center has the mind going in a million directions. The one thought I couldn’t get rid of was, with the incredible advancement of medical technology over the decades why, if a robot can do this procedure, can’t someone invent an MRI machine that doesn’t sound like a 1965 Studebaker on its last leg? Two hours later, at 7:30 sharp, the doors to the surgery center swung open. About a dozen patients, assigned to specific surgery rooms, start their engines with surgical nurses wheeling the respective beds off the starting line hoping to be the first through the doorway creating a jam like the third turn at Talladega. There were multiple gurney fender benders. Once we negotiated our way through and approached OR #10, I hoped Mr. Robot got a good night’s sleep. Dr. Romero, too.
The OR had about a half dozen professionals already in the room when I got there. When Dr. Romero walked in all the chatter stopped like a junior high school principal entering the lunchroom. The nurse-anesthetist asked if I was ready. Do they ask firing squad candidates the same? He said count backwards from ten. I don’t think I got to eight. I love that stuff. Wish they sold it in the hospital gift shop.
Ninety minutes later I’m headed to recovery. Dr. Romero said the robot did its job. Sample procured and sent to pathology. Full detailed report in about a week.
Home by eleven and groggy the rest of the day. Dozing in and out. Midafternoon Andi’s phone rings, she puts it on speaker and walks briskly to me so I can hear. There’s a nurse on the line. She tells Andi, “All the results looked good except for the elevated liver enzymes which is not uncommon to see in seniors.” That got my attention. Then the nurse added, “Keep him on Rimadyl.” Rimadyl? I take a lot of prescription meds, in fact more than they stock on the shelves of Walgreens, but Rimadyl isn’t one of them. Andi starts laughing. Oh, aren’t you the merry-widow-to-be. Deuce, our nine-year-old senior chow, takes Rimadyl and his enzymes were elevated. The nurse turned out to be Deuce’s vet. And for you hardcore fans of the old Honeymooners, I was greatly relieved the diagnosis wasn’t arterial monochromia and the dreaded purple tongue.
Well, that very long week waiting for the full pathology report ended this past Wednesday. Not wanting to sit around waiting, I played in my senior golf event in the morning. I saw the pathology email arrive but ignored it. I kept playing hoping that at the very least heaven can wait. A bit anxious, I tried not to think about it and shot a two-over 37 on the back. Best I’ve ever done. I won my bracket and the oversized check for $46 that went with it. Miracles on the golf course do happen; I was hoping for the same when I opened the pathology brief.
I gently tapped on the email from the lab. The diagnoses was a ‘pulmonary hamartoma’ which sounds just as potentially dreadful as arterial monochromia. ChatGPT help me! I am now the proud bearer of a benign lung tumor. The Cheerio on my lung is made up of an abnormal mixture of normal tissues such as cartilage, fat, connective tissue and smooth muscle. In other words, it’s a lung bouillabaisse. Whew!
A few minutes later Dr. Romero phoned. He started the call with, “I have good news and more good news.” He told me it is benign and no immediate attention, nor further treatment, needs to be paid to it. That’s just wonderful Doc. He hung up before I could tell him about my back nine.
So that’s a Whew! A really a big Whew! In fact, a gigantic one. Now I can get on with the aging program. Start stretching for December baseball camp; figure out a plan to get to Maine, the Dakotas and Montana; continue lobbing Andi for that Uber license and of course find more doctors to visit.
And as for you Heaven, thanks for the wake-up call. Me and Dr. Romero got it from here.
I’m proud that Medjet is sponsoring Sunday Morning Coffee. I spent 20 wonderful years with Medjet in Birmingham, Alabama, and can tell you unequivocally they are the standard-bearer for medical assistance membership programs. A talented staff, who cares about its members, is at the forefront of the company’s success. Whether you are traveling for business or pleasure, domestic or international, a Medjet membership should be an important part of your travel portfolio before you leave home. Check out the Medjet website at medjet.com or just tap on the Medjet logo and you’ll be able to get a look at Medjet’s services, rules and regulations, pricing, and an overview of the organization. And remember, any opinions expressed in Sunday Morning Coffee content or comments belong to the author and not the sponsor. Safe travels with your Medjet membership! — Roy Berger