I was the second of two children, joining a military family that began with my father enlisting with the United States Air Force in 1948. He met and married my mother in 1950. Born and raised in Germany, she had spent time during WWII in the Luftwaffe (German Air Force). So, you could say I was raised in a military family on steroids.
I grew up on numerous bases in the United States and spent several years at a base in Seville, Spain, where my passion for history and travel began with annual month-long road trips traveling throughout Europe.
In 1984 the Navy and I parted ways and I joined Bechtel Power Corporation with a home office in San Francisco, California, working for their nuclear division. Bechtel eventually transferred me to a nuclear power plant that was under construction near Reading, Pennsylvania where I met my wife, Lorri.
Life was good.
Game Changer. Pancreatic Cancer (“The Beast”) came knocking at the door. Ask anyone who has received a cancer diagnosis and they will surely be able to tell you the day, date, and quite possibly the time the news was delivered. My Pearl Harbor Day? December 19, 2013.
Other than a wicked scar on my abdomen and neuropathy on areas of my feet and toes, I have no other residual side effects from my treatment and have resumed normal activities. Unlike most post-Whipple patients, I have no digestive issues and do not need to take Creon with meals. Score one for the team.