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104 • S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S that he was headed to the emergency room by ambulance. He was not able to drive himself. I was frightened; Rob does not overreact to medical problems. If anything, he underreacts. For him to take this step, I knew something was terribly wrong. I made my flight arrangements and prayed. When I arrived at the hospital the next day, I saw a man, my son, in real distress. The diagnosis was acute pancreatitis. It was the first time I had heard that term, and I knew nothing about it. That would change over the next days and weeks as I learned about this horrid disease. One of Rob's doctors, after viewing a CT scan, said, "It looks like a grenade went off in his abdomen." Essentially, his pancreas had inflamed to the point of rupture. Thus began the most difficult odyssey of Rob's life. Without overstatement, our first concern was survival. There is a high mortality rate with the disease, and Rob's medical team pointed that out to us more than once. There is no pill or procedure that can fix the problem. His pancreas had to heal on its own. For that to happen, it needed total rest. This meant no food or water taken orally. All fluids and nutrition were to be given through an IV. So, the hospital would be home for several weeks, maybe longer. T he routine never actually became routine. Every day the fear and the anxiety seemed fresh and new. Drive to the hospital early in the morning. Inquire about the lab results from the previous day. Watch your only son endure constant and intense pain, subjected to test after test, indignity after indignity. Talk to doctors, nurses, physician's assistants . . . anyone who might give you a hopeful message. All the while your most fervent wish is that you could somehow change places with your son, that his suffering could be borne by you. After more than a month, some healing did occur. Rob's doctors said that he appeared to be through the worst. He needed major surgery to remove the dead tissue and infected fluids that had hunting with me at age 5 as a pick-up boy on dove shoots. He is 31 now, and the intervening years have been one blessing after another, from a deeply shared interest in virtually all varieties of hunting to a love of birds and nature in general. Of all our commonalities, though, one stands above the others: turkey hunting. We both have the affliction, and we both have it bad. Our time together in pursuit of Meleagris gallopavo has strengthened our bond and created memories that will last beyond this mortal coil. Because of how we feel about turkey hunting, because of the way we both anticipate each spring, January, February, and March are normally grand months for us. The volume of correspondence is profound. Texts, emails, phone calls— we simply cannot stop thinking about and talking about the upcoming season. But our bubble of contentment burst in 2015, changing our lives forever. I t was 4:00 pm on January 19 when I got the phone call from Rob in Missouri. He had been violently sick and in excruciating pain all day, so much so I ndeed, mine is a life truly blessed. But like Edmond Dantes, the blessings disappeared for a while. Not for 14 years in a prison cell on Chateau d'If, as was the case for Dantes after Mondego's betrayal. Rather, in 2015 when I watched my son, Rob, suffer through a catastrophic illness. For almost all of my life, I have lived in a bubble of contentment. It would be hard to deny that the breaks have gone mostly my way since birth. Parents who loved and supported me unconditionally. A wonderful wife who remains my best friend and life's love after nearly 40 years of marriage. Two caring and gifted children of whom any parent would be proud. Splendid siblings and friends. Never a financial crisis. Good health. The freedom to pursue many interests, especially hunting and the outdoors. Those are blessings not commonly given, and I have basked in their succor for more than five decades. One truly meaningful blessing has been my relationship with Rob and our connection to the outdoors. He started Completely recovered from his devastating illness, Rob Karel guided this client to a big mule deer in Colorado. Opposite: Rob totes a different mulie head and horns out of the rugged high country. Continued on page 159