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My prayers were answered

prayerWe were on a softball diamond talking about my latest health scare when the man asked if he could pray for my recovery.

I gladly said yes. I need all the help I can get.

Here is what has had me worried the last month. I was losing blood at an alarming rate and doctors could not find the source of the leak. They want my hemoglobin or blood levels to be a 13.0.

Mine had dipped to 10.2 in about six months. I was told 9.0 was a dangerous level. Two test failed to find the problem. Possible surgery or a blood transfusion loomed in the distance.

Later on that day when I was on the softball field I was supposed to get the long awaited diagnosis from my doctor. And I was supposed to take another blood test to see if my hemoglobin dipped again.

The man prayed that I’d find new healthy blood, that my body would reverse the downward trend and I would be sound again.

My hemoglobin had not returned to normal, but it increased to an 11.5 from a 10.2 in a month. That meant no surgery, no blood transfusion, no procedure where they fuse the holes in leaky blood veins.

Here is my treatment. Iron pills, blue berries, spinach and more red meat in my diet.

I guess prayers do work. Mine were answered.

When I had my stroke three years ago, I had a sleepless night where I wondered what my legacy in life was. Was I an uncaring jerk? Did I care about people? And who the hell would care about me if I did not emerge from this illness healthy?

I knew my family would care about me. And so did this guy walking off the field after his morning softball game.

People told me that they prayed for me while I was in the hospital. I felt your encouragement and it gave me hope.

 

 

 

 

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Down goes Foster: My Texas fall

dell setonAustin, Tx — The back of my left arm carries a deep plum purple bruise and doctors say part of it may turn yellow in the coming days.

Less than two hours after landing here to visit my daughter Celine I was taking a wild spill through the central Texas heat after tripping over a steel barrier near her apartment. My left arm caught the brunt of the fall and scrapped across the pavement.

It was my second spill in five weeks and this was by far the worst. During my fall, which seemed to last forever, I thought of an Eddie Murphy skit where he talks about his Aunt Bunny who falls down the stairs every time she visits the house.

She screams “Oh Jesus help me. I’m falling down the steps. Oh Lord Jesus Christ.” And Murphy makes this hilarious noise into the microphone of Aunt Bunny’s fall. I was Aunt Bunny.

The fall was so long that I had time to think of Aunt Bunny before landing with a thud.

My arm felt fine after picking myself off the pavement. I felt like a loser who was ruining the family trip. I could see the horror in my kids’ eyes as dad stumbled out of control. There was a minor burning sensation, but I was ready to go on with the rest of the day.

The family was taking a casual stroll from Celine’s apartment to Torcy’s Taco, which supposedly has some of the best Mexican food in town. I never found out. While my son Brandon and Celine enjoyed Torchy’s I was at Dell Seton Medical Center near the University of Texas receiving treatment for my arm.

By the time we reached Torchy’s my arm had swollen up so big that I looked like Popeye. Wife Abs said we needed to hit the nearest emergency room and I did not fight her. The arm looked gruesome.

Doctors took x rays of the arm and a half hour later announced there was no break. But a bunch of blood vessels may have exploded in my arm because I am on the blood thinner Plavix following a stroke almost three years ago.

I was told for the millionth time to be careful because the blood thinner causes bleeding. I thought I was being careful, but I did not see the steel barrier that was hidden along a grass line.

Five weeks earlier I found myself in an emergency room near home after falling down one stair in the house. I banged my head on the dry wall and Abs demanded that I go to the hospital.

I did not suffer any brain damage and after the purple mask disappears I should be fine after the latest spill.

I wonder how long it took Aunt Bunny to recover after her falls.

Smile. My insides are on candid camera

cropped-terry-beach1.jpgDoctors did not find the source of my internal bleeding during testing at Beaumont Hospital.

Now I must swallow a camera with flash drive. I am not making that up.

The good news is I am cancer free and do not have an ulcer. Doctors did say I have a minor sinus condition, which I can live with. However, after probing my body they could not find the source of why my blood levels are low.

Ideally, you want your hemoglobin at a 13.0. Mine is at 10.2. So what’s going on? That has not been determined yet, but whatever is wrong is at an early stage. So there is no reason to be concerned yet.

Now all I have to do is swallow a camera.

Modern medicine has taken great strides. The camera and flash drive are loaded in a capsule about the size of a large pill. The problem is not in my stomach or colon. Doctor suspect there is a tear in my intestines.

Once the camera reaches that area it will take a photo every 30 seconds until the problem is found. In the mean time I am taking iron pills and eating more spinach, beans and red meat.

The lesson here is to keep checking in with your doctor. Know your numbers. If I didn’t know what was going on I’d live a pain free life until this condition grew serious. Then I would suffer horrific stomach cramps, begin bleeding externally and then require a trip to the hospital perhaps for surgery.

Now I must swallow a camera, get the results, and begin painless treatments.

I like this way better.

** Detroit businessman Dan Gilbert must undergo physical therapy after suffering a stroke. Some speculated that the therapy means the stroke was so severe he cannot walk.

That is not necessarily true. I could walk after my stroke but still went through two months of physical therapy so that I could walk better and with more confidence. My issue was that I did not have confidence in my balance and thought I was going to fall during walks.

Doctors at Henry Ford Hospital said my mind was playing tricks with my body and we needed to get the two in sync. We finally did although I did fall down the steps about a week ago. I guess I am still not perfect. I may never be.

 

 

 

Sexual harassment in dressing room

One of the low points of my journalism career came early in my career.

I was a fresh face 25-year-old at the Detroit Free Press covering minor league baseball for the paper.

Do you know what I did?

Nothing. And that’s the problem.

I was inside the Toledo Mud Hens dressing room at the Lucas County Fair grounds where the Mud Hens played. A female reporter from Syracuse came into the dressing room before a game and I was immediately told by one of the players that she was a bitch and deserved what was coming to her.

I nodded my head and watched the juvenile behavior of one of the players.

He followed her around flipping his penis at her as the entire dressing room broke out in laughter. I laughed too but later regretted it.

I was too afraid to say something and I bought too easily into the “she deserved what she was about to get” story. She was professional and moved from player to player trying to get her story.

She ignored the player who was moving his hips in a sexual manner, trying to get her attention and the attention of the boys in the room. Women put up with more crap than their male counter parts in our business and this woman was being laughed at and was called names I would not call my worst enemy.

The boys were having a grand ol’ time at her expense. I’d like to think I would handle the situation different later in my career. I challenged players that made fun of reporters because of their youth, sex, race and the way they asked questions.

This time I lacked the courage to do something. I figured they were not bothering me and let me inside of their little joke so I had nothing to worry about. It was the wrong attitude to have and I learned that over the years.

This player pretended to masturbate behind this woman before he shrugged and went back to his dressing stall to prepare for the game.

The room laughed and roared but the real winner was the female reporter who never let on that she knew what was going on and eventually got her story.

It would take a while but I felt like a real loser. I laughed too but worst of all I let it happen and kept my mouth shut.

 

 

 

 

Click our donation bar

I need your help.

I launched a new podcast this week and I am asking that you all chip in for a good cause and chip in so I can pay the people who are helping me. I have a donation bar on TerryFoster.blog where you can contribute to the cause and down load the podcast.

If the podcast and blogs are worth it to you then toss a few bucks into the pot through the Pay Pal app that is set up on my web page. I also want to help out my pal Melissa who saves animals and is trying to help inner city kids at the Devoted Barn. She has a big heart and wants to save the world one kid at a time, but could use our help.

 

 

 

 

My new podcast is up and running

If you have a mouth on you and enjoy talking you might be hearing from me.

I just launched the Terry Foster’s boombaye podcast and I am asking for a little help from my friends to keep it going. My health is improving daily and I thought now was the time to get into podcasting. My younger friends say it is the wave of the future and I received a friendly shove from Drew Lane from the old WRIF Show Drew and Mike who thought it would be a good idea for me to make this my next business endeavor.

We are also working to cross promote because Drew is the king of podcasting.

I bit and launched the podcast this week and I hope you take a listen and help it grow. After my stroke last  year I do not believe I am ready for four hours of daily radio. However, I still have things I want to get off my chest in and outside the world of sports. I hope to provide you with two to three hours of weekly fun and entertainment as I shoot the breeze with my friends.

This week we talk about the Lions being frauds and what Michigan State must do to be the king of football in the state.

We will talk Lions and Tigers along with the other major sports in Detroit. And next week I will launch a segment called “Stories I could not share on radio without getting fired” and “In the room” which will be some of my behind the scene encounters with athletes and coaches. Most of the stories will revolve around me getting cussed out or somebody being mad at me. I’ve got a temper too and have gone off on some athletes. We will pass along those stories too.

I will talk about my stroke and my efforts to lose weight (I am down 46 pounds) and getting healthy. I will talk about being a father and being from Detroit. I will talk about stories that circulate in our community and the people that live in it.

In other words I plan on shooting the breeze and growing this product. But I need your help. I found wonderful people who want to help me with my dream. I want to pay them so you will find a donation box on TerryFoster.blog where you can donate to the cause through Pay Pal.

I also want to make donations to my pal Melissa who runs the Devoted Barn near Monroe. She saves animals and runs an education program for kids in Detroit. She’s discovered that if kids can be kind to animals and have a purpose in life that they are less likely to be in front of a judge.

Any dollar amount is appreciated to help me live my dream and to also help Mel out.

Check back weekly for new blogs and podcast or check out my twitter feed at TerryFoster971 where I will promote new postings.

My first pod cast is with JD The Smack, one of my workout partners Ryan the father and coach and my main man Uber Eric, who promises to provide stories from the back seat.

 

 

 

Stay tuned.

I refuse to wear square parents gear

I own one baseball cap that says “Stanford dad” on it.

I wore it once and I will never wear it again. The hat seems dorky to me. It is something someone old and square would wear. I might be old but I am trying not to be too much of a square.

As many of you know my daughter Celine is a freshman at Stanford. It is quite an accomplishment and when we moved her in last week I noticed a lot of parents wearing Stanford Mom or Stanford Dad t-shirts and hats. It is just not my style.

I will wear Stanford shirts and sweats to remind me of Celine. I will wear Stanford football gear and even Stanford soccer and track and field. But there is just something about the Stanford Dad thing. I don’t like it for me.

The only reason I own the hat is because my wife Abs and Celine thought it was cute. Celine asked me to wear it during her high school graduation party and I did it once for my daughter. But that’s it. I am just different some times.

I would never wear one of those big buttons that high school parents wore with their kid’s face on it and their soccer number. It is not my style.

While at Stanford the staff tried to pump us up by saying that the parents needed to take a bow also. I think they were simply trying to sell more hats and shirts. We were doing something right for her to even be considered by the school. Stanford received  a record number of applicants and only 1.7 percent of them got into the school. There are people there from 48 states and 11 countries and each set of parents should be super pumped and super proud they told us.

Everybody walked around like proud peacocks. So did I. I just was one of the few that did not sport a Stanford Dad t-shirt, sweat shirt, hat or button.

 

 

 

Sports media remains a people business

boIn this age of the Internet, fast paced news and anonymous sources we must not forget that sports media remains a people business.

We forget that sometimes. Some reporters become walking note pads. In other words every conversation is on the record and they do not get to know athletes and coaches as people.

We forget that sometimes.

In the movies reporters get scoops by making phone calls 24 hours a day and seven days a week. That happens sometimes. I am willing to bet that most of the news coming out of Washington and the Donald Trump administration is generated between a source and reporter who know each other and have a good relationship.

At least that was the way it was for me. That began when I was a young reporter covering the University of Michigan football team. I met some boosters from Grosse Pointe who claimed to know about the insides of Michigan football. I did not believe them at first until a series of things they said were happening actually happened.

We had a good relationship. They were nice and trusted me and I liked hanging around them. Our relationship began years earlier when they played for Grosse Pointe North and Grosse Pointe South. Or their sons played for North and South.

They remembered my prep reports and we became buds.

One day I got a phone call from one of the dads who said Bo Schembechler and the school were in negotiations for Bo to become athletic director. It was one of my first major scoops and I began the nickname “The Michigan Mafia.”

I called Bo’s office to tell him what I knew. I got through to his secretary and she relayed the message to Bo. He angrily shouted: “You tell Foster he runs that story at his risk.”

A few days later I attended a press conference where Bo was named AD. He saw me and laughed, saying “I had to scare you a little bit. I was not ready for the story to come out.”

People business.

I broke a story that Bad Boy Piston Mark Aguirre was talking to the Mexican basketball team to play for Mexico in the 1992 Summer Olympic games. Do you know how I got the scoop?

Gym shoes.

One day Aguirre made fun of reporters for wearing gym shoes all the time. I went off on him saying we wore gym shoes to chase your ass around all the time. Aguirre got a good chuckle out of my tirade and later said “Why you go off all the time? You know you are a little crazy.”

The other reporters left his cubicle and we shot the breeze for about five minutes. Then he mentioned the talks with Mexico. He was eligible to play because his father was born in Mexico. I then interviewed him and had an exclusive story in The Detroit News.

The rest of the media got the story the following day, but I was already working on a story saying Aguirre did not want to play for Mexico.

People business.

 

JD Martinez a Tiger for life if Mike Ilitch were alive

The Tigers are telling people that they might not be able to afford slugger JD Martinez and may trade him before he becomes a free agent after the 2017 season.

If Mike Ilitch were alive we would not hear such silly talk. JD would be part of the Tigers long-term future. Whether the moves were right or wrong, Mike Ilitch made things happen as Tigers owner.

When Ilitch died earlier this year a part of the Tigers died along with him.

He did what he thought was best for the Detroit Tigers and their fans. He did not always do what was best for the bottom line. Now his son Chris Ilitch and wife Marian Ilitch are making the decisions. And no matter how many times Chris says things won’t be different you can bet things are going to be different for the Tigers.

The bottom line will play a bigger role which means General Manager Al Avila must make better baseball decisions with a budget engrained in the back of his mind if the Tigers are to remain contenders.

Mike Ilitch’s mentality was I am a billionaire. I can take a few financial risks because this is best for fans.

Bringing in Prince Fielder did not make sense or dollars and cents, but it happened under Ilitch. There’d be no JV and Miguel Cabrera on the same team and under the same payroll without Ilitch.

There would not even be the added expense of Tiger statues at Comerica Park if not for Mike Ilitch.

And soon it looks like a 29 year old slugger is going to get away because times are different. The Tigers don’t want to hit the luxury tax. I get it. But with Anibal Sanchez ($16.5 million), Ian Kinsler ($11 million) and Francisco Rodriguez ($6 million) coming off the books, the Tigers could make JD a priority.

Of that group Kinsler is the only guy you want to keep.

That’s if this was just about getting under the luxury tax. However, I believe the Tigers want to turn a profit in this age of declining attendance and revenue. The best way to do that is to set a payroll budget, which they do every year, and stick to it, something Mike Ilitch did not always do.

I’d hate for Tiger fans to see JD Martinez in a San Francisco Giants or New York Yankees uniform saying they wish they had a guy like this on their roster.

That’s what they say in Houston. You don’t want to be like those people.

 

 

 

 

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