COLLEYVILLE — How many miracles are we allowed in this life? And if you’ve already been part of one, is it asking too much to pray for another? Doug Inman thinks about those questions a lot these days. Last April, he was living a miracle. Now, without another, he will die in a matter of months.
We are sitting in the kitchen of his new Colleyville home. Next to me on the table, a Bible lays open, ready for use.
Miracles are in there, I think to myself. One more, Lord. Just one more.
The first time I met Doug Inman, he made me cry. I suspect, as we begin to talk, that he is about to do so again.
For the last 18 months or more, Inman has been the driving force behind Miracle Fields of DFW, the specially designed baseball diamond at Arlington’s Randol Mill Park that brought the nationally renowned Miracle League to Tarrant County. Operated by the Arlington YMCA, the league provides a safe environment for mentally and physically disabled children to play baseball. Many get that opportunity for the first time in their lives.
It was a project of such impact on the community, such humanity, that it earned Doug Arlington’s Man of the Year Award recently. Forty-eight hours before the honor was officially announced, Inman learned that he has metastatic melanoma, manifested by multiple tumors in his lungs. The prognosis is grim: without treatment, no more than six months.
With treatment... no one knows for sure.
"My goal is to look past doctors, who can be god-like, and see God on the other side," Inman says. "I think that’s really important. I’m not looking for the doctors to save me. It’s going to be the Lord, who may honor a treatment and decide, ‘Hey, I’m going to let this guy have another swing, give him another at-bat.’
"I want to squeeze the doctors for all the wisdom and talent they have, but this is a pure God thing now."
Inman, who made a fortune developing, marketing and selling medical instruments and devices all over the world, knows a little something about "God things," having seen The Miracle League come to life here.
Inman and two other friends showed up at my house in 2005 with a DVD and one of the most amazing stories I’d ever heard. It was about something called The Miracle League, where kids in wheelchairs, kids with walkers, blind kids, autistic kids, Down syndrome kids, could play baseball.
They showed me the DVD, which featured a couple reports on the national news, and I saw the kids’ faces, heard their screams of delight when they hit the ball, watched every one of them hit a home run. Nobody loses. Everybody wins.
Hey, you’d have cried, too. I was sold, lock, stock and barrel, and told them I would gladly write about The Miracle League.
By last April, it was done. With Inman supplying the energy, the devotion, the time, the effort, the leadership, even, I’m sure, more than his share of the $400,000 that was needed, the field was ready to go. It was an amazing accomplishment, enriching the lives of everyone who shared in the experience.
The kids played ball, the "buddies" laughed and cried with them on the field, and parents brought their children from all over the Metroplex to play in The Miracle League.
"The Miracle League was a spiritual experience for me," Inman says. "It was a stepping out in faith, the first time I’ve done any community service in my life. I feel like the reason it was so successful was because I was just obedient to what God wanted me to do.
"Whatever I’m going through right now, whether it’s my death experience or my survival experience, is also a spiritual experience.
Even as The Miracle Field of Arlington was opening, Doug was beginning his life-or-death struggle. Two days after opening day last April 22, he went to the doctor to have a mole removed from the back of his head and discovered it was a melanoma.
"The day we had the grand opening, which was a real achievement for all of us, we had a lot of people there, and I remember, in an ad lib kind of way, quoting the Lou Gehrig thing," Inman remembers. "I made the comment that I considered myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth. And when I said that, I had this little twinge ... Whoa! When he said that, he was on his way out."
Still, there was no sign of further cancer in Inman’s lymph nodes at the time. It wasn’t until he had his six-month, post-surgical checkup three weeks ago that a CT scan showed the inoperable tumors in his lungs. It was devastating news.
"There’s no way to describe it," Inman says. "The reality is, we’re all going to die. I just didn’t plan to die now. The Lord’s numbered my days and I trust he’s got the right number. He knows what he’s doing.
"I think there’s a famous quote, ‘Death is always a surprise.’ I don’t care what the situation is, it’s ‘My goodness, I’m really going to die.’ It really brings a lot of things into focus."
He begins treatment at M.D. Anderson in Houston on Monday.
"It’s about quality of life now," he says. "If one of the doctors says you’ve got five months and we can stretch it to eight with chemotherapy, I’m going to have to really pray about that. If I can have four good months rather than eight lousy ones... I don’t know. That’s a hard decision to make."
Suddenly, Inman’s once-crowded list of things to do has grown very, very short. There’s his wife and best friend, Margaret. And there are his three daughters and his nine grandchildren, ages 1 to 15.
"You know the cliches, but this is one of those deals where your priority list gets sorted out so quickly. The hard part is the family," he says, and then he begins to cry. "The tough part of it is... I know where I’m going, and I have faith. I’m OK there. It’s just all the stuff you miss, all those things you envisioned doing with your kids and grandkids.
"When you boil it all down, it’s about loving my family, being with all my friends. It’s about loving the Lord properly and being in a right relationship with him. That’s all there is. Nothing more."
It’s the kindness of others that brings Doug to tears most often now, even more than his own situation. Like the FedEx letter he got from a guy he just knew as Frank, who sat behind him at Cowboys games with his own family. When Doug wasn’t there for a game recently, the friend he’d given his season tickets to told Frank what the situation was.
The letter arrived the next day, putting Frank’s private plane and pilot at his disposal whenever he needs it.
"People are so good," he says. "They come out of the woodwork with things, a willingness to help. Those are the things that are hard for me, because I’ve always tried to be on the other side of that deal.
"People want to start giving into your life and it’s just so encouraging and so humbling."
Don’t get the idea that Doug has given up. Far from it. He is determined to fight this thing, to go down swinging, to get in a few licks of his own before this is over.
"I feel like I’m about to get in the ring with a 380-pound guy with 3 percent body fat," he says. "He’s intent on kicking my rear. Somehow I want to strategize, and last long enough so that maybe I’ll get a lucky punch in and knock him on his butt.
"The battle in this whole thing, is maintaining hope. You’re looking for rays of hope, so anybody who brings hope, I open the door to."
Hope, though, is the one thing Doug seems to be brimming over with. It streams from his eyes, it pours from his very soul. This is who he is now and if you think it will fade when the injections start, or when the poison starts seeping into his system or the tumors start taking away his breath, you don’t know Doug Inman.
Inman is like the little girl I read about who was suffering from three kinds of cancer. Asked if she thought God still had a plan for her, she smiled as she answered, "Sure, it’s to make all the people who don’t have cancer understand that they have to love each other every day."
Doug is on that same mission now, and he’s accustomed to success.
"I’ve got this thing about living one day at a time figured out," he says smiling. "This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.
"Today’s great. I feel good. I’ve got a loving wife. I’ve got kids I’m going to see today. I’m going to get my piano tuned up. Life’s good.
"If I could have figured this out when I was 20 years old and lived life one day at a time. That’s what the Lord tries to teach us. Life has enough worries of its own. Just try to take care of today."
Doug’s wife has joined us now and she’s smiling, too.
"I still think God’s got a plan for me," Doug says. "I just have to be sure I’m in the middle of his will and walk in it."
Now get this: I’m getting up to leave and Doug asks if he can pray for me. Here he is, facing who knows what debilitating treatment over the next months and ultimately death, and he wants to pray for me!
See, I told you he’d make me cry again.
So as the three of us — me, Margaret and Doug hold hands and he prays aloud — I silently choke out my own prayer around the tears that won’t be stopped now.
One more miracle, Lord. Just one more.
Jim Reeves, 817-390-7760 revo@star-telegram.com
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