Wednesday, July 8, 2026

 

Tough Chief of Rescue Troops; Charlie Beckwith Man in the News The Big Man Yelling 'Press On' Tough Colonel Who Directed Rescue Force

Tough Chief of Rescue Troops; Charlie Beckwith Man in the News The Big Man Yelling 'Press On' Tough Colonel Who Directed Rescue Force
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WASHINGTON, April 26 · In Octo- ber 1965 the small garrison of a United States Special Forces camp at Plei Me in the South Vietnamese highlands was besieged by several thousand North Vietnamese regular infantrymen. A 250-man rescue force was inserted by helicopter into the forests a few miles from the triangularly shaped camp. Charlie Beckwith, then an Army major, led this rescue force through the brush, through the North Vietnamese lines and, at a run, into the front gate of Plei Me. He then, characteristically, tried to take the offensive. He ordered three counterattacks in the first day, discovering after each sally was forced back into Plei Me that major units of North Vietnamese regulars had for the first time been committed to the war in South Vietnam.

The Big Man Yelling ‘Press On'

When a reporter arrived at Plei Me a few days later on a medical evacuation helicopter and asked a grizzled sergeant how to find Major Beckwith, the sergeant answered: "When you see a real big man yelling 'press on!' that's him.” This officer, now Colonel Beckwith, was identified yesterday by a Pentagon official as the commander of the force of troops ferried to the Iranian desert where, officials said, an attempt to rescue Americans held hostage in Teheran, some 200 miles away, was aborted. Exactly what happened at the remote Iranian staging area and precisely how the decision to cancel the rescue was reached is not known to public or press. But, while Colonel Beckwith had shown in Vietnam that he was too professional to be foolhardy, any decision not to press on must have seemed both painful and inescapable. Although, in the words of a fellow officer, "it is definitely not the way to make general in the U.S. Army,” Colonel Beckwith has devoted most of his military career to learning and teaching the arcane arts of "special warfare" and special operations. How special was indicated today when the Pentagon refused at a briefing to name the "colonel on the ground" commanding the operation, disclosing only his rank. Asked for biographical information on Colonel Beckwith, the Army records department disclosed only the following: Born Jan. 22, 1929. Attended college. Commissioned 1952. Assignment "classified." Serial Number 258–364046. Even his middle name is classified by the Pentagon. A bit more is known than that skimpy profile. Colonel Beckwith, who lived in Atlanta, at one point helped train Army Ranger candidates in the swamps and piney woods of the American South. An early volunteer for the Army Special Forces, he was assigned to Vietnam in the mid-1960's and by 1965 was in command of the Delta Project. This small but tough unit was composed of several hundred Indochinese (including ethnic Cambodian and ethnic Chinese) mercenary riflemen recruited and paid by the Special Forces with funds supplied by the Central Intelligence Agency. This Delta force was the Special Forces own "dedicated," or specially assigned, rescue force designed to meet contingencies such as the seige of Plei Me. The then Major Beckwith and his unit held Plei Me successfully until, almost a week after he assumed command, large relief forces from the United States and South Vietnamese armies arrived. In the midst of the siege, hundreds of flares were dropped by American aircraft, and Major Beckwith's Special Forces officers and noncommissioned officers sometimes sat drinking whisky on soft beds made from the hundreds of supply parachutes dropped into the camp." Major Beckwith, a large man with a wiry stubble of a beard, once recalled with an enlisted friend their days shooting quail over pointing dogs. Major Beckwith said in the midst of battle: "Good times, sergeant major. We'll have them again.' Major Beckwith was nearly killed in 1966 while directing another rescue operation near Bong Son when ground fire severely wounded him in a helicopter. An Army surgeon later recalled that "Beckwith is one man who saved his own life." The surgeon explained that the seriously wounded officer had sat upright on his litter and shouted that he needed immediate trauma treatment because, "I'm bleeding to death.” "He was right," said the surgeon. “A few more minutes and he would have been dead." The major was promoted to lieutenant colonel and returned to Vietnam in the late 1960's as a battalion Commander in the 101st Airborne Division. Later assigned to the Special Warfare School at Fort Bragg, N.C., Colonel Beckwith was directed four years ago to help train and lead an antiterrorist unit. The hope apparently was that this elite force could be used to deal with airline hijackings and other terrorist difficulties as Israeli commandos had done in freeing hostages at Entebbe.

Tough Colonel Who Directed Rescue Force

Tuesday, June 30, 2026

An Lao Valley Incident
by
Duane Vincent
145th Avn Plt CE

Date of Incident: Saturday, January 29, 1966
Binh Dinh Province, South Vietnam
Early stages of Operation “Masher”

The 145th Airlift Platoon had been working for several days out of Bong Son Special Forces (SF) Camp in support of Project Delta which was conducting Recon missions in the An Lao Valley.  I was the Crew Chief of a troop carrying “slick”, tail number 62045, call sign “Mardi Gras 6”.  The gunner was a Californian named Russell Issacs.  Nine of the ten helicopters in the Platoon were on the mission, six slicks, two gunships, and a “Hog,” while our tenth helicopter was back at our home base in Nha Trang undergoing maintenance.  Our mission, as I understood it, was to quietly insert the Delta teams into the valley, provide air cover with our gunships, and pick them up on demand.  Delta was to locate a large VC/NVA force in the valley then a Brigade of the 1st Cavalry Division, which was operating nearby in the Bong Son plain, would come in immediately, and destroy them.

The Delta teams in the valley were compromised almost from the start and I got an Air Medal for Valor for a ladder drop and covering fire during a five-man pickup on the side of a ridge on January 28th.  On the morning of January 29th, most of the Platoon was out flying Direct Support or Combat Assault missions in or around the An Lao valley.  Major Kevin Murphy, the Platoon Commander had gone off to the SF Camp to meet with Major Charlie Beckwith and other Delta operations staff.  045 was parked nearby in an adjacent graveyard where we had bivouacked the last few nights and Issacs and I were doing routine maintenance on the ship and our weapons.  All of a sudden, Major Murphy came running out and told us to “saddle up.”  One of the Recon teams was in contact and needed immediate pickup.  Major Beckwith arrived with three other Delta people (a First Sergeant, a radioman, and another Officer, I believe).  We immediately started the engine and Major Murphy got into radio contact with the rest of the Platoon.  They had either just landed or were on their way back to refuel and rearm at the camp airstrip and could not join up with us right away.  A quick decision was made for 045 to leave immediately in advance of the rest of the Platoon and to quickly locate the team.  We would then act as the Command & Control aircraft while the others made the pickup and delivered any required aerial gun support.  We took off with a crew of four (Aircraft Commander was Major Murphy, Co-pilot was CWO Southwell, Issacs and myself) and the four Delta members.

The weather was awful.  At that point it was cold, there was low cloud cover with a ceiling below 1,000 feet, and rain was falling.  I think that the best description of weather of that kind was in a Boston Publishing Co. book called “The Vietnam Experience/A Contagion of War.”  It noted “that a season of “crachin,” which is French for “spit” was prevalent in the area.  It described “crachin” as “A constant drizzle that could lighten to a mist or fall more heavily, crachin drifted down from slate gray clouds seldom higher than 3,000 feet.  Visibility usually extended no more than three miles.  In the early morning hours, low stratus clouds dropped below a 1,000 foot ceiling, and the fog that resulted lifted slowly, dissipating by middle-to-late morning.  Frequently, the fog persisted in the valleys, obscuring mountain ridges and peaks and creating perilous flying conditions.”

Since the ceiling was so low, we flew at an altitude of approximately 300 to 400 feet over the area just outside the SF camp and then over some farms, picking up speed as we flew.  Sitting in the open cargo door (pilot’s side), I was wearing my field jacket under my flak jacket and chicken plate and I had the visor down on my helmet in an attempt to stay warm and shield myself from the rain.  Each drop of rain that hit you hurt.  Even with this protection, the rain was still impacting on my hands and chin while water ran down my helmet visor, my neck, and inside my jacket.  The visibility was not good, but I could see fairly well along the ground from that altitude.  Few people were in view, but those I could see looked like farmers on their way somewhere.  Not far from the Bong Son airfield and before we had gotten to the narrow part of the valley, we suddenly broke into the open over some rice paddies.  Our altitude was still only a few hundred feet and in front of us and slightly to the left was a paddy dike lined with tall palm trees with another dike off to the far left.  I saw no people.

Almost immediately, I heard the sharp, sub-sonic cracking of small arms and automatic weapons and I realized that we were taking fire from the tree line along the paddy dike that we were flying towards at about a 30-degree angle (my side of the helicopter).  I started to deliver some suppressive fire from my M-60 into the tree line, working from the right to the left.  Major Beckwith, who was sitting next to me, began firing his M-16 over my right shoulder and the First Sergeant, who was sitting on the floor in front of me, also began firing.  I was leaning forward in my seat, holding the 60 with both hands, my right elbow resting on my right knee and my left hand under the weapon to steady it as I fired.  I only got off about 20 or 30 rounds when WHAM!  I had my right hand literally blown off the M-60's pistol grip and felt an almost equal impact on my right thigh.  The world seemed full of red dots while the pain was beyond my powers of description.  At that moment, time seemed to slip into slow motion.

I looked down at my hand and I could see smoke coming out of the hole in the top.  I glanced at Beckwith and I could immediately tell that he had a gut wound and was hurt much worse than I was.  I then looked up at the First Sergeant and the look of absolute total surprise on his face; combined with the red spots all over his face and head made me start laughing, more in pain than in mirth.  I held out my arm to him because I wanted him to stop the bleeding.  I’m sure that he had no idea why I was doing this, but eventually he clamped down on my arm and slowed the blood loss.

It then began to get confusing for me.  There was a lot of smoke and confusion in the helicopter and a very active radio net assessing the situation.  I thought that Southwell got hit in the butt with shrapnel when something came up through the floor, but I'm not exactly sure what happened after I was hit.  The helicopter was shaking furiously as we continued on, banking somewhat to the right. I could hear Isaac’s M-60 working and the pain in my hand and the fear of getting hit again or worse yet crashing, made me decide to keep at it.  I took my weapon in my left hand and starting firing again, one-handed, toward the base of the treeline, which was now very close to us.  As we banked over the tree line along the paddy dike, I could see people in uniform tracking us with their weapons.  All of us were firing furiously, aiming at anything that moved.  Beckwith was half lying on the seat and in a lot more pain than I was, and I could hear his staff telling him to hold on.  The SF Officer told him, “Hold on Boss, you’re hit pretty bad.  We’re going to have to get you back.”   He then got on the radio and he and Major Murphy decided to abort and go directly back to the SF compound.

The fight seemed to last a very long time but I’m sure that it was only seconds.  We flew back to Bong Son and landed just outside the perimeter wire of the SF camp.  They unloaded Beckwith, and Issacs came over to my side of the helicopter and held me up, putting my left arm over his shoulders.  He carried me over to the narrow path leading through the wire where we encountered a journalist who was blocking the way.  Russell starting yelling at him to get out of the way, but the guy was just standing there with his mouth open, fumbling at his camera equipment, trying to get it out and take a picture, I guess.  When we got to him, Russell shoved him over the roll of barbed wire, where he landed on his back on top of more wire and fell to the ground.  I don’t think that he ever said a word to us.

Issacs then took me into the aid station and stayed with me for a bit while a medic gave me some morphine.  Things began to get hazy for me and I remember that they were working furiously on Beckwith.  After a while I heard Major Murphy start yelling.  It sounded like he was getting really angry because they were not working on me, and the Dustoff chopper was not there yet.  I also remember someone trying to calm him down.  Eventually, a medivac chopper picked me up and took me to the Hospital in Qui Nhon.

When I woke up from my surgery, Col. McKean, the Commander of 5th SF, was sitting on the bed next to mine while members of his staff circled in the background.  I was pretty groggy but what I remember of the conversation was that the 145th had done a good job and recovered the survivors of the team that we were after.  Overall casualties among the teams inserted into the valley were heavy but that they had found a large number of VC and that McKean had requested that a B-52 strike take place before the enemy had time to flee.  When I asked him where the backup we were promised was, he told me that the 1st Cavalry was unable to carry out their end of the mission because they were bogged down in a fight elsewhere.  I also remember asking him about certain Delta members and expressing a great deal of anger over taking these kinds of casualties to find an enemy who was then allowed to get away.

Later on, I decided that I really appreciated his visit.  He made me feel like I had contributed to an important mission and that I had the respect of people that I thought of as among the bravest people that I had ever met.  It was also the only time in that war that anyone ever took the time to give me an explanation of how our efforts fit into the larger campaign picture and why it was worth it.

To this day, I still do not know what I was hit with!  In the hospital, Russell Issacs told me that it was a .30 caliber armor piercing round and that it had been given to Beckwith.  Since Beckwith was sitting right behind me, firing over my shoulder and the round went through my hand and then nicked my right leg, it had to have been the same round that hit him in the stomach.  We were both hit at exactly the same time and in his book, Charlie said that he was hit with a .51 caliber round.  The round made an M-16 size hole in the back of my hand and larger exit wound in my wrist.  If it was a .51 caliber, then it seems like I should have lost my entire hand.

Even though it has been a while since this incident, I still think about it often.  I spent a year at Madigan Army Hospital in Tacoma, Washington getting my hand repaired.  I then went back to college, graduated, went to work, got married and had kids.  Life has been good for me, but every day I remember the men I served with in the 145th Airlift Platoon.

Reconstructed from 35 year-old memories
By former PFC Duane D. Vincent
November 19, 2000

_____________________________________

⇐ Back to Sto An Lao Valley Incident

by
Duane Vincent
145th Avn Plt CE

Date of Incident: Saturday, January 29, 1966
Binh Dinh Province, South Vietnam
Early stages of Operation “Masher”

The 145th Airlift Platoon had been working for several days out of Bong Son Special Forces (SF) Camp in support of Project Delta which was conducting Recon missions in the An Lao Valley.  I was the Crew Chief of a troop carrying “slick”, tail number 62045, call sign “Mardi Gras 6”.  The gunner was a Californian named Russell Issacs.  Nine of the ten helicopters in the Platoon were on the mission, six slicks, two gunships, and a “Hog,” while our tenth helicopter was back at our home base in Nha Trang undergoing maintenance.  Our mission, as I understood it, was to quietly insert the Delta teams into the valley, provide air cover with our gunships, and pick them up on demand.  Delta was to locate a large VC/NVA force in the valley then a Brigade of the 1st Cavalry Division, which was operating nearby in the Bong Son plain, would come in immediately, and destroy them.

The Delta teams in the valley were compromised almost from the start and I got an Air Medal for Valor for a ladder drop and covering fire during a five-man pickup on the side of a ridge on January 28th.  On the morning of January 29th, most of the Platoon was out flying Direct Support or Combat Assault missions in or around the An Lao valley.  Major Kevin Murphy, the Platoon Commander had gone off to the SF Camp to meet with Major Charlie Beckwith and other Delta operations staff.  045 was parked nearby in an adjacent graveyard where we had bivouacked the last few nights and Issacs and I were doing routine maintenance on the ship and our weapons.  All of a sudden, Major Murphy came running out and told us to “saddle up.”  One of the Recon teams was in contact and needed immediate pickup.  Major Beckwith arrived with three other Delta people (a First Sergeant, a radioman, and another Officer, I believe).  We immediately started the engine and Major Murphy got into radio contact with the rest of the Platoon.  They had either just landed or were on their way back to refuel and rearm at the camp airstrip and could not join up with us right away.  A quick decision was made for 045 to leave immediately in advance of the rest of the Platoon and to quickly locate the team.  We would then act as the Command & Control aircraft while the others made the pickup and delivered any required aerial gun support.  We took off with a crew of four (Aircraft Commander was Major Murphy, Co-pilot was CWO Southwell, Issacs and myself) and the four Delta members.

The weather was awful.  At that point it was cold, there was low cloud cover with a ceiling below 1,000 feet, and rain was falling.  I think that the best description of weather of that kind was in a Boston Publishing Co. book called “The Vietnam Experience/A Contagion of War.”  It noted “that a season of “crachin,” which is French for “spit” was prevalent in the area.  It described “crachin” as “A constant drizzle that could lighten to a mist or fall more heavily, crachin drifted down from slate gray clouds seldom higher than 3,000 feet.  Visibility usually extended no more than three miles.  In the early morning hours, low stratus clouds dropped below a 1,000 foot ceiling, and the fog that resulted lifted slowly, dissipating by middle-to-late morning.  Frequently, the fog persisted in the valleys, obscuring mountain ridges and peaks and creating perilous flying conditions.”

Since the ceiling was so low, we flew at an altitude of approximately 300 to 400 feet over the area just outside the SF camp and then over some farms, picking up speed as we flew.  Sitting in the open cargo door (pilot’s side), I was wearing my field jacket under my flak jacket and chicken plate and I had the visor down on my helmet in an attempt to stay warm and shield myself from the rain.  Each drop of rain that hit you hurt.  Even with this protection, the rain was still impacting on my hands and chin while water ran down my helmet visor, my neck, and inside my jacket.  The visibility was not good, but I could see fairly well along the ground from that altitude.  Few people were in view, but those I could see looked like farmers on their way somewhere.  Not far from the Bong Son airfield and before we had gotten to the narrow part of the valley, we suddenly broke into the open over some rice paddies.  Our altitude was still only a few hundred feet and in front of us and slightly to the left was a paddy dike lined with tall palm trees with another dike off to the far left.  I saw no people.

Almost immediately, I heard the sharp, sub-sonic cracking of small arms and automatic weapons and I realized that we were taking fire from the tree line along the paddy dike that we were flying towards at about a 30-degree angle (my side of the helicopter).  I started to deliver some suppressive fire from my M-60 into the tree line, working from the right to the left.  Major Beckwith, who was sitting next to me, began firing his M-16 over my right shoulder and the First Sergeant, who was sitting on the floor in front of me, also began firing.  I was leaning forward in my seat, holding the 60 with both hands, my right elbow resting on my right knee and my left hand under the weapon to steady it as I fired.  I only got off about 20 or 30 rounds when WHAM!  I had my right hand literally blown off the M-60's pistol grip and felt an almost equal impact on my right thigh.  The world seemed full of red dots while the pain was beyond my powers of description.  At that moment, time seemed to slip into slow motion.

I looked down at my hand and I could see smoke coming out of the hole in the top.  I glanced at Beckwith and I could immediately tell that he had a gut wound and was hurt much worse than I was.  I then looked up at the First Sergeant and the look of absolute total surprise on his face; combined with the red spots all over his face and head made me start laughing, more in pain than in mirth.  I held out my arm to him because I wanted him to stop the bleeding.  I’m sure that he had no idea why I was doing this, but eventually he clamped down on my arm and slowed the blood loss.

It then began to get confusing for me.  There was a lot of smoke and confusion in the helicopter and a very active radio net assessing the situation.  I thought that Southwell got hit in the butt with shrapnel when something came up through the floor, but I'm not exactly sure what happened after I was hit.  The helicopter was shaking furiously as we continued on, banking somewhat to the right. I could hear Isaac’s M-60 working and the pain in my hand and the fear of getting hit again or worse yet crashing, made me decide to keep at it.  I took my weapon in my left hand and starting firing again, one-handed, toward the base of the treeline, which was now very close to us.  As we banked over the tree line along the paddy dike, I could see people in uniform tracking us with their weapons.  All of us were firing furiously, aiming at anything that moved.  Beckwith was half lying on the seat and in a lot more pain than I was, and I could hear his staff telling him to hold on.  The SF Officer told him, “Hold on Boss, you’re hit pretty bad.  We’re going to have to get you back.”   He then got on the radio and he and Major Murphy decided to abort and go directly back to the SF compound.

The fight seemed to last a very long time but I’m sure that it was only seconds.  We flew back to Bong Son and landed just outside the perimeter wire of the SF camp.  They unloaded Beckwith, and Issacs came over to my side of the helicopter and held me up, putting my left arm over his shoulders.  He carried me over to the narrow path leading through the wire where we encountered a journalist who was blocking the way.  Russell starting yelling at him to get out of the way, but the guy was just standing there with his mouth open, fumbling at his camera equipment, trying to get it out and take a picture, I guess.  When we got to him, Russell shoved him over the roll of barbed wire, where he landed on his back on top of more wire and fell to the ground.  I don’t think that he ever said a word to us.

Issacs then took me into the aid station and stayed with me for a bit while a medic gave me some morphine.  Things began to get hazy for me and I remember that they were working furiously on Beckwith.  After a while I heard Major Murphy start yelling.  It sounded like he was getting really angry because they were not working on me, and the Dustoff chopper was not there yet.  I also remember someone trying to calm him down.  Eventually, a medivac chopper picked me up and took me to the Hospital in Qui Nhon.

When I woke up from my surgery, Col. McKean, the Commander of 5th SF, was sitting on the bed next to mine while members of his staff circled in the background.  I was pretty groggy but what I remember of the conversation was that the 145th had done a good job and recovered the survivors of the team that we were after.  Overall casualties among the teams inserted into the valley were heavy but that they had found a large number of VC and that McKean had requested that a B-52 strike take place before the enemy had time to flee.  When I asked him where the backup we were promised was, he told me that the 1st Cavalry was unable to carry out their end of the mission because they were bogged down in a fight elsewhere.  I also remember asking him about certain Delta members and expressing a great deal of anger over taking these kinds of casualties to find an enemy who was then allowed to get away.

Later on, I decided that I really appreciated his visit.  He made me feel like I had contributed to an important mission and that I had the respect of people that I thought of as among the bravest people that I had ever met.  It was also the only time in that war that anyone ever took the time to give me an explanation of how our efforts fit into the larger campaign picture and why it was worth it.

To this day, I still do not know what I was hit with!  In the hospital, Russell Issacs told me that it was a .30 caliber armor piercing round and that it had been given to Beckwith.  Since Beckwith was sitting right behind me, firing over my shoulder and the round went through my hand and then nicked my right leg, it had to have been the same round that hit him in the stomach.  We were both hit at exactly the same time and in his book, Charlie said that he was hit with a .51 caliber round.  The round made an M-16 size hole in the back of my hand and larger exit wound in my wrist.  If it was a .51 caliber, then it seems like I should have lost my entire hand.

Even though it has been a while since this incident, I still think about it often.  I spent a year at Madigan Army Hospital in Tacoma, Washington getting my hand repaired.  I then went back to college, graduated, went to work, got married and had kids.  Life has been good for me, but every day I remember the men I served with in the 145th Airlift Platoon.

Reconstructed from 35 year-old memories
By former PFC Duane D. Vincent
November 19, 2000

_____________________________________

Friday, June 26, 2026

 La Thoại Tân (1937 - 13 tháng 3 năm 2008)[1] là một tài tử nổi tiếng của Việt Nam. Ông sinh ra và nổi tiếng ở Sài Gòn những năm trước 1975.[2]

Tiểu sử

La Thoại Tân sinh năm 1937 tại Sài Gòn với nguyên danh Phạm Văn Tần, là một nghệ sĩ đa tài, ngoài đóng phim, đóng kịch, ca hát, ông còn hoạt động trong lĩnh vực báo chí, làm MC, đạo diễn phim...

PHẠM = 8514 = 18 = 9

 VĂN = 615 = 12 = 3

TẦN = 415 = 10 = 1

LA = 31 = 4

THOẠI = 45711 = 18 = 9

TÂN = 415 = 10 = 1

Wednesday, June 24, 2026

 LÚC GẶP THỜI, NẰM NGỦ Ở NHÀ CŨNG CÓ NGƯỜI ĐÁNH THỨC ĐỂ GIAO VIỆC LÀM. LÚC HẾT THỜI, CHẠY RÔNG KIẾM VIỆC,  NHƯ CHÓ ĐÓI, NHƯNG VẪN KHÔNG AI NHỜ.

Monday, June 22, 2026

 MỘT ĐỨA BÉ 5 TUỔI ĐƯỢC CỨU SỐNG NHỜ KỸ THUẬT MRI

. . .




"Nathan Tower là một đứa trẻ thông minh và đẹp đẻ ra đời tại một tp nhỏ có tên Langley ở tỉnh British Columbia, 25 đặm phía đông của tp Vancouver (Canada). Ko giống như chị của nó, bây giờ 12 tuổi và luôn luôn khỏe mạnh, lúc 2 tuổi Nathan đã nhiều lần đau nhức dữ dội ở tai trái và thường ói mửa. Gần ngày sinh nhật thứ năm của nó, trong tháng 6 1985, những cơn đau tai thường nối tiếp bởi nhức đầu dữ dội. Trong những đêm như vậy, Nathan bị nhức đầu liên tục; aspirin ko tác dụng gì hết. Trong cố gắng truy tìm nguyên nhân, người mẹ hoảng loạn (frantic) của nó cuối cùng đã tham vấn 11 bác sĩ. Một số bác sĩ này đã cho rằng bà bị tâm thần (psychotic).
Sức khỏe của Nathan đã suy sụp nhanh chóng. Nó ko thể điều khiển tay và bàn tay trái và bắt đầu ko điều khiển chân phải. Trong tháng 7, cha mẹ quẫn trí (distraught) của nó đã đưa nó tới Reno, bang Nevada Mỹ, để xét nghiệm. Các bác sĩ đã thấy dấu hiệu một khối u ở phần cuối của não (brain stem) và nói rằng ko thể mổ được (inoperable).
Trong tuyệt vọng, mẹ nó (bà Tower) đã gọi người em chồng, bà Barbara Barnhart, ở Phoenix. Bà Barnhart gọi một láng giềng, bác sĩ Donald A. Davis, người đã mạnh mẻ khuyên ông bà Tower hãy mang Nathan đến Viện Thần kinh học Barrow thuộc bịnh viện St. Joseph ở Phoenix, bang Arizona.
Một ngày sau khi nhập viện vào tháng 7 1985, Nathan đã được lên lịch để chụp MRI. Máy này chỉ mới lắp đặt tháng 5. "Mẹ ơi, đây có phải một phi thuyền không gian?" Nathan đã hỏi khi được đưa vào đường ống dài 6 foot của máy MRI.
Từ trường mạnh mẻ này đã sắp thẳng hàng các nhân hy-đrô (hydeogen nuclei) trong não của Nathan, và một bức đã chuyển tới màn hình của máy tính (CRT). Đó là hình ảnh rõ ràng một cách đáng kể của khối u, nằm ở cuối của não, xem hình. Ngày kế, BS Harold L. Rekate, trưởng khoa nhi về ngoại thần kinh, đã lấy ra một khối u của tủy sống/tủy xương (medulla) trong một cuộc giải phẩu phức tạp kéo dài hơn 8 tiếng. Khối u này dài 1,5 inch và đường kính nửa inch.
Tôi đã nói chuyện với bs Rekate về cuộc mổ xẻ này. "Với MRI," ông nói, "chúng ta có thể thấy các cấu trúc của não mà chúng tôi ko bao giờ thấy trước đây. Mười năm trước, đứa trẻ này ko thể sống được."
Khi tôi nói với Nathan và mẹ nó trên một mái hiên (porch) đầy nắng của nhà của ông bà Barnhart, thằng bé đang mang một cái niềng đầu (head brace), xem hình, có công dụng hàn gắn (fuse) xương sống cổ. Từ đây nó có thể điều khiển tay chân. Người cha mừng rở của nó, rất biết ơn về vai trò quan trọng của MRI đã cứu sống con ông, đã có kế hoạch huy động tiền bạc để lập một trung tâm MRI tại tỉnh British Columbia, Canada".
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Ảnh 1: MRI đã xóa phần xương chung quanh tủy sống và cho thấy khối u (màu đỏ) một cách rõ ràng. BS Rekate nói, "trước khi có kỹ thuật MRI, ko ai dám mổ như vậy".
Dịch từ trang 14 - 19 của National Geographic tháng 1 1987.
SJ ngày Jun 22 2023