| Beating the odds: New technology helps Whiting woman fight cancer
Pamela Downs-Angotti was told she had had four to eight months to live. She had long been a smoker, but when they found malignant tumors, she didn't want to believe it. Following an urgent call from her doctor, the Whiting woman just took a trip to the grocery store as if all was normal. She didn't even tell her husband, Ron, until the day of her first tests. Downs-Angotti was supposed to be dead nearly four years ago. But thanks in large part to a new technology at The Methodist Hospitals in Merrillville -- stereotactic body radiosurgery -- Downs-Angotti is still alive and for the past 2.5 years has been cancer-free. "I was determined that I was going to do everything I was supposed to do," she said. "It's been my attitude the whole time." She underwent surgery -- waking up to the sensation of pain slicing down her back.
Rangers Notebook: The Ian Kinsler Show
The Rangers probably didn't want to go above $20 million. The Kinsler camp probably wanted a guarantee closer to the $27 million that Brandon Phillips got from Cincinnati for four years. In the end, though, they reached a compromise that represents neither a "win" for Daniels/Levine or for Franklin. What it does represent is a win for Kinsler and for partnership. Being willing to work as a legitimate partner will help the Rangers in negotiations with free agents more than any recruiting pitches or video presentations. And for Ian, the degree of financial security offered to his family by that freshly minted contract extension appears to be just right: "I was not trying to set the bar and make the most money for a second baseman. I'm just here to play the game and be treated fairly.
Mardi Gras Indian Chiefs Stand Spectacular, Tall, and Proud
Something deep within your soul calls you to do this," she said. "And you've got to do it, for your mental and physical survival, and for the welfare of those around you." Midday, Victor Harris of Fi-Yi-Yi showed up in front of the home of Joyce Montana, Tootie Montana's widow. I recalled how he'd looked fierce in his African-inspired green-and-red mask two years ago, when the wake of Katrina threatened to swallow all such traditions. "They spit us all over this land," he shouted then, amid drumming. "They told us we had to evacuate. But they didn't say we had to stay away." Now, Indians in a rainbow of colors passed through, did mock battle, embraced, moved on. A small crowd had assembled. Around 3 p.m., Darryl Montana came out of Joyce's front door, looking regal in his tall, broad, lavender, feathered suit, which rippled gently in the growing breeze as he headed up to Claiborne Avenue, where Indians generally convene on Mardi Gras, beneath the overpass for I-10—"Under the Bridge," as they call it.
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