Letter from the editor: It was 20 years ago today ...

But my memory is crystal clear — OK, I had to ask Allison a couple of clarifying questions — about this precise day 20 years ago.

April 28, 2004, was a Wednesday. We lived in Bismarck, North Dakota, where I was the editor of the newspaper. A few weeks earlier, I'd had surgery to remove cancer in my colon and all the optional, neighboring body parts they could reach.

That day, I had an appointment to implant a port in my chest so I could start chemotherapy. Because it involved sedation, my wife was my ride. Conveniently, she had an appointment with her OB/GYN at the same time in the same building. Allison was eight months pregnant with our twin boys.

I was visiting with a nurse when my wife found me. Allison was headed to labor and delivery. Today was the day. My ride home was giving birth.

In a matter of moments, medical folk mobilized. It was clear Aquaman and Gerald (the names our two older kids gave them in utero as working titles) wouldn't arrive for a few hours, so they moved me to the front of the line in the operating room, knocked me out, did their thing, woke me up and swapped my hospital gown for scrubs.

Somebody wheeled me up to my wife's room, and a couple of hours later — at 6:26 p.m. and 6:32 p.m. respectively — Jacob Richard and Samuel Merritt Bundy were born. 

Amid all the excitement, at some point, we all forgot I'd been under sedation, and I drove myself home to see Dalton and Genevieve. He was 6. She was 3. We had such nice spacing until two kids came out 6 minutes apart.

My in-laws, who had been watching them, retired to their nearby hotel, and I ordered a pizza at 10 p.m., wildly late for two little kids and a dad accustomed to much earlier bedtimes.

Dalton and Genevieve were very young, but they understood cancer was kind of scary. But, I told them, if it seemed like cancer was a big deal, it was nothing compared to having twin baby brothers.

The next day, a photographer from the newspaper barged past the "No visitors" sign to take our first baby photos. In the moment, it was a little annoying, but those images of mom and kids are among our most precious.

This was the same photographer, eight years before, who showed up at dawn at the Bismarck airport to take our picture as Allison and I left for our wedding. The plane was boarding, but he wanted us to go outside, where the light was better. We convinced him to pose us in front of the window and do his best.

The weeks after Jacob and Sam were born were a blur — actually, with little kids and all the accompanying messes, maybe "smudge" is a more apt term. Allison and the kids were all healthy, but my prognosis kept getting worse. Chemo was postponed for a consultation at the Mayo Clinic after scans showed the cancer spread wider than imagined, and my oncologist painted a grim picture.

But amid the craziness, family and friends trekked to North Dakota to help us. Coworkers and neighbors showered us with kindness and love. And strangers popped into our lives with beautiful gestures.

One day we came home from some errands, and my mother-in-law showed us a delicious Texas sheet cake someone had dropped off. It was so gooey, dense and moist it was just this side of fudge. My mother-in-law said the woman who dropped it off was pretty, well-dressed, had dark hair and obvious baking skills.

We racked our brains for who it could have been before we found the card. It was signed by the Hoevens. John was governor of North Dakota (now a U.S. senator). Mikey, who baked and delivered the cake, was the first lady.

Governors aren't always fans of newspaper editors, but some things matter more than press or politics. Chocolate, for example. 

By the twins' first birthday, the chemotherapy had done its job, and I was declared cured. Life was as normal as it was ever going to be with our four kids.

A dozen years later, in 2016, four years after becoming editor of the Journal Star, I was diagnosed with bile duct cancer. News like that is always stressful, but it felt like I'd been playing with house money since 2004. How upset could I be with any outcome? I dug in for the fight with a smile on my face.   

I knew that if I kept my eyes open, I would see goodness all around and create a new batch of memories that I could eventually ask my wife to remind me about.

For whatever reason, and it's almost certainly not good nutrition or strenuous exercise, I've outlived medical expectations again, and I find myself grateful to all the friends, neighbors, coworkers and readers who have cared for me and my family.

So, April 28 is our twins' birthday, with double the parties and double the cakes, but the day always reminds me of all the gifts I've received and the wild ride that started the day they were born.