All right. A deep breath, a cracking of the knuckles and a big mug full of coke.
Check, check and check. Here goes.
When last we met, I had just finished an Associate of Arts in English degree at Salt Lake Community College. At SLCC, I had a very good family friend who worked in Financial Aid, and she was able to find all kinds of grants and aid to keep things afloat financially. I could thank her again for eternity and never do justice to the love and support she offered us. Like many other blessings, we noticed how powerful it was only after it was gone.
I was headed for UVU and looking forward to a schedule full of classes that I wanted to take as opposed to the oft lamented general ed courses. Since I had no job, I was planning on doing 12 to 15 hours a semester. I could graduate in a year and a half that way. I had all the books for my classes weeks in advance and I had already done a good chunk of reading. It was exciting.
The week before classes started, the Boss’s brother in law came out to Salt Lake from New York where he was in law school. On the 17th of August (the fact I remember the exact date portends disaster, does it not?), he called me and asked if I’d like to hang out and play some XBOX.
Now please allow me a bit of digression here, it’s needed for background. My sister L and her husband B have three children. A son who is about a year younger than the Eldest, a daughter that is just older than Moe, and another daughter a little older than Puzilla.
L’s middle child is known (at least to this Uncle), as “Punk”. Punk is a walking, breathing, parting of the Red Sea. She was born with a chromosomal disorder called DiGeorge Syndrome. It has a host of symptoms that range from minor annoyances to catastrophically fatal heart defects. Because of this, Punk would have to be born at the University of Utah med center so that emergency surgery could be performed if necessary.
It was not the kind of news that anyone ever wants to hear. The excitement that usually comes from the anticipation of a new member of the family was dimmed by a good deal of worry and fear. It was very hard for my sister and her husband and we did what we could to assure them of our love and support.
When Punk finally arrived, her initial examinations and prognosis were mixed. Her heart was functioning enough that the doctors felt comfortable in waiting for a while to do surgery and that would give her time to build some strength. The bad news was there was a lengthy list of things that would need to be taken care of.
All of her internal organs were reversed from where they should have been, a condition known as Situs Inversus. Stuff that is supposed to be on the left was on the right and vice versa. Her tiny heart had what is called Pulmonary Atresia, a condition that means she effectively had no pulmonary artery to carry blood from the heart to the lungs to be oxygenated. All the blood vessels in her lungs were tiny and underdeveloped which resulted in her lungs being tiny and underdeveloped. In addition to all this she had a VSD or Ventricular Septral Defect. In normal person terms, tiny little Punk had a hole between the chambers of her heart the size of a quarter.
She has had more surgeries than you want to know about; all of them life threatening. After one of them she had a stroke that doctors said should have killed her; but her brain re-wired itself and she kept going even though it caused some complications she could have done without.
A few days before my brother-in-law and I sat down to play Madden 06, the Punk (who was about 5 at the time) had undergone an experimental surgery that doctors had not thought was possible just months before. They created a pulmonary artery and stretched the blood vessels in Punks lungs to dramatically improve her ability to oxygenate her own blood. It had gone beyond the doctors expectations and was deemed a success in every way. Punk’s recovery had been rapid and for once, problem free.
So I was really surprised that afternoon to pick up a call from my Mom and hear her sound so worried. I figured something must have gone wrong with Punk and in less than a heartbeat I was as nervous as I had ever been.
“Your brother has been in an accident at work”, she said.
Three and a half years later that sentence still puts me into a bit of shock. I was sitting on the couch playing a video game and one instant later I had prepared myself to hear bad news about my niece. Then less than ten words are spoken and I had to slam into reverse and worry about someone else altogether.
I’m pretty sure that I blew my mental transmission right there and that’s why the rest of the day passed in kind of a blur. My youngest brother had been working for a trucking company in their freight yard, moving trailers around the docks and preparing them for shipment. Nobody knew better than me how dangerous that kind of work was and a flood of very bad thoughts crossed my mind.
“How bad is it?” I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.
“I don’t know yet”, Mom said. “But say a prayer and I’ll call you back when I know more.”
That sounded a little ominous to me, but this family had survived a trillion trips to the emergency room, and dealt with the complications of Punk’s condition, so I had little doubt that things were OK. They were always OK.
I said goodbye to Mom and hung up the phone. I told the Boss what Mom had told me, and we rounded up the kids and knelt for an impromptu family prayer. I remember asking the Lord to help us not worry, and that Uncle Ryan would be alright. I also remember feeling the Spirit wash over me the way it did when the Boss and I have made our toughest decisions. At that point there was little doubt in my mind that things were going to be OK. The Spirit had told me so, and the Boss and I hadn’t jumped off of those cliffs about school because we weren’t willing to listen to the voice of the Spirit.
Mom called back a few minutes later and said she had talked to Uncle B (Punk’s Dad) who worked at the truck yard with my brother. He had told her that the paramedics were working on him but that they were going to bring in life flight to get him to a hospital quicker.
That bit of info gave me chills, but Punk had been airlifted once, so I knew that it didn’t have to mean a matter of life and death. I told Mom about our prayer and the feelings we had and told her not to worry.
She had been up at Primary Children’s hospital sitting with Punk so Aunt L could get some rest and so she was a quick walk away from where the life flight would bring my little brother. Dad was out of town; in fact he was sitting on a plane flying home and we could not get a hold of him until he landed in Salt Lake. I didn’t want Mom to sit there by herself, so I told her I was coming.
My brother in law, in his first of many acts of unforgettable service that day, offered to go with me up to the hospital to be with Mom and the Boss could keep the kids out of the way at home. I was glad he was there; I was in shock and not in much shape to be driving. I spent the half hour talking his ear off and reassuring myself of the feelings I had during our family prayer. It was going to be alright.
We got to the hospital, found the emergency room and found my Mom standing on the porch outside the door talking to a Salt Lake County Sheriff’s Deputy. I walked out onto the porch and when the door opened, Mom turned around. Her face was twisted into a look of desperation and grief that I had never seen and never want to see again. She looked up at me and in a strong clear voice that belied her countenance said almost matter-of-factly,
“He’s gone. They couldn’t save him, and he’s gone.”
Next up: Part 5 Why I Hate TV News Reporters
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