Julie Montes - You Will Be Missed, Friend.

I don't do many memory posts (I believe this is my third one ever) on this blog, but after the recent
death of a cyster that I spent plenty of time with roaming the halls of University Medical Center, I felt compelled to. And it's funny, I don't feel compelled to because I think it will make any difference in her now awesome life, I'm not so sure she'll read it, but I'm doing it for me. Maybe that's why we all do it though? I don't know. I wasn't planning on writing about her or her death until about 3 minutes ago when this overwhelming feeling came over me that I needed to say something. I needed to write down what I remembered of her and needed to put to paper the different things about her that are currently making me smile.

Julie Montes was one of the softest, most gentle-hearted and loving people that I'm come to know within the walls of the hospital I've been going to my whole life. We saw each other very infrequently outside of those walls, but within them, we always connected. Conversation never waned, and although I hated seeing her under those circumstances, I was always eager to stop by her room for a chat when I saw her name on the "big board".

The first thing I noticed about Julie every time that I saw her was her eyes (I'm sure I'm not alone in this). It wasn't because of the physical presence or look of her eyes though, but because her eyes always told her story. You could see how she was feeling, or what emotion she was either exuding or holding back just by looking at her eyes. And when I picture her eyes now, I see a smile. Even though it was rare that I saw her smile, sense it was usually covered by a mask, I saw her smile through her eyes. She smiled a lot. She giggled often. Being in her presence always made me feel happy. That's just who she was.

I don't mourn her death though. My heart certainly breaks for her husband, friends and family she left behind, but I know that we are all currently celebrating the life she lived and more importantly, the life she lives now. Like me, Julie was a servant of Jesus Christ. We had many wonderful conversations about our mutual faith and both trusted the Lord fully with what He wanted to do with our lives. Although Julie was called Home much earlier than any of us wanted, her Father wanted her back. She was ready to go.

So Julie, tell Dad I said hello, and if you could, put in a word for me that I'm not quite ready yet. Thanks. You will be missed....but I will see you again, friend.

I'm Fighting For...

**Reposted from August 2010**

Quite often, I'm very fortunate to be asked questions by you guys that really make me think and evaluate where I stand on a particular subject. The following exchange that I had with a super awesome cyster and fellow CysticLife member was no different. We've had some tough goings lately in our little community and everyone has the right to, and does, react differently. Thank you for challenging me on this topic and really making me think about where I stand.

Message: Hi Ronnie, It's been a while since I have been keeping up with cystic life. Some of the reason is because I am busier now with Colton being out of school for summer and the other part of the reason is I get the blues. I am an optimist and a realist so I have great faith that I will live a long life, but also being a realist I will have moments of panic and fear at the thought that I know what this disease does to people and how fast something can go wrong. So I have a question for you I didn't want to post openly, do you hear everyone's story's, sad and inspiring and not get blue? How do I find a balance of being connected to the CF world without letting the sadness of some of it consume me? I put it like this to my grandma the other day, I can handle myself having CF it's my life I don't know any different, but what gets to me is that babies are still being born with CF and have to suffer and fight the battles we have been fighting our whole lives, that's what makes me sad, and I know a lot of CF'ers say the same thing about not knowing any different but as a mother seeing a child be affected by this disease is heartbreaking to me. It inspires me to do fundraising but it doesn't seem like enough. I sometimes feel we are being withheld from a cure because of the pure business of money making for drug company's. I'm sorry if I used this message to ramble or wasted your time, but I just wonder how you find the balance?

Response: So yes, I certainly read about and talk to many parents who have lost their children to CF and I myself have lost a handful of close friends. Whenever this happens I generally have the same reaction:

Compassion- I of course feel very sad for the family, but it is followed quickly by my next feeling;

Relief- I'm just so happy that the fibro or cyster no longer has to endure his or her pain and suffering;

Motivation- The fact that right now everyone born with CF dies with CF motivates me beyond no end to never stop fighting for awareness. At the very least, I want every person in this world to know what's killing my friends;

Self-reflection- I then think, am I doing everything possible to put myself in the best position to prolong and even possibly avoid the feeling of loss and despair for my family?;

I kind of look at our CF journey like this...we're all driving a car flying down the highway. Just the mere fact that we're driving in the car increases the chance that we'll get in an accident and die, having CF increases the chance that we'll get sick (have an accident) and see an earlier death than people not driving cars (non-CFers). Now, the question becomes, what do we do when we see a bad accident on the side of the highway? Do we completely stop our car and put ourselves in harms way? Do we see the accident and say a prayer for the people involved?

Do we slow down and hope nobody hits us from behind? Or do we see the accident, say a prayer for the people inside and then use it as a reminder that we better stay focused on the highway? We all know that if you focus on the accident for too long, you will definitely get in an accident yourself.

Now, you could say, "well what if I don't want to take my eye off the road and just drive (not be involved in the community)?" I would say that is a personal choice and one that many within our community make. For me though, it's a choice that I won't make. I like to see everybody else's car on the highway, how they drive, how they take care of their car, what color it is, who's inside, etc. I think we can really learn how to drive our car on the highway if we watch others around us drive theirs.

And yes, we're going to see some accidents, we're even going to see some accidents that result in death, but we're also going to see a lot of cool cars and meet a lot of great drivers. We're going to have the opportunity to meet some fellow drivers on the side of the road and let them ride in our car for a bit until they get a new one. Heck, we may even be driving a tow truck at the time and be able to carry them along for awhile.

As I look back at the highway I'm driving on, sure I see a lot of wrecked cars and tire tracks, but I see many more cars to the right, left, in front and behind me traveling just as fast or faster than I am. And if I see a wreck, I'm always willing to pull over and see what I can do to help, but I know that I'll have to get back into my car soon and drive.

Edit from Ronnie: Some of you may have just read that and thought to yourself "that sounded really insensitive". To be honest with you, when I read my words over again, if I were an "outsider", I would probably think that too. But for those of you who know even just a little about me, you know that I will do anything and everything for absolutely anyone in this community. My heart breaks every time we feel a loss, but it doesn't only break for the dead, it breaks for those of us still left here on earth. That's who I'm fighting for. I'm fighting for Josh. That's why I wake up everyday with a smile on my face and make sure that at least one more person in this world will hear the words Cystic Fibrosis. I'm fighting for Sara. That's why I thank God for her every morning. I'm fighting for Emily. That's why I will not stop until CF is a thing of the past. I'm fighting for Mandi. That's why I will never stop taking care of myself and loving those around me. I'm fighting for Kat. That's why I will do everything in my power to reach those in the CF community early enough to make a difference. I'm fighting for Jamie. That's why I try to answer as many questions as I can. I'm fighting for Kate. That's why I try to bring hope to the parent's of CFers. I'm fighting for Jesse. That's why I try to show the "normal" what our normal looks like. I'm fighting for us. That's why I was put here. That's why.

When He Calls Us Home

An excellent question from a reader about a difficult topic. 

I hope you don't mind but I thought of you after receiving some devastating information about a friend who has been battling cancer for 2 years and has now been put on hospice. I've contact you because I know we share a common faith. I cannot wrap my head around the purpose of taking such a vibrant woman of faith home and away from her family, including two young children. 

I am grasping for some level of direction/understanding from others that I know who live a God centered life . . how can I support her - knowing she has "gone to the well" many many times, trying to maintain her faith in the Lord thru all of her painful trials . . . what words are there to offer in such a difficult situation . . .

I'll understand if this is too much of a burden to reply to; however, your words have moved me many times to thinking in a new christian perspective. Thank you for that . . . prayers of love and light to you and your beautiful family. Enjoy each and every second of this blessing!

I know Lisa's story as well, and it's certainly a sad situation.

I'd like to, if I may, ask you to think about this from another perspective - God's. He's not taking her from her home, He's allowing her to actually go Home. It's never easy to leave children behind on this earth, but God didn't create us to serve the world or our children, we were created to serve Him. Part of our service to Him is to eagerly join Him when He has called us back to His arms.

I had many of these same questions when I lost my 16 year old cousin and her dad (my uncle) in a roll-over accident. Jodi was a bright, beautiful, Christ-loving person. I wondered aloud why in the world God would allow that life to be cut short. I was coming at it from a human perspective however. God allowed my cousin to live for 16 wonderful years here on earth before calling her home. That's 16 more years than any of us deserve.

Think of it this way - God has no concept of time (at least as it relates to us). He's already set the beginning and the end of the race. It just so happened that Jodi and Lisa were running a bit faster than the rest of us  Their race is over, and they ran it well.

The only thing we can do in their memory is run the race as well as they did.

As far as what to share with Lisa - I think Paul's life is a great starting point. Paul suffered for Christ unlike many of us will ever experience, yet, he still rejoiced. He knew that the life we live here on earth is but a speck on the continuum of time.

There are times in life that we suffer, only for the fact that we can rejoice in being saved by a Savior who will in a short time, take away all of that pain.

Hope this has helped, even if just a little bit. God bless, and I will continue to pray for peace in this situation.

My dear friend...

I'm taking this day off of blogging to honor one of my best friends in the CF community.

We'll miss you Marisa and I promise that I will never forget the great times we had together. That first embrace with your sister must have been amazing :)

Top Ten Reasons To Get Married: Life

Here goes, the number 10 reason to get married:

No.10 - Marriage makes you live longer

One of the ways that getting married improves your life is by making it last longer. Various studies have indicated that happily married men tend to outlast their single counterparts. For example, a 2006 study performed by University of California researchers contended that single people are five times more likely to die of infectious disease, nearly 40% more likely to die of heart disease and twice as likely to die accidentally. Other studies suggest that the rate of mortality is a whopping 250% higher among single men than it is among married men.

Sold!! We all need to add some years to this life and if marrying my best friend is a way to do so then I say sign me up!! It makes sense though and I totally get it. I can completely relate to this statistic in this regard: Mandi gives me the best reason yet to live longer. Not only that, but she makes me want to fight even harder to live. Not only live like taking breaths live, but really live you know? Conquer things that I've never even attempted before. Improve on the things I already do. Be a better and more caring man. Draw from her strength and cover her weakness.

I've never ever wanted NOT to live, but I feel like the first time in my life I now have a reason not to die...Mandi would kill me if I did :)

Check out the intro to this list here.

Thankful for Kevin Foster

Today, I'm very thankful for the life of a friend of mine, Kevin Foster. Kevin died earlier this week and although I'll miss having him around during my hospital stays, I know that he was ready to go Home. Some of you may be thinking that this is a sad blog, but it is not. It is a blog of joy for what Kevin was and for what he did for me in my CF journey.

I met Kevin many many years ago when I was just a kid. He was probably around 30 or so when I met him and I just remember feeling so inspired by his zest for life. Now, let me also say this, Kevin LIVED and when I say lived, I mean it (I feel comfortable talking about this stuff because Kevin and I had talked to lengths about it). Kevin lived a life that would have killed off most "normal" men in their 20's. Kevin drank. Kevin partied. Kevin went to prison. Shoot, Kevin even smoked. This probably sounds crazy, but Kevin gave me A LOT of hope.

I remember thinking as a teenager, "If Kevin can live into his 30's and NOT take care of himself, imagine what I can do if I commit to treatments and exercise". Then when Kevin got into his 40's, it just gave me more motivation. He used to joke around a lot about "living on borrowed time" and that he "should have died decades ago". I know he just looked at it as playful banter with me, but what he didn't know was the confidence it gave me to take control of my life.

This is also a blog to remind all of you to take your health seriously and make wise choices. For various reasons, Kevin was denied a lung transplant, twice. Transplant boards don't look too highly on those with a reckless past and possible drug and alcohol addictions. Everybody knew that Kevin wasn't a good candidate and although he never said it out loud, so did he.

The last time Kevin and I spoke, no more than a couple of weeks ago, he was ready. He gave it the "old college try" (for 48 1/2 years) as he put it (when he was born they said he'd live till 5). He was ready to move on and was 100% comfortable in doing so. My last moments with Kevin were perfectly tender as we held hands and said a prayer. It wasn't an appropriate time to thank him for showing me that I could take CF head-on and that I learned so much from his accomplishments (and mistakes), but I told him I loved him as I left. I honestly thought that I would get the chance to see him again and tell him "thank you". I never did get that chance.

So here it goes Kevin. Thank you for being you. You were no angel, but you put a smile on my face every time I saw you. You were no saint, but you had one of the most loving hearts that I have ever been around. You were in no way a "model CFer", but in a strange way, you showed me how to be one. Most of all Kevin, you were a true friend to me and although I didn't say it before, I'm saying it now, THANK YOU. I love ya brother.

Early Thoughts on Marrying a CFer

I was contacted earlier this week by a girl that is dating a CFer. She asked how I deal with everything that comes along with dating someone with CF, namely, the possibility of sickness and death. It was a good opportunity for me to put into words what I've thought for so long regarding that issue. Ronnie and I talked very early on about those possibilities and I had a very set way I required myself to think about it all before I would marry Ronnie. Here is my exact response:

"Let me tell you, first and foremost, I am still learning how to navigate all of this myself. Ronnie and I have been together for a little over 1.5 years, so I am relatively new to the game. But it is something I am getting comfortable with.

Here are my thoughts on all of it. Initially, it was scary. Ronnie and I talked very early on about the possibilities. We talked about the uncertainty that comes with CF, and not only death, but the hospital bouts, the good and bad days, etc. I learned early on that CF was something he felt was a blessing in his life and I would need to adopt the same perspective if this was ever going to work. I then began to think about life as a widow. As in, if Ronnie were to die in the early part of our marriage, how would that be for me. How would life look? How would I choose to move on? Would I be able to pick myself up? Would I be happy? These were all important questions for me to answer. Ronnie and I truly believe he is here for a purpose and that he has CF for a reason, and when he is done carrying out his purpose, he'll die. Ronnie has been comfortable with the thought of death and with God's plan for his life, so I knew that if I were his wife, and lost him, I would NEED to continue to have that attitude. I told him that I wouldn't marry him unless I KNEW that I could stand up the next day, put a smile on my face, and look people in the eye when telling them that Ronnie's life was just as it was supposed to be and that I trusted God's plan. So I quickly worked to get my thinking aligned with that so I knew that I could carry on Ronnie's attitude after he died. I don't know if that makes any sense, but that's where I am with all of it.

I still struggle. I cry at the thought of it. I get choked up when I think about it. I get choked up talking to others that have lost a spouse to CF. But I truly feel any amount of life with Ronnie is worth it to me. There is a huge religious aspect of this for me and Ronnie, and I'm certain that helps with my perspective. I don't know where you stand on religion, but I know that it is what really brings me peace with all of the uncertainty. I know that I'm being looked out for and watched over, so I feel as if everything that comes my way, good or bad, in sickness and in health, it is all part of a plan."

The First Time CF Rocked My World

The date was 1990 (my best recollection) and I was playing outside in my front yard. While I was running around in my own little world, I heard the phone ring. As I sprinted to go inside, I heard my mom yell "I got it", so I stopped just short of the front door. I then heard little bits and pieces of my mom's conversation with the mystery man or woman on the other end of the phone.

The following is how I believe the conversation went, with what I actually heard bolded and the rest from what my mom told me the doctor said.

Doctor: Hello, is Christine there?

Mom: This is she.

Doctor: Hey Chris, this is Dr. CF

Mom: Hi, Dr. CF

Doctor: I have some unfortunate news to share with you.

Mom: Ok

Doctor: I'm under the impression that Ronnie and Robbie were good friends, would that be correct?

Mom: Yeah, they're in the hospital often together.

Doctor: Well, Robbie recently underwent a surgical procedure to fix a problem that he was having.

Mom: Ok

Doctor: During surgery, Robbie's lungs unexpectedly started to fill up with fluid.

Mom: Oh no!

Doctor: All Robbie had to do was cough to clear his lungs, but we just couldn't get him to do it. He was in a lot of pain and probably lost much of his strength to muster up the cough.

Mom: And?

Doctor: Robbie died on the operating table. I'm sorry. I thought that you and Ronnie would like to know.

Mom: Well I'll tell Ronnie what happened.

Doctor: We're very sorry.

Mom: That's ok, I'll go speak with Ronnie.

So as you can see, I didn't actually witness most of the conversation had between my mom and the doctor (which by the way could have been a CF nurse). After my mom said "Oh no" I knew it wasn't good and started to walk away from the door. I'm not sure if I knew about Robbie's surgery or not, but I just knew that Robbie was dead. It wasn't common for any medical professional to call the house and my mom's reaction kind of tipped me off. I remember walking towards the street, already feeling a deep sense of sadness for my loss of a great friend. Robbie was my first CF friend and one that I spent a lot of time with in the hospital (this was before they kept us separate). I started walking back towards the door and heard my mom say that she would talk to me and hang up the phone.

My mom came outside and broke the news to me. "Ronnie, your friend Robbie was having a surgery and something went wrong. He died during the operation." Boom. The weight of a thousand bricks felt like they had just been thrown on me. There I was, a little 10 year old boy, being told that my 12 year old friend will no longer be there to hang out with in the hospital. The one guy at the time that "really got" what I was going through would never be able race me down the hall on our IV poles. Some one who I looked up to as the older "cool kid". I can still remember his smile and how it lit up a room when he walked in. He was always happy and never complained. He always "looked out" for me and treated me like a little brother. His laugh was infectious and bright teeth would glow as he cackled. Robbie was my first of many CF friends that I have lost but it still feels like yesterday that it happened.

Of course there were a million questions running through my head after my mom told me the full story. It never once made me question my own mortality, but I just couldn't understand how he could die. I knew he was "sicker" than I was, but I didn't think he was that sick. Why did he have to go into surgery? Was he in pain? What if his mom didn't smoke inside the house, would he still be alive (yes, you read that right, she smoked in the house)? The biggest question I had then is still the biggest question I have now...

Why didn't you just cough Robbie?

I lost Robbie almost 20 years ago, but as I write this, I realize how much I still miss him.

The First Time My Son Died

Note from Ronnie: This is an email my mom sent to me regarding "the time I died". When she wrote it, she wasn't aware that it was going to be posted on the blog. I got her permission to share it with you guys and I think it's a real and raw account of what she was feeling during this event. To read about the account from my eyes please go to Part One and Part Two of "The First Time I Died".

Just because I thought I would share a bit of history...

First...you must remember, that your near death experience happened before you met every top person with any official title at UMC and before you became UMC CF "famous." When you enter ER now and you pretty much have someone sneaking you in the back door for fast service.

I realize our memories of this particular event will be different because you were laying on a gurney slowly being pickled by dehydration and I was trying to remain calm in a very anxious state of mind. I have spotty recollection of the entire event, but yet some parts are still so vivid.

My first memory is of a nurse asking me why you took so much medication? I believe I told her at least three times, "because he has Cystic Fibrosis." She was also amazed at all the information on you in the hospital computer. When I finally made it to a male triage nurse I desperately tried to explain CF, that dehydration was serious to a CFer and that could someone please at least start IV fluids. I pleaded several times to the male triage nurse, but it was like running into a brick wall. I called everyone I could think of...on-call peds pulm, 3 NE nurses station, one of the CF docs, etc. Bobby and I even discussed rolling you out into the ER parking lot and calling 911. At some point there was a phone call for me at the ER desk (I think it was a football coach checking on you) and in front of the male triage nurse I said, "It's not good, he can no longer feel the lower part of his body." Bam...within a minute you were in an ER room!

You weren't in good shape and I can't remember if you had even seen anyone medical yet, when things started going south. I had never witnessed anything like this and it was horrifying to watch. You started to breath really shallow and all the sudden your chest was literally heaving up and down on the gurney. I ran out of the room and the first person I saw was your 'angel doctor in the pink clogs'. She had treated you before and all I had to say was, "Ronnie isn't breathing right." She was in that room faster then a bolt of lightening. She was screaming your name, hitting all the emergency buttons, and then you stopped breathing. I can remember her digging her fist into your upper chest so hard that I thought she'd break something. As medical personnel were running from several directions, carts racing down the hallway, you started breathing again only to stop breathing. I saw the paddles on your chest and stepped out of the room.

I have no memory of what I was thinking as I stood outside the door. A doctor was stroking my arms up and down and telling me to breath. I know you started breathing again without getting zapped. Minutes later I hear your voice say, "tell my mom I'm okay." That is when I slid down the wall and just sat on the floor. It wasn't long and what seemed to be a 'very important lady' appeared and talked to me. I don't remember her exact conversation, but had thoughts that she seemed troubled and worried. My part of the conversation was repeating several times... clearly, "The nurses wouldn't listen. If only they had listened." and "They didn't even know what CF was."

I'm not sure why, but this last memory still puts a half smile on my face. Because you had stopped breathing you had to have an EKG. Who do you think was sent into the room to hook you up to the electrodes and the little ticker tape? Yep...the male triage nurse.

To make a long story short...Thank God you're alive and thank God for 'angel doctors in pink clogs'!!!!!

Love you,
Mom

I encourage you to share your thoughts with my mom as I will make sure she reads the comments that are left for her. I'm trying to convince her to write a couple of posts for this blog and I'm sure any begging/pleading/nudging or comments of appreciation will help greatly. I know a lot of you would enjoy a CF Life from a mother's perspective.

Thanks so much guys!

I had my tearful eyes opened

This week I realized something that I hadn’t previously.

This past Monday, as we sat on the couch, Ronnie asked to me read his post for Top Ten Tuesday; his list of things that made his CF life easier, and specifically, his number one. As he was reading it to me, and got to the final sentence, “and when I have death...” his eyes got watery as he finished the sentence. I pretended not to notice as he looked up at me with teary eyes for my review, and just offered up my praise for his entry. He then had me read point number three in which he wrote about his beloved (that’s me). As I read it out loud, I could feel him watching me. And as I read his words, “I want to be around for her for as long is absolutely possible” tears welled up in my eyes, my voice began to crack and a tearfully made it through the remainder of the sentence, swallowed the lump out of my throat and finished the point. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his eyes glistening more than normal in the computer light, and realized in that moment that he too had tears in his eyes. I set the computer down, looked into his watery eyes as a few tears streamed down both of our faces, and told him it was perfect as I hugged him.

What I realized, as I sat there hugging him in the dark family room, only illuminated by the flickering, muted TV and his words on the computer screen was this: Ronnie is scared to die. I guess it’s silly to think that he wouldn’t be scared, but I think I just assumed that because he had always known it was a possibility and because of his personality/faith that it didn’t phase him. But in that moment I realized that he was scared for those of us he would leave behind. He wasn't afraid to die for him. The thought of death itself was one that didn't phase him. And the thought of going to heaven made him overwhelmingly happy. But he was scared to die for the rest of us, left here on earth. He knew the heartache, devastation and emptiness that it could potentially (and most likely) cause. He has always told me that the only time he gets choked up talking or thinking about CF is when he talks about his family. And it suddenly all made sense. He understands the sacrifices they have made to keep him happy and healthy, gets that they are a big reason he is around today, and I think (in psycho-analyzing him) that he’s scared what will happen, to his loved ones left behind, when he goes.

We did talk about it that night. We just sat there, hugging each other, my eyes tearing and opened to a realization that made my fears seem more rational; valid. It was an interesting moment between the two of us. Maybe because it’s the first time I saw my goofy, carefree best friend cry, or maybe because it’s the first time we shared, together, our fears for me when he was called home. Either way, it’s a moment I will never forget!

The First Time I Died -Part 2

To see part one of this story, please click here.

Continued from last Friday....

I woke up to the doctor giving me a “noogie” on my sternum. It really hurt. I grabbed her arm and asked her, “What are you doing?” She then went on to telling me to breathe deep and “stay with her”. At this time I saw another doctor lead my mom out of the room. Just then they attempted to sit me up again. When they tried to sit me up for the second time, my eyes rolled into the back of my head and I stopped breathing. It’s not strange to me that it happened again, but what I saw and experienced, in the short time between losing and regaining consciousness will always be a very distinct and thrilling memory.

What happened next could be real or it could be fantasy, but there is no doubt in my mind what took place.

I saw everything that was happening. I saw a room full of doctors. I saw me, lying on a bed in the middle of chaos. I was overlooking the room and was probably five or six feet above everyone else. It was if I was looking through a video camera and filming what was going on. Then I saw what has burned into my mind ever since. I saw, at more of a ground level angle, a man from the medical team consoling my mom and telling her that everything was going to be all right. I saw my mom react in a way that I had never seen. She looked panicked. She wasn’t calm. Worse yet, she was crying. I had never seen her, until this point, ever worried about my life. She may have been at times before, but she never let me see it. I always remained calm and collected because she was always calm and collected. When I saw her like this, I was extremely saddened. The feeling of seeing my mom so distraught really hurt me. It was then that I woke up.

This time I woke up to the doctor “fish hooking” my mouth. Apparently there is a nerve back there, that when pressured, causes pain. Well not apparently, I can tell you, it does. It hurt worse than the sternum noogie. When I came to, they were hovering over me with paddles. I guess they were expecting my heart to give out. That was kind of scary looking. I’m just glad they didn’t have to give me “the shock of my life”. The doctor was again yelling at me to stay with her. She was asking me if I heard her and how was I feeling. I actually grabbed her arm to get her attention (and to get her hand out of my mouth). Before answering any of her questions, I had one simple request. I said, “Please go and tell my mom that I’m going to be ok”.

That was my only concern. I wanted my mom to stop hurting. She had dedicated her life to help me avoid pain. Now I felt I was responsible for afflicting pain on her. The doctor sent somebody to go and speak with my mom and I felt a sense of relief. I later spoke to my mom about the whole episode and what I saw, her story corroborated. Can it be all a coincidence? Sure. I look at it as something totally different though. For me, it was a kick in the butt. I didn’t look at it as a wake up call to take better care of myself (although I definitely focused more on hydration as a result), but I knew that I never wanted to make my mom feel like that again. I never wanted to put her in a position to where she had to fear whether I was going to live or die.

There have been other times that doctors said “that was a close call” as well. I have had nurses come up to ICU because they weren’t sure if I was going to make it. My lips have been blue from a lack of oxygen. I’ve coughed up so much blood that fellow campers thought there was a grizzly animal attack the night before. Events like this only do one thing for me. They make me realize how blessed I am to be living and to take full advantage of life. I actually feel fortunate that this kind of stuff happens. It makes me focus even more on my health and gives me motivation to stay healthy. I didn’t have a whole lot of time to dwell on what happened that Friday night however. We still had nine games left on the schedule and I had practice on Monday.

Next week I will be posting a blog written by my mom on what she saw, heard and felt during this traumatic event. So ya'll come back you hear!

The First Time I Died -Part 1

I was a high school senior. It was the first football game of the year. I was fortunate to be my team’s starting tailback. After a pretty good half (65 yards rushing and two sacks as a DE), my muscles started cramping up. I always had problems with cramping while playing sports. Staying hydrated was always a major focus of mine. There were two times before this incident when the cramps got the best of me. Once, the summer after 8^th grade, I was rushed to the hospital by ambulance because of severe muscle cramps and the inability to hold down any liquid (I was outside working on a house renovation in the heat of summer without any water. I know. How brilliant of me.) And also when I was visiting my father over one summer in San Antonio, I started severely cramping after a game of flag football. I was rushed by ambulance again to the hospital and luckily my dad (a military hospital administrator) was able to get his friend (a doctor) to meet me at the hospital doors and begin treating me right away. After blood and urine tests (in which my urine looked like Root Beer) the doctor said that he felt I was just minutes away from some of my organs shutting down. Both times was quite a shock to the system and even more of a shock to my parents.

Well, back to my senior year. This episode of cramps was like nothing I had ever felt before. We’re talking here about muscles cramping in areas that I had no idea contained muscles. They started during the game, but I was able to stretch them out. By the time half time hit, they were all over my body. There I was on the sideline, lying on the ground with trainers surrounding me trying to stretch what seemed like every part of my body. We soon realized that they were not going to stop. So now the question was, do we call an ambulance or do we just go to the ER? We decided to just go to the ER. Bad decision. My uncle carried me to the awaiting minivan and off we went. The whole time to the hospital he was rubbing and stretching all of my leg muscles. To try and describe the pain would do the pain an injustice. All I can say is, picture a “Charlie horse”. Now picture a bunch of Charlie horses all over your body. When I (or my uncle) would try to get rid of a cramp in my quad, it would move to my hamstring. Work on my cramping bicep and it would move to by tricep. I’m telling you, every muscle in my body was cramping in differing strengths for different lengths of time. There was a time during this episode that my eyelids cramped open. I couldn’t close my eyes. Never knew that could happen.

We arrived to the ER and my uncle ran in and got a gurney and a staff member. This is when we realized it was a mistake to not call an ambulance. In a move I can still not explain, they determined that I was not an emergency. There I was sitting, or more accurately laying, in the emergency room with every muscle in my body cramping. My mom and my uncle were diligently rubbing the various parts of my body that were affected as I was writhing in pain. We told everybody working there the situation. I had Cystic Fibrosis and this had happened twice before but not as bad. I pleaded with them to please just get me started on IV fluids. At one point, I banged on the glass partition and said, “You really don’t get it, I need help right now!” I felt helpless. Over the years I have learned to gage when I’m really in trouble and when it was something I could work through. I knew I was in trouble. I needed to be seen and I needed to be seen right away. Nothing seemed to get their attention.

That all changed when I started to hyperventilate and get tunnel vision. I had always heard about tunnel vision but I had never experienced it. I remember trying to catch my breath and just not being able to. I was looking at the ceiling and a dark circle seemed to be closing in around me. It got to the point that I could only see probably a foot or two of the ceiling. It was if I was looking through a scope. With this new development, they rushed me to the back.

When I got into the room, I was pretty much out of it. I don’t remember much in between the tunnel vision and actually getting back into the room. When I got back to the room, I do remember feeling a sense of relief. Finally I was going to get “better”. Boy was I wrong. It only got worse. They had started an IV on me and there were more and more people coming into my room. I remember looking to my mom and she was such a calming force. I thought to myself that something must be going on because there are now a lot of people around. I could not catch my breath and I started to panic. The last thing I remember was taking a ton of short and shallow breaths one after the other and a doctor saying, “Ron, you need to calm down and try to take deep breaths”. When she said this, the medical staff was in the process of sitting me up. That’s when it happened. I had respiratory arrest. My eyes rolled into the back of my head, I stopped breathing.

To be continued....

Part 2 coming next Friday

Miss the first "First Friday"? Click here to check it out.