And Now, We Wait

I'm sitting in the waiting room as a surgical team pokes around inside my wife's brain. Let that sink in for a bit. My 26 year old wife. Brain surgery.
This is all such a surreal experience. My wife is the picture of health. She is physically fit. She has only complained of focal headaches, which are more than likely unrelated to the  aneurysm the surgeon is currently working to eliminate. Yet here I sit, surrounded by family, friends, and plenty of strangers waiting to hear word on their loved ones.
This surgery is much riskier than the previous non-invasive procedure she went through just a couple weeks ago. This surgery will eliminate the risk of the aneurysm rupturing. But, the associated risks with this procedure are much worse. Her biggest fear is that she will be permanently changed to the point that, somehow, I will no longer be able to love her. That's not going to happen.
It's funny, in a way, to say that. You see, you probably don't know this, but there was a time a few short years ago where we had reached the end of our respective ropes with one another. We separated and were talking about filing divorce papers. We each had our plans and were working those plans. But God's plan was bigger than our plans. He changed our hearts and lives to see what He had in store for us. I, we, are forever grateful.
In a few long hours, my loving wife will come out of surgery. She will have a large swath of hair missing on the left side of her head, a long incision across her scalp, and yet to be determined side effects. I will love her all the same.

A Humbling Experience

I completed my second 5K today. Well, first really, since the first one I ran was a 6K. It was a truly humbling experience. My wife, Andrea, used my first run as a motivating factor for her to get into running. So, she got together with our pastor and came up with a plan: we would start a bible study/run group with our church and run twice a week to train for a monthly 5K.

It just so happens that the first 5K we were planning to run was the first annual Sarah White: Scare Your Fear Memorial Scholarship 5K.  Sarah was a local teacher that valiantly fought cancer, only to come up short about a year ago.  I did not know Sarah or her husband Brian, but had heard bits and pieces of their story, mainly through Facebook. If you believe in such a thing, you might say that it was quite the coincidence that we chose this run as our first run. As for me, I'm not much on coincidence; I choose to believe in God's perfect plan.

Have I mentioned that Andrea has an aneurysm in her brain? She has been blogging about it and trying to keep all of our friends and family up to date. If you want her side of the story, go over to her blog and check it out.  Here are the details: an aneurysm is basically a weakened spot in a vessel that is susceptible to rupturing. She has a significant family history of this happening, and the result is frequently death. So, we have been getting many tests and her neurosurgeon is on the verge of recommending surgery. Brain surgery. That's scary. Looking at the statistics on aneurysm repairs makes it even more scary. Depending on where you look, around 40% of people that have an aneurysm rupture die. Around 4% of people die in the operating room getting their aneurysm clipped and 12% come away with significant side effects. Weighing these numbers and the options for treatment have been, well, scary.

The outpouring of support through advice, thoughts, and prayers to our family during this time has been amazing. Friends, family, and acquaintances have reached out to offer their support and we really appreciate it. I'd like to share part of an exchange with one of my "internet friends" that has touched my heart. After sharing Andrea's latest blog post, I received a direct message on twitter from this person that read, "You normally don't love people you've never met, but my wife and I love you, Andrea, and Maddie. The Grace of God does some pretty amazing things."

Back to today: Maddie is sick. She woke up with an eye almost swollen shut. She's had a productive cough for a few days and ran a low grade fever off and on over that time. So, we called the Pediatrician's office this morning and were told to go to urgent care so that she could be prescribed antibiotics to help fight off the infection. After 2+ hours in urgent care and eating lunch, we were on a very tight time schedule to make it to the 5K.  But, by the Grace of God, we made it. This run was very important to Andrea. She wanted to show that, despite the adversity she is facing, she isn't going to let it get her down.

Neither of us placed today, FWIW. I finished 26th overall and just missed the top three for my age group. My time would have been top for the 20-29 age group. Andrea finished 54th overall.  Pretty respectable for her first competitive run and first time running that far.

The most important part of today, for me, happened well after the race had ended and after the awards had been handed out.  Brian White spoke to the runners and shared some personal stories about Sarah.  I cannot tell you what he said, and it didn't matter. It mattered that he said anything at all. I was deeply touched simply by his presence standing in front of the crowd and speaking. Brian, my friend and brother in Christ, I do not know you, but I want you to know that I love you. The Grace of God indeed does some pretty amazing things.

To Grandma's House I'll Go

I grew up in the country. I mean, down multiple gravel and/or dirt roads to get home 'in the country'. Fortunately, my Granny Arnold lived about a quarter of a mile down the road from us.  My brother and I spent many of our free days with granny and built a very special bond with her over the years.

So, when my mom was on an important phone call one day and too busy to stop and tie my shoe, it was an easy decision for my five year old mind what I would do.  I would make the quarter mile trek to granny's house.  I'd never made the trip on my own, but I knew granny would be more than happy to tie my shoe.

Granny lived in a decent sized mobile home surrounded by 40 acres of farm land that my uncle farmed.  She had a large garden in the front and a chicken house in the back.  A sandy driveway stretched about 100 yards off the main road down to granny's house.

So, I hopped on my little black and yellow bike and started pedaling. I don't remember any details from that trip over to grandma's.  I seem to remember an old truck rolling slowly past at one point, but I think that is a detail my brain has added over the years to make the story more sensational.

When I finally made it up granny's long driveway, I saw granny coming around the corner of the house. She had just been out checking the chicken house when she noticed me.  The look of surprise on her face would only be matched by the look of fear on mine when my mom realized I was gone and figured out that I had made the trip alone.  I knew better and she would remind me that I knew better!

Grandma tied my shoe and we went inside and waited for my mom to show up. This is the end of my recollection of this event.  Legend has it that mom swatted my butt the whole quarter mile trip back home. I sent her a text today to fact check the story and here is one of her responses: "I'll bet your butt still hurts.  My hand does!"

Being a parent myself now, I can imagine the fear that gripped my mom in that moment; the horrific realization that your child is gone and you have no idea where they are.  I'd probably respond the same way she did.  I can tell you this much: I learned my lesson and never made the same mistake again!

Granny passed away during my first year of PT school. She had battled with dementia and was on Coumadin. Family helped to monitor her medication at home. She had recently spent a few nights in the hospital and had her Coumadin dosage altered, if I recall correctly. Somehow her levels got off and she was found unresponsive and passed away shortly thereafter.   

I place no blame for her passing; neither on family or her physician. I was and continue to be disappointed that she didn't receive further services when released from the hospital. There are so many home health companies that would have been more than happy to make the trip to Granny's house. But, God's timing is perfect, whether we understand it or not.  I draw comfort from Isaiah 57:1-2:

The righteous perish, and no one takes it to heart; the devout are taken away,and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil.  Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death.

At the time, it was painful not being able to be there for her as she had been there for me when I needed help.  I'm frequently reminded of my granny when I go out into the country to see an elderly woman living alone. These patient's hold a special place in my heart and take me back to riding down that sandy lane and seeing the comforting sight of my granny there to make everything alright.

What's in a Name

I've toyed with the notion of starting a blog for quite some time now. My wonderful wife recently started one to share her memories with our daughter and I thought it would be a good idea to do something similar myself.  My take is going to be a bit different, however.  I often feel like I don't recall my own memories from my younger years very well, so I am going to regale you with tales of my youth as I recall them; hence the name.  I'll give a bonus prize to the first person to identify the source of the blog's name. 

I'd also like to thank Brandon Crook for the motivation to start this blog.  He and I play a little softball together and at our last game he asked why the guys call me Scooter. I didn't feel like my feeble attempt at an explanation sufficed to answer the question, so I felt the need to start an entire blog to explain it.

Scooter. Scoot. Scooty. Most of you have called me one or more of these names on multiple occasions (to some of you, one of these is the only name you know me by), but do you have any idea how I acquired this nickname?  Sure, it's just a simple derivation of my first name, but why the need to "simplify" a one syllable name by, in some instances, making it longer?

It started my freshman year of high school.  If memory serves me correctly, I started high school somewhere around 5'2" to 5'4" and rail thin.  My smaller stature made me an easy target for upper classmen, especially in sports. There was a certain individual that felt a special need to target me. He was a year older than me and played the same positions as me in both basketball and baseball.  His disdain for me was not necessary as I posed little threat to him in either sport.  You see he was the big shot athlete, and, well I've already shared my size with you. 

It was some time during fall baseball season that this guy took to calling me Scooter and it stuck.  At first it was uttered with a hateful tone, however as I earned playing time and respect, the tone faded.  But I don't think it ever completely went away. Since Scooter is a name often associated with baseball players, most famously with Hall of Famer Phil Rizzuto, it spread quickly with my teammates.

As I got older and taller (but no thicker), the name grew with me. Also as I grew, the control that the name gave the older guy faded. The name became a source of motivation, pushing me to be "better" than the other guy.  He went on to go to the same JUCO I would eventually go to, but had shoulder surgery in his first year and was unable to make it through the rehabilitation process.  I had my own (more difficult) shoulder surgery the same year as a senior in high school. My arm strength never fully returned, but my motivation to continue playing and continue getting better remained. The surgery also lead to my eventual career choice.  Last I heard he was driving a dump truck (not that there's anything wrong with that).

Throughout the years, the name has been twisted and shortened into its other forms. I was able to escape the name for periods during my time in college, but it has always popped back up.  Let me make something clear: I don't hate the name.  Would I have chosen it?  No.  Would most people choose their own nickname if given the chance?  Probably not.  I would hope that they would find a way to embrace it and make it a positive impact on their life. 

*I'm glad that this form of bullying was all I had to deal with.  It was nothing compared to the cyber bullying teens are faced with today.