Even in his youth…

While sifting through a slew of old papers that my Dad gave me, I stumbled across a couple of dusty old gems. The first one is my Duty to God certificate, which I received in 1992. I am very proud to say that I am an eagle scout. It is one of the few things I did in my youth that I am proud of. But I am equally proud of my Duty to God award. And I know that Boy Scout purists will say that this is sacrilege, but I’ve always thought that the Duty to God Award was a better looking medal than the Eagle Scout medal.

I also found a ‘book’ that I wrote. It was not dated, but I know that I was in elementary school. One indication that the story was written in the 80s is the character who employs the phrase ‘rad’. As you look at the story you will see that I had my knack for drama at a very young age.



I don’t know why the story was not finished, but I am sure that in the end the team went out and won one for the Gipper. I compared this story with something that I wrote recently and found that my story telling skills have not improved.

A Poor Impression

Yesterday my orthodontist told me that my hand was on the plug. He is ready to sever the nearly two year relationship I have had with my braces. There is only one thing that still needs to be done. Many years ago I broke a tooth on the bottom and had it pulled. I never did anything about it, but when I got my braces I decided that I would get an implant when all of this was over. Before the braces come off, the orthodontist wants to know if my dentist feels that there is enough space in the gap for an implant.

This morning I went to visit my dentist for a regular cleaning and asked about the spacing. He told me that he thinks there is enough space there, but he would feel better if he took some impressions, made a mold, and tested it out. The hygienist told me that she would use a special mold that is just for people who have braces. Because they don’t use it often, she had to step into the other room to mix it up.

After a brief time she rushed into the room with a tray full of purple goop. She jammed it into my lower jaw and started poking around to make sure she got all the air bubbles. Now I don’t know why, but for some reason she had a hard time getting the tray back out. I didn’t think it was a big deal until she stopped making jokes about it and got serious. She then left the room and reappeared with the dentist in tow. Then it was serious.

The dentist leaned his hip into my shoulder so he could get better leverage, and after a while he was sweating. He wasn’t the only one. As he tugged and pried at the tray I started to have visions of hearing about myself on some strange news story.

I tried to tough it out, but it was hard. The hygienist’s assistant kept dabbing the sweat from my forehead and massaging my jaw. She even dabbed the tears from my eyes when the pain was the worst. She was probably afraid to hold my hand because she saw the death grip I had on the chair. At first I was afraid that they were going to pull off some of my brace brackets. Then I was afraid that I was going to lose some teeth.

After I sat in the chair for an hour with my jaw pried open the mold was removed, but not before it was twisted so badly that it was of no use to anyone. In the process of tearing the plastic out of my mouth the dentist also ripped the wire out of my back bracket, and had to clip it and a spring out. So I get the pleasure of visiting the orthodontist twice this week, so I can get a new lower wire. The orthodontist’s office agreed that when I go in tomorrow that they will take some molds and send them over to my dentist. Something tells me that the orthodontist has done that before. I can’t say as much about the dentist…

A Heart Felt Gratitude

One of my many responsibilities at the hospital is the creation of a video for the quarterly staff meetings, which are coming up next week. My goal for the day was to get the filming completed by early afternoon, then get home to get the editing done tonight so that I could enjoy the weekend. As the day wore on and people took more and more of my time I felt myself getting antsy, with some pressing need to get home. Finally at 2:30 I called it a day and hurried home. When I got here I was glad I had.

I entered the house to find Kate in the living room, doubled over in pain and unable to stand. She had been having severe chest pain for a couple of hours and sweating profusely. Kate handles pain better than anyone I know (as evidenced when she delivered Bean naturally without complaint). So I knew that something was really wrong. I suggested that we go to the ER, but she refused, pointing out that she had to be to work by 7:00.

She called her mom, who told her to go to the ER, as did Beth, when she arrived at our house to pick up her child. Eventually the nurses convinced her to go. Beth packed up the Shirley kids and took them to her house while Kate and I headed to St. Mark’s. Upon arrival I found that when a person presents in the ED with chest pain, she doesn’t have to wait. She walks past the people who have been in the waiting room for days.

I also found that when a post-partum nurse calls in sick from the ED that is just 100 yards away, they don’t question it. And the house supervisor at St. Mark’s is not HIPAA compliant…

First they shot Kate with more narcotics than I have ever seen, in order to control pain. In less than 10 minutes she was sacked. They had to wake her up for the EKG and chest X-Ray. In between I kept watching the monitors. It was scary to see her heart rate, which is usually in the low 40s stay up near 70. And her blood pressure was out of control.

Mike stopped by and he and I visited while we waited for news. Finally they were able to rule out my worst nightmares and declare that she was suffering from pleurisy. All I really know about pleurisy is two things: It is an inflammation of the lining that surrounds the lung cavity and that Ben Franklin died from it. Fortunately we have better healthcare nowadays, and Kate was allowed to go home with some scripts and an order to ‘take two and call me in the morning’.

There was some humor in all of this, though. The gown that the ED nurse gave my wife could have wrapped around her three times. Kate was upset that it was so huge. Then when it was time to go we asked for a wheelchair so I could get her to the car. They brought a bariatric chair, in which I could have sat next to her and had Mike push us both out. The irony of all of this is that Kate has been killing it at the gym over the past few months and is thin and fit.

When we arrived at home I had to carry my bride up the stairs because she couldn’t make it. Once I got her and the kids home I had to run through the fog to get her scripts filled. While I was gone the kids crept around the house, getting their pajamas on and quietly doing story time in Whitney’s room so they wouldn’t disturb their mom. The kids were great. They even made some get-well cards for her.

It was a stressful night, hearing words like pneumonia, endocarditis and pulmonary embolism being thrown around while seeing my young wife holding her chest and doubled over in pain. I am incredibly relieved and grateful that she was able to come home tonight and is sleeping comfortably. However, I don’t think that she will be very grateful when I tell her she can’t go to the gym tomorrow…

Made Whole

I should have known that before we could put 1,000 miles on our new van that something would happen. Two weeks ago while we were in the midst of some heavy snow, Kate came out from the gym to find that some gutless piece of crap had smashed the front bumper of the van and ditched out. So who gets to pay the insurance deductible? We do! Anyway, I picked the van up from the body shop tonight, good as new. Hopefully we can keep the thing looking nice for at least a year before it starts to look like, well, a van.

All grown up

I guess it is time for us to feel old. Our youngest child started pre-school this week. Lauren now attends a school for children with special needs. The bus picks her up in front of the house and delivers her to class. She is the only child on the route, so it is just her, the bus driver and the driver’s assistant. And she loves every minute of it. And I already know what kinds of comments I am going to get, so let me save you the trouble: Yes, it is a 'short bus'.

Parade of Champions

Coach of the Year Kyle Whittingham and quarterback Brian Johnson

Yesterday afternoon the best college football team in the nation had a victory parade in downtown Salt Lake City. Since I was working right around the corner I decided to duck out and check out the festivities. It was awesome.

Swoop was there (He and I are friends on Facebook)

Aiona Key

Normally I would never even mention a kicker, but Louie Sakoda was awesome this year.

Matt Asiata

Even Patrick's friend the pirate was there.

Improvement

At this week’s Junior Jazz game Patrick showed some signs of progress. Not only did he touch the ball, he took two shots. One rolled off the rim, the other was rejected by a kid on the other team. I think the kid who blocked him stood over him and said ‘Man’s game, bitch!” The things they teach kids these days…

Two highlights from this week’s game: First, you know how there is always one kid who is twice the size of any other kid in the game? Well this kid was playing for the other team. He was huge and he just bowled the other boys over and brutalized them. At one point a kid from our team stole the ball and started down the court on a fast break. The big boy ran with him, reaching in for the steal. Being tired of being pushed around, the kid with the ball gave the bruiser a stiff-arm to the chest that would make any football player proud. The oversized child was on his heels and back pedaled his way to the floor while Patrick’s teammate finished the lay-up. But don’t feel bad for the fat kid. A few minutes later a kid from P’s team put up a shot that clanged off the rim. The big kid wasn’t paying attention and the ball bounced right off his head and into the hands of Patrick’s teammate, who scored on the play. So at least the bruiser gave our team an assist. I love watching ‘herd ball’. It’s highly entertaining…

Taking in a Game

I took Patrick to his Junior Jazz game yesterday, and decided to take the video camera. I wish that I had taken shots of him during warm-ups so you could see his shot form. I didn’t know that during the game he would never touch the ball.



You might have noticed during the video that I was sitting next to Josh’s dad. Who is Josh? Some kids from the other team. Fortunately Josh is on another team, so I won’t have to listen to him each week. Junior Jazz is using the motto “Coaches coach, Players play, referees ref and parents cheer.” Apparently Josh’s dad got the ‘coaches coach’ and ‘parents cheer’ part mixed up. Josh’s dad is ‘that guy’. You know the guy? There’s one at every youth sporting event. He criticizes the refs for allowing 6 year olds to travel and double dribble. He yells at his kid for taking bad shots. He makes fun of kids when they do something wrong. He pulls the 15 year old volunteer ref aside during time outs to ‘give him some pointers’. He gets upset with the coach if his kid doesn’t start and close the game. He strolls out onto the court between quarters with his other son to give the other son some pointers on proper form and makes a show of it in front of all the other parents. You know the guy. He probably also brags to his kids about how he played defensive end for a major university, while forgetting to tell them that he never started, and never made a play on the field. He kind of reminds me of Rome’s ’softball guy’. As I make my way through the world of my kids’ sporting and dance events, that guy is going to be my biggest challenge. He’s an a-hole. And he teaches his kids to be a-holes.

He’s too smart for my own good

Disclaimer: The following post contains foul language. If you are offended by dirty words, please come back next week. Otherwise, enjoy.

On New Year’s Eve we usually gather at Alley’s house for food and games, and this year was no different. The only game we got to was the Quiddler. For those who haven’t heard of this game, the point is to use cards that you are dealt to create words. Each card has a letter, and a point associated with that letter, and a player gets credit for each letter used, and penalized for each letter they can’t use. The first round starts with each player getting three cards, then four, all the way up to ten cards in the final round.

In the second round I was dealt 4 cards: K, U, N and T. Players aren’t supposed to show other players their cards until the end of the round, but I couldn’t help it. I held the cards out to Jeff and asked if I could use those 4 letters for my word. Everyone had a good laugh, and I was told that I could not use them for that word, as it was misspelled.

My mother had been busy trying to make a word with her cards and didn’t see what I held up. “What was the word?” She asked. It was then that I realized that Patrick had been looking over my shoulder. “He spelled ‘cunt’” Patrick said. Sometimes I am really proud of the fact that Patrick can spell and sound out words as well as he can. Other times I wish he couldn’t spell at all…

Rolled Tide

I am a Utah Man, sir,

and I live across the green,

Our gang it is the jolliest that you have ever seen.

Our coeds are the fairest

and each one's a shining star,

Our yell, you'll hear it ringing

through the mountains near and far!
Who am I, sir?

A Utah Man am I!

A Utah Man, sir,Will be 'til I die.

Ki-yi!

We're up to snuff, we never bluff,

we're game for any fuss.

No other gang of college men dare meet us in a muss.

So fill your lungs and sing it out

and shout it to the sky,

We'll fight for dear old crimson

for a Utah Man am I!

Go Utes!

Last night we sat down to watch the Utes take on Alabama in the Sugar Bowl. For a month now we have been hearing from all the prognosticators about how the Utes were going to get crushed by the Tide, how Utah was too small to keep up with ‘Bama’s front line, how teams from the Mountain West don’t stack up against ‘real’ BCS teams from the SEC, about how the Utes had no business being in this game, blah blah, woof woof.

The Utes answered the critics by punching Saban’s team in the mouth right from the get go, going up 21-0 and winning by two touchdowns, 31-17. It was awesome. The best play of the game from Alabama was a 73 yard touchdown run, which we all missed. You see, we were watching the game in the meager confines of Pat’s house, and when the winter storm rolled in during the second quarter, she lost her signal. So we had to pack up and move the party to the Shirley house.




It was a great win, and I am really happy for the players, the school and coach Whittingham.