Sometimes I find myself praying for God to change Ivy. Not big changes, stuff like, “help her to not be grumpy,” “make her sleep well,” “help her to be happy.”
Then something hit me that I of course knew but needed to come face to face with. Ivy is just going through her motions. It’s more important for me to learn to control mine.
Ivy can be grumpy, mean, crying, not sleeping, screaming, and causing all other sorts of havoc. That’s not what matters. What matters is my patience, my learning, my growth.
I’ll say it again, Ivy’s going through her motions, and I’m learning to control mine.
There will come a point when she will be responsible for her actions and will be accountable for her behavior. How can I expect her to be great at controlling her behavior as she gets older if I haven’t mastered my own behavior yet? She will learn from my (and Beth’s) example. It makes me think of the Macklemore song called Growing Up where he says,
“I’ll be patient, one more month
You’ll wrap your fingers round my thumb
Times are changing, I know
But who am I if I’m the person you become
If I’m still growing up”
(Side note, as writing this I almostttt lost my patience as I pulled a piece of paper out of Ivy’s mouth and kept her from deleting everything I just typed. The joys of fatherhood 😊)
Back to my point, Ivy does what she does and is what she is, innocent and perfect. I’m the one that needs to change.
So, when I find myself mistakenly saying, “Heavenly Father, please comfort Ivy and make her know she is safe and watched over so she can sleep tonight,” instead I say, “Heavenly Father, give me the strength, energy, and patience, that even if Ivy doesn’t sleep a wink tonight, Ican help her know she is watched over, I can make her feel comforted, and I can have complete patience with her as she helps me to grow.”
I am eternally grateful for fatherhood and all it is teaching me.
“We need to wait for a helicopter. It’s 2 hours by road to the nearest hospital. You might have internal bleeding in your brain. You might die before we could get you there.”
I was in the back of an ambulance for the first time. It’s an interesting thing to wonder if you’re being melodramatic about dying and then being told by an EMT that you might die. It becomes a real possibility, if it wasn’t already.
My family rented ATVs over the weekend. We rented a cabin and stayed in Duck Creek, near Cedar City, Utah. We had the ATVs for four hours. My family went out first while Beth and I stayed at the cabin with Ivy. Then Beth and I swapped in for my mom and sister.
There were nine of us total and three ATVs. Two of the ATVs held four people and one of them held two. When Beth and I swapped in I drove with Beth in the front seat, my dad and brother in the back seat. We drove to Mammoth caves and explored. After 30 or so minutes looking at the caves, we went back to the ATVs to off road for our last 90 minutes before the ATVs had to be returned.
Moments before the accident
Beth hadn’t driven so we made her drive. My brother Garrick and his girlfriend Arielle rode in the back. We reminded Beth that if you’re not flipping the ATV you’re not trying. My uncle Jon led in the two-seater and my brother Dresdan drove the other four-seater behind them. We took up the rear so Beth could go at her own pace and not feel the pressure of Dresdan bearing down on her.
I had one glove off because I was eating airheads from my pocket. Beth was driving as cautiously as expected and the other two vehicles got ahead of us. I had a thought cross my mind: ‘I bet it would be safer to have no seatbelt on. It would probably be safer to be thrown out of this thing than stuck and crushed inside of it.’ I did have my seatbelt on. That thought I had was undoubtedly wrong.
I’ll describe what I remember next. Then I’ll tell the whole story from the perspective of those who stayed conscious throughout.
We were coming up on a turn. We were not going that fast. I had driven with much more reckless abandon when I was behind the wheel. We came up on this turn and Beth began to break and then we started to tip.
The next thing I remember was feeling pinned down and stuck. I couldn’t see anything. But I was stuck. My arm couldn’t move. I believe I started yelling.
The next thing I remember was the feeling of flipping over.
I still couldn’t see anything.
The next thing I remember was hearing crying and screaming from Beth. I told her I was going to be ok. It was going to be ok. I still couldn’t see anything.
The next thing I remember was moving. Jon was in the driver’s seat next to me. Someone was behind me holding something down firmly on my head.
It is fascinating how the brain works in moments of trauma. How was I thinking so clearly?
I asked if an ambulance was called and was told yes. It occurred to me, we drove way out into these trails. We were at least 30 minutes from anything. I asked who was behind me. Dresdan. It crossed my mind: the firmer whatever is on my head is being pressed down, the more likely I am to survive. I asked Dresdan to push down harder. He did, and it hurt. I asked him to push down less hard. I put my hand up and held it myself and asked Dresdan to support on top of my hand. I felt him start checking my neck and spine with his other hand. I put my right, gloved hand out the window and started flexing my fingers. I was tapping my legs repeatedly. I was acutely aware of the importance of staying awake.
I was staring through the windshield and thought I saw a crack. I stared harder and realized there was no crack, my vision was getting blurry. I was so tired. I told Jon and Dresdan that my vision was getting blurry and I was very tired. I told Dresdan to talk to me. He said something to me, and I can’t remember what it was. It wasn’t a conversation starter. I put my hand on Jon’s leg and squeezed. He put his hand on mine and held it. I asked Dresdan about the book I’d given him to read. He told me it was good and that I’d really like the one he gave me for Christmas. I talked about the book he had just read briefly, then got quiet. I was awake enough.
I asked Dresdan to give me a blessing. It was too loud. He would have to yell it. The talking I’d already done had made my head throb. I asked him to quietly give me a priesthood blessing.
I’ve always wondered how I would react at the prospect of death. It’s easy to say you don’t fear dying but what about when you actually might die?
I’ve always hoped there would be no fear, just faith.
On a destroyed ATV, soaked in my own blood, I learned the answer. I wasn’t afraid to die. While I wasn’t afraid to die something kept coming to my mind on repeat. My daughter is 6 weeks old. I want to see her again. Beth was driving, she can’t live with this guilt. I love my daughter more than anything in the world, I need to see her again. I love Beth so much and can’t have her live with this pain. I want to see my daughter again. I love my wife.
Beth’s cries in that moment of blackness were in my mind. I could hear her grief. Could she live with this? I might die. Probably not. I was conscious. I was awake. Dresdan was keeping pressure on the wound. I would be fine.
But what if I wasn’t?
In that moment I confirmed what I’d always known. The two most important things in this world are God and family. In that moment I prayed relentlessly. I believe the blessing and my prayers kept me awake. What else mattered in that moment but God and my family?
Nothing.
I wanted to see my mom again, I wanted to see my dad again, I wanted to see my brothers and sisters. More than anything I wanted to see Ivy again. It hit me, maybe I wouldn’t. I realized, just in case, I should say something that needed to be said. I told Jon he had to tell Beth that I was ok, and it wasn’t her fault. It was an accident.
We came to a crossroads in the trail. I remembered where we had come from and told Jon. Adie and Jared drove up in the two-seater and told Jon to follow them to the main road.
We got out to a main street and started driving. We came to an intersection and there was the ambulance. We pulled into a dirt lot. I was surrounded by people I didn’t know. I was asked a lot of questions. They cut my clothes off of me and told me not to move my neck if I could help it. I was able to get my seatbelt off. They asked if I could get to the stretcher. I said I could with some help. I took the couple steps to the stretcher and they buckled me in. As I was taken to the ambulance, I saw Beth. Her eye was extremely swollen. She said she was ok. I was put into the ambulance.
This is where our story started. The EMT told me I might die.
Oh.
Ok.
It was real then.
Still no fear. Maybe that’s natural. Maybe the panic and shock takes precedence. I don’t know, I’ve only almost died this one time. The main EMT was a young blond guy. I asked him, “Are you a member of the church, you know, we’re in Utah right?”
He told me he wasn’t, he was raised in the church but had distanced himself from it. We had a conversation about the comfort I felt having that hope. He told me that hope was a powerful thing. He told me that hope told me that even if I died today, I would see my daughter again. He told me the other EMT in the ambulance was a member of the church.
I was told we had to wait for a helicopter. The drive was too long. I might die on the way. We had to wait. I was tapping my toes repeatedly. I was doing it to stay awake. I asked the EMT, Aidan, if it was ok. He said it was a panic response, my anxiety was high. He said it was natural, but if I could take some deep breaths and calm my body, that would help.
I haven’t been meditating all this time for nothing.
I took a few deep breaths and felt my body relax. He said my vitals (I don’t know, blood pressure?) improved and I was looking good.
They asked if I wanted my clothes that they’d cut off thrown out. I told them my garment top was there and it needed to be disposed of properly. Every person I saw from then on got the message that my garment top was present, and it was important it went with me.
The helicopter arrived and I was airlifted to the hospital. I asked the man sitting with me in the helicopter if he was a member of the church. He said he was just Christian. I told him we were part of the same family. He said he loves to discuss the differences. Oh, if I could have gotten his phone number.
In the ambulance they gave me pain medicine. What a difference that made. I was also told it was ok to sleep. I don’t know if I slept, I’m sure I at least dozed off.
At one point the man nudged me and told me we were going over Zion. I turned my head best I could and looked out. My first helicopter ride could have been better. Wasn’t the worst, though.
I arrived at the hospital and was wheeled in.
I can’t emphasize enough how kind every person was to me.
From Aidan, the first person I saw at the ambulance, to the helicopter, to the hospital. Every person treated me with love.
The next bit is a blur, so much happened.
I was given more pain medicine, my skull was numbed, they tried as best they could to clean out the wound in my head and arm, I did x-rays and a CT scan.
At one point a nurse told me something I did not want to hear. She tried to see if I wanted to hear it and I misunderstood and got much more information than I wanted. She could see my skull. Cool.
Eventually they determined I didn’t need surgery. Everything was good. They could staple me up.
The doctor counted 51 staples in my head, I counted 52. He said it wasn’t often they had to use a whole stapler. I was released the same day.
Sounds like it wasn’t that bad, right? You should see me now. My head has been leaking for three straight days and my shoulder is pretty morbid. I’ll put some pictures at the bottom for the sickos in the audience.
It all ended up being fine. I lived. I’m fine.
I should have died. If a couple things didn’t happen I wouldn’t have survived.
The parts that you (and I) missed. Apparently when the ATV flipped, my brother who was sitting back and to the left of me saw my body. He thought I was literally drowning in a pool of my blood.
The other two ATVs had stopped. They said something about knowing that was a slippery turn and wanting to wait. If the other two ATVs had gone on, I’m almost sure I would have died. Them stopping was the difference between me bleeding out in a tipped over ATV and living.
I firmly believe that I am protected by angels. Not just that day, but every day. I tell Beth often that God won’t take me a minute sooner than is my time. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that angels resided with me that day. I know the others were prompted by the spirit to stay. They were feet away when we flipped.
It is difficult to get a group of 8 people to do anything in a quick and organized fashion. Set aside the panic and fear that might have set in. I’ve never been more proud of my family than when I heard the steps they took to save my life.
My brother-in-law Jared heard me yelling and thought I was crushed. Every male in the group, my dad, Jon, Garrick, Dresdan, Jared and Easton immediately grabbed the ATV and flipped it over. Jon got in to drive. Dresdan got in behind me to keep pressure on my head. I learned later that Easton was in my ATV also.
Adie and Jared jumped in the two person ATV and drove off to get cell reception to call an ambulance.
The others got in the other ATV. Initially they were going to drive ahead also. Someone realized, since the other ATV had flipped, it might have an issue driving. They drove behind us the whole way in case the ATV I was still seat-belted into broke down.
Can you believe that? In minutes, every person in my family did exactly what was necessary. Without a moment’s hesitation they saved me.
The doctors at the hospital told me they couldn’t believe I still had my right arm. They told me they’d seen a ton of these accidents and almost every time the person’s arm is destroyed or gone. They said if I’d reached out my arm would be gone. I think the airhead I was eating might have played a part in saving my arm.
God and family.
It’s weird to look back on nearly dying.
I’m amazed at the peace I could feel in what should have been a terrifying moment. I knew if I was meant to die, I would. The only thing that mattered to me was that my wife knew I loved her and it absolutely, positively, was not her fault.
Leaving Ivy would have hurt. It would have hurt. It would have hurt. It would have hurt. But I know that she would have been so loved.
I know what’s important in this life. I’m grateful for trials and scary moments to reaffirm what I know.
God and family.
To all those that have prayed for me, thank you.
To the Hollerbach’s, thank you for sending us food the night we drove back from Utah.
Beth has been off the charts amazing since the accident. She is currently caring for a newborn and someone with a traumatic head injury. She drove us back from Utah, 7 hours, the very next day. I just wanted to get home.
Ivy slept the entire way. We had to wake her for the two stops to feed her. She would get back in her car seat and zonk out. God has blessed me with so much.
I feel it necessary, because Ivy will read this one day, to say something to her.
To my sweet girl when you were born my world stopped revolving around the sun. When I thought I might die, you were my first thought. I hope you never doubt how much I love you. You and your mom are the most important things in the world to me. Never doubt it. Because I did come close the other day. I know what’s important. I love you, Ivy. I love my family and I can’t say enough how grateful I am for them.
God and family.
The pictures below are kind of gross. View them at your own risk. I’ll keep the pictures I wish I never saw private.
The first 48 hours, it turns out, is not just a homicide drama on television or the most important time after a homicide, it’s also an important time after the birth of a newborn.
The first 24 hours in the hospital went amazing. There’s no better word than amazing. Ivy slept the whole time. Beth would have to wake her to eat. She would eat and immediately go back to sleep. We were warned of the calm before the storm.
Nurses would come in and do this test or that. She cried once when I was holding her for like 5 seconds. She didn’t cry at all during her first bath. She looked like she was enjoying a spa day.
When another nurse pricked her foot for blood I asked if babies usually cried during that. She said, “well, I gave her sugar water.” I don’t know what that means but maybe we should be keeping sugar water on hand. What I do know is there was no crying while at the hospital after her initial couple hours coming into the world.
We brought her home around 4:30pm 12/5/20. Becky (mother-in-law) and Jane (new aunt) were at the condo. Apparently Bengie was disturbed by how we left the previous morning. He had been acting strange while we were away and licked us even crazier than usual when we got home. He didn’t seem to notice the new addition. Yet.
Becky made dinner. Jane held Ivy. Keith (father-in law) came over after his shift at the hospital. Everyone expressed joy at a newborn.
The first night was interesting. While I think she was still pretty well behaved, it’s crazy how small interruptions to sleep can be completely disorienting.
We went to sleep around midnight. Mistake number one. I’ve been told this by many people, but I think I’ll have to learn firsthand. Really – take sleep whenever it’s available. Ivy and I were watching ASU football until 11:30pm. Beth fed her and put her down to sleep around that time.
At 2:00am Ivy started crying. I’ll do my best to replay the events of the night, but Beth and I had great difficulty piecing events together in the morning.
I believe Beth tried to feed her, but she wasn’t really eating. Cluster-feeding? I don’t know.
*Beth update when reading this – she did feed her before I woke up at 2:00am, we think?
Things that happened, order unknown:
Beth made a bottle. Beth passed a blood clot. She was upset and scared and talked to her mom. Determined it was ok unless other symptoms/things happened. Beth was upset and having a hard time. I swapped spots with her and laid by Ivy’s bed, which for the first couple months (I think?) will be lying next to our bed. I fed Ivy half of the bottle Beth prepared.
Ivy was somewhat fussy and always on the verge of crying. Between 2am and 4am I realized she had a very messy diaper. Explained the fussy. I changed Ivy in the other room and laid her back down in her bed. She was much better. I’m not sure if Beth was completely sleeping during this time. I think she was kind of in and out of it. She was exhausted.
I laid with my hand on Ivy or helping to keep her pacifier in which seemed to settle her down. I think I slept around 4am. Again, not sure how things transpired, but at some point I woke up because Ivy was fussing. Looked like she was hungry. I talked to Beth around 5am (maybe?) about Ivy being hungry. I think at some point Beth turned the hot air on in the room. It had gotten cold in the room. I could have sworn I passed Ivy to Beth around 5am to feed but in the morning neither of us could recall if that actually happened. Funny, but being serious.
At some point I was really hot, and Ivy was fine. She was sleeping like a, you guessed it, baby. Really, she was sleeping well. Interesting we use that phrase to indicate deep sleep when in reality sleeping like a baby is more like up every 90 minutes wanting some attention. The living room was cooler, so I curled up on the couch and slept there. Again, at some point (8am?) I woke up to the loud carbon monoxide alarm. It beeped loud, 3 times. I saw Beth coming from the kitchen. I couldn’t fathom why she would make 3 loud beeps happen. She seemed in a haze. She ignored the loud beeping. That confused me more. I learned Bengie was sleeping on my legs. His number one fear is loud beeps. He jumped and ran to the bedroom, under the bed, tried to jump on the bed but Ivy’s bassinette was in the way. He ran back and jumped on me. He repeated this 3 times. I held and pet him and he was shaking like crazy. When I stopped petting, he ran to the bedroom, found his way onto the bed, and burrowed into the blankets.
The new addition was proving to be a major interruption to his routine, peace, and quiet.
**Beth addition number two – “you must have been in a haze too, when the beep went off, I yelled ‘oh –.’” (followed by a bad word).
I am not denying any sort of hazy phase. I was a cloud of confusion.
I guess the morning had started.
Ivy was peaceful as could be, as far as I could tell. She’s been an angel ever since. While writing this she was curled up on my legs/lap in front of me. Already learning to multi-task. Her pacifier just fell out. She likes her pacifier.
I still got to meditate that first day. That was big.
Becky came by and made some food. I decided to fast in gratitude to Heavenly Father for all this.
Beth proofread this and told me to insert “I was a Rockstar” talking about myself. That’s a bit much. Beth’s done all the hard work and is completely exhausted. I’ve gotten to sleep next to Ivy and take care of the most important person in the world. And she’s so cute. And when I sleep, I get to put my hand on her and be with her.
Good deal. I’ll take it.
Ivy may be the “Coo Monster.” She’s constantly coo-ing. It’s heart-melting. The cutest little hums and noises. I love her very much. It’s amazing how much I like caring for her. It’s crazy how exhausted I can be already and yet how happy.
Ivy went on a short walk in her stroller today.
She loves her swing.
She loves if I gently tickle her head or face with my fingers. Her eyes will instantly flutter closed.
No Coincidences 