A Daughter's Christmas Story

Even from Momma's bedside at a hospital room in Nashville, I am discovering more reasons to be Lovin' it in Limestone.

Since friends, church family, co-workers and strangers in Limestone County have heard about Momma's ordeal from being declared brain dead to breathing on her own, prayers, calls, Facebook messages, money, Christmas carols, Christmas cards, food and kind acts have traveled Interstate 65 by vehicle or by phone.


Two words like "thank you" seem so inadequate to express what this support has meant to us. The next best thing is to share with you how your prayers and support have given us a Christmas surprise.

On Dec. 3, Momma called me and her sister because she was short of breath and had a pain in her chest and lower side. She had been short of breath for a few days but her doctor thought it was a reaction to a new fluid pill she was taking to treat swelling in her legs.


We now know blood clots traveled from her legs to her lungs, and during an episode with acid reflux, she exerted pressure on a now weakened heart and tore her aorta.


Aunt Jim (short for Jimalee - what a great Southern name) and I took Momma to Crockett Hospital in Lawrenceburg, Tenn., where she stayed all day and part of the night. She was diagnosed with at least one blood clot in her lung. Momma was sent to a room and began giving me orders like a reality TV chef.

"Check the cat's food and water." "Turn down my central unit so I'm not paying to heat a house I'm not even at." "Bring me my make-up. Y'all drug me up here with no make-up and my hair not combed and looking like a tramp."


Aunt Jim stayed with her while I drove to St. Joseph to adhere to her "requests." I was on my way back when my cousin, Aunt Jim's daughter Patty, called to tell me, "You better get back here quick."


A blood clot went to Momma's heart. The jolt caused her heart to stop beating, not once, but five times. Unbeknown to us, the medical staff revived her each time with paddles and CPR for an hour-and-a-half. While Elizabeth Brewer, who was a second mom to me throughout high school, held me in her grasp, I was told Momma was stable and on a ventilator, but likely would have no brain function. I demanded they fly her to St. Thomas Hospital in Nashville.


Hilton, who is due to have a baby girl any day, drove me at 2 in the morning to Nashville, hitting speed bumps in the hospital driveway so fast I thought she was going to knock her baby out. "If she goes into labor on the trip, we'll just deliver it and name it," Patty said.


Hilton, Justin, Misty, Josh, Aunt Jim, Patty, and cousins Doy, Rita and Matt sat with me in a family conference room at the hospital while we waited for the doctor at St. Thomas to tell us her prognosis.


Dr. Casey said she was stable and a team of doctors was evaluating her. It was after everyone had left and I had gotten a couple hours of sleep that Dr. Casey and a nurse named Terese found me. They suggested I call the family in to say goodbyes. There was no evidence of any brain function. The ventilator was doing all her breathing.


Through tears,  I started calling family and friends. Misty and Josh returned, and family came in to see her one last time. Momma's name was placed on prayer lists throughout the country that Sunday morning, thanks to my Facebook followers and those of you in Limestone County.


Around lunchtime, I noticed Momma kept moving her head, as if irritated by the ventilator. The nurse assured me that was a natural gag reflex. She kept twitching her feet, and the nurse assured me the body was hyper sensitive, even when there was no brain function.


Misty and I had doubts. While Terese was checking Momma's vitals, she jerked her head again. I touched her forehead.


"Momma, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?" I asked.


She blinked! The nurse told me to try again.


"Momma. It's me. Open your eyes for me," I implored.


She briefly did! She couldn't squeeze my hand, but she pushed her feet against Misty's hands. The team of doctors returned, re-evaluated this tough Pollock gal, and changed her status to "cautiously better."


It wasn't until  a few days later that Misty asked me whether I realized that Momma opened her eyes and pushed her feet about the time churches were getting out for morning service.


"Think of all the prayer lists she was on," Misty said. "That doesn't sound like a coincidence to me."


Since in a week and two days time she is breathing on her own and able to briefly stand and whisper to me, I don't think it's a coincidence either.

Momma, me and Daddy back in the day

Good Night New York City

Good night New York City!
Good night the lights, the legends, the city life.
Good night dodging vehicles. Good night Little Italy. Good night Broadway.
Good night subway lines. Good night tired feet. Good night, New York City, good night.

New York Ramblings

Kim, Matt, me and Hannah at Gravy New York

I am just now able to blog because our hotel wanted to charge $11 a day for internet. Welcome to New York!

Since surviving the 22-hour train ride - by the way, changing underwear and putting in contacts in a tiny and jostling bathroom is such entertainment - I have started rambling around the city. Straight from the train, I went with a small group to the Empire State Building observatory. The view was like a forest of architecture.

After wondering around the city - including a pit stop at Toys R Us where Kelley showed me a toy bed bug because of my fear of finding the creatures in our hotel rooms - we sat on the red stage steps at Times Square and watched the unusual folks who come out to play in the big city. One woman was rocking and cuddling a fake baby. Another guy was listening to music and playing an unrelated tune on a harmonica repeatedly. Several foreigners seemed to have found access to a Bedazzler and went dazzle delirious.

Today we meant to hit the stores none of us can afford to pronounce much less shop in but a jogger knocked down a grandmother in our group at Central Park and she broke her wrist. Sampieri and our security, Deputy Mike Boyles, and I ended up doing some brisk walking through the park looking for the "big rock" as the group of students with the jogger victim kept telling us by phone. We did have time to grab burgers before making it to see "Wicked."

Afterward, I survived a short subway trip to meet Matt, my friend from elementary school and our old Tot Town Daycare days, and my friend from college, Kim. We ate at a Southern, yes Southern, restaurant called Gravy New York. I had something called the bog which had various seafood. It was tasty.

I am spending the night with Kim, Hannah and Oliver and then taking the subway in the morning to meet up with the band at Times Square. Kim and Matt have trained me on my "mean face" so no one messes with me on the subway.

Lovin' the Big Apple

I will be lovin' it in New York this week. I am headed with the East Limestone Marching Band to the Big Apple. They are appearing in the Veterans Day Parade.

If I survive today's 22-hour train ride with 120-something teenagers, I plan to blog about the trip this week. We will get to hang out at Times Square, go to the 9-11Memorial, see the Broadway show Wicked and take a dinner cruise.

I also am going to meet a friend of mine from elementary school, Matt, and one of my close friends from college, Kim. We are going to eat at a place called Gravy New York, a Southern restaurant. Yep, I'm  headin' North to eat soul food. Here's the website for it.

http://www.gravyny.com/

Hope to check in Tuesday night if the train of teens doesn't slay me. Now where did I pack my ear plugs?

Boogers of Love

If you spend time with a toddler, you have been the recipient of boogers of love.

I get most of my boogers of love from my 2-year-old nephew Tyler, but my nieces Hannah and Allie were just as guilty about sharing their boogers in their younger days.

These toddlers are crafty about their booger blessings. When he has a cold, Tyler does the subtle swift swipe on my shoulder while clutching his chubby arms around my neck. I will invariably come home to find crusted boogers on my shoulder or in my curls.

He also has a slick knee nudge maneuver. If I am sitting down, he'll totter over to me and act like he wants to put his head on my lap. He will nudge my knee with his nose, leaving behind shades of yellow, green or brown. They are the color of love for these tikes.

One day, I'm sure Tyler will attempt the rub-your-nose-picking-finger-on-her-pants routine.

I take my role as a human Kleenex in stride. What are aunts for if not to be blessed with boogers of love? Besides, it gives me a guilt angle. While his mother can use the, "I was in labor with you for 10 hours," guilt trip, I can use the one, "I was a walking booger catcher for you for three years."

Letter From a Father

I received this from a friend of mine who said everyone needs to think about what this father wrote about a horrible wreck that happened in Limestone County. I decided to include it on my blog.

One Hundred

by Jim Nunn on Tuesday, October 11, 2011 at 9:06am

One Hundred.  What is it? Is it just a number?  Is it different than any other number?  I mean, one hundred dollars really won’t set you up for life financially….  Most people have more than one hundred friends on Facebook.  Some people can hold their breath for more than one hundred seconds. Most movies are longer than one hundred minutes.  So why is one hundred different?  Let me tell you about a very special one hundred. 

This story begins as a tale of two people.  Although not related by birth, they had formed a special bond as “step-sisters” and this is where our story begins.  Skylar and Lauren had one of those love/hate relationships that was really all love – it was just too much fun to pick on each other, one would play jokes on the other, and enjoyed a friendly insult or two.  They grew so close that they referred to themselves as “sisters for life.” 

On Friday, October 7, the story takes a turn and this is really where the story begins.  Skylar was taking Lauren to her car so they could both go to their respective jobs.  This was probably something that they had done more times than they could count.  It was just another day doing another thing that didn’t seem any different than any other day.  There were probably plans made for that night after work, or the next day, or even next week.  I can guarantee that what happened instead was NOT in either one of their plans.  It wasn’t in their friends, family, or community plans either.  But sometimes things happen we don’t plan for or want to happen and it turns your world upside down.  This did.

Without giving the details (because they really don’t matter), there was a horrific accident.  In that single vehicle accident were two very special people – Lauren and Skylar.  Both Lauren and Skylar were ejected from the vehicle by the force of the accident.  In the aftermath of the accident, two things were immediately clear.  First, all of the plans they made were suddenly changed.  Secondly, there were two very seemingly different outcomes of the “SFL.”

It seems that Skylar was killed instantly by the impact, and somehow Lauren’s life was spared.  Why?  I can’t understand or make reason behind it.  But I can explain what happens next.  The normal accident things happen.   Police and medical experts were called to the scene and they probably responded did their jobs like they do every day, repeating duties that they could repeat in their sleep.  They were living their life not knowing that they were witnessing the very beginning of something that can only be described as a miracle.  I’m sure that there are aspects and things about this story that I don’t know.  I’m just telling you my version and what I know.

So I’m eating a late lunch on Friday at 2 pm.  My phone rings and I receive the news of a wreck and there are no details.  I start praying because that’s all I know I can do.  A few minutes later, I get another call and hear that Lauren in being transported by Med Flight.  I work less than 10 minutes from the hospital – so I leave work, assuming we are headed to the same place.  On the way I am praying because all I know is that there has been a wreck and my daughter is in serious condition.  I am in baby panic mode.  I just need to see her and know how she is.

I arrive at the hospital, go to the emergency room, and inquire about Lauren.  Of course I have to wait a few minutes.  After what seemed like hours, they send someone out to get me and they take me back to another mini waiting room.  It’s just the nurse and I.  She sits down and I fear the worse.  She informs me that Lauren in getting a CAT scan and that Lauren has multiple serious injuries, but that she is responsive.  Another seemingly forever goes by and they come and get me to take me to Lauren.  We meet in the hall coming from different directions.  I will never forget the sight of Lauren when I first saw her.  Daddies should never have to see their daughters like that.  I go to her, touch the bottom of her foot – at this time the only area I figure is not hurt and gently say “Hey Lauren.”  To my surprise, she looks over, sees me and replies “Hey, Dad.”  I ask her how she feels and how is she doing.  Her reply is “I’m just chilling.”

“Just chilling?”  Seriously?  Does she know she’s been in a serious accident, ejected from the vehicle, injuries serious enough that required med flight, and now laying in an emergency room?  Yep, she does.  As the onslaught of doctors, test, and flurry of activity ensue, one thing becomes very clear.  Lauren has been blessed.  I can’t explain why.  I have more questions than answers.  I’m hurting.  In one way, I am so relieved, but at the same time in mourning for her best friend.

As the doctors and the results start pouring in, I am in shock.  Lauren, who is “just chilling” has injuries that are unbelievable.  There is a fractured skull, broken ribs – 3 of them, broken collarbone, her pelvic bone is broken, the liver has some small tears and is bleeding internally, a bruised kidney, a small section of her lung is bruised and collapsed, an eye that is nearly swollen shut, and more scrapes and bruises than I can count.  But then other results are following the initial report.  EVERY injury that she has IS serious, but in some way it is “ideal.”  For instance, you really don’t want a fractured skull.  But if you HAVE to have one, you want one like Lauren has that is very small and can vent pressure as needed so to reduce the chances of surgery.  The list and examples go on and on.  The injuries – all of them – are serious injuries, but they have happened in such a way that they are the “best case scenario” for that particular type of injury.  More results continue to come back and they are the same.  It is serious.  Many of her injuries could turn bad very quickly and require surgery but right now, the doctors wanted to wait, see what happens, and do more test.  They inform me that after about five or six hours after being admitted to the hospital, Lauren is being moved to the surgical intensive care unit.  She’s not longer a trauma case, but needs to be monitored very closely and have the ability to be whisked away at a moment’s notice to the operating room if that is needed. 

I have to leave my daughter’s side, knowing I won’t be able to see her for hours – and then only for a few minutes at a time.  I’m hurting emotionally, and she’s hurting mostly physically and we are forced to say our goodbyes.  She tells me “Dad, I’m gonna be OK – I’m a fighter.”  I walk out into the waiting area and am shocked by the outpouring of love and support from friends, family, classmates, and community.  It appears as if we are having a revolt in the hospital.  We have taken over the place there are so many people there.  We have our first visitation hours in ICU and I go see Lauren.  She already seems to look better.  I tell her that there are tons of people outside that want to see her and she says that she wants to see as many as possible.  The nurses and staff are wonderful –they allow us some extra time to allow many friends and family to see her.

After countless visitors, it is time to do and witness one of the toughest things I’ve ever seen.  After hours of her asking, Lauren is informed by Skylar’s Dad that Skylar did not make it.  It wasn’t fun to see and I can’t imagine what he felt when he had to tell Lauren.  She takes the news in typical Lauren fashion.  After a few tears, she starts making us laugh as she tells us of things that the two sisters for life had discussed.  

I have a conversation with the doctor and he gives me an update on Lauren.  They are still very worried about the injury to her head and liver, but if everything continues as it has been, there is a possibility that Lauren may not have to have any surgery.  None.  Almost unexplainable with her injuries. By Saturday afternoon, this is confirmed by the various specialists treating Lauren.  She will make a full recovery I prepare for an extended stay at the hospital.  As expected, the next few days are a blur.  Visits with friends and family, short visits with Lauren and coordinating as many people seeing Lauren as possible because that is what Lauren wants.  By lunchtime on Saturday it becomes official - unless something drastic changes, Lauren should be able to heal completely without any surgery. 

Every time I see Lauren over the next couple of visits, she shocks me.  The rate at which she is healing is unexplainable – a word I have used a lot this week. By Sunday morning – IN THE ICU – I am told that Lauren will be moved to a normal room AND should be able to attend her best friend’s funeral.  I am so thankful, but absolutely shocked.  Of course, the word spreads quickly and Sunday is a flurry.  Flowers, balloons, cards, pictures, friends, and family come pouring in- but just right so it doesn’t overwhelm Lauren.

On Monday as we are prepping to take Lauren on a very difficult trip, the doctor comes in and we are discussing the details.  I am given very direct and precise directions.  I ask the doctor if there is a “curfew” or time she needs to be back.  He looks at me and says “I don’t know that she has to come back.”  WHAT?  Are you freaking kidding me?  Unexplainable.  We decide (actually Lauren decided) that it would be best to return to the hospital after the funeral for the night and leave the next day, so that’s our plan.

We take Lauren and she does great.  Keep in mind; she has only walked to the bathroom from her bed – a distance of about ten feet – three or four times since being in the hospital.  That is amazing in itself.  She gets to the funeral and decides she is walking with her family and she doesn’t need the wheelchair.  And she does.  She walks in and out of the church and to the car unassisted (but with a very nervous dad watching very closely).  Unexplainable. 

By Tuesday morning I’m sitting here typing this as I’m watching my last sunrise from this room.  I’ve had many conversations in the past couple of days and have seen many things that I don’t understand and can’t explain.  They are truly unexplainable.  Although this has been lengthy, it doesn’t even start to include everything.  It would take too much time but I can tell you this:  I have seen multiple miracles in the past few days.

One hundred.  What is it?  It’s just a number.  Why is this one hundred different than any other one hundred?  Because God was in TOTAL control and I saw how He can orchestrate the universe and use tragedy for His good.  It’s something I have heard about over and over again, but when you see it, it is unexplainable.  Everything that has happened since Friday afternoon has taken less than 100 hours.  The affects of the past 100 hours reach much further than my family and my daughter’s friends.  Their story has literally spread all around the world thanks to prayer chains and the internet, and the message it shares should not be taken lightly.

100 hours ago my daughter and her best friend were acting like they would on any other day.  Since then, there has been tragedy, triumph, victory, and miracles beyond belief.  One earthly body lost, instantly becoming an angel and going to comfort and protect the fall of her sister for life – protecting her from serious injury, then protecting her injuries and injecting them with healing power that does not come from this world.  As one wise man has said more than once – “I can’t prove it, but you can’t prove me wrong, either.”  She has endured more pain and suffering than I have ever endured while cheering those who come to comfort her.  I have heard more laughter than tears.

In the past 100 hours, my daughter has healed at rates that are unexplainable.   Medicine and science can’t explain it.  Yes, God has given individuals the knowledge and skills need to test and treat the broken and I really appreciate that.  But in the big picture, all the doctors have done are run some tests and prescribe medicine.  That is very important and I’m thankful, but THE doctor has done the healing.  It can’t be explained any other way. 

In the past 100 hours I have seen relationships instantly healed where there has been years of bitterness.  In the past 100 hours, I have seen a community realize that this world is not the prize and realize that this afternoon is not guaranteed.  In the past 100 hours, I have seen the most perfect funeral where at least 20 people have made a decision to follow Christ and decide to search for the real prize.  I have seen how we are to take what this world gives us – imperfect and painful – filter it through God, and reflect His Glory. 

In the past 100 hours, I have felt the comforting effect of prayer more than I have at any time in my life.  I know this situation has been soaked in prayer and it shows.  Yes, we will miss Skylar Ann Mays and that hurts.  But Skylar lives on.  Her legacy and story continue.  It has made eternal changes and she’s up dancing and singing with God and rejoicing with us that we are here to share her story. 

In the past 100 hours, I have been changed.  We should all have been changed by what we have seen.  That’s what Skylar would want.  Her leaving this world for the next is painful, but in the end, it has brought healing, reconciliation, more miricles than I can count, and it all reflects the awesome power of God. 

Please don’t let your next 100 hours be like your last 100 hours

Trust me, one hundred - it’s much more than a number.

The Southern Way of Overcoming Adversity

Gary and Teresa Lovell from Owens VFD

A FEMA official walked up to the East Limestone Volunteer Fire Department after the April 27 tornadoes and saw a community that had already rallied. Firefighters, school students and staff and neighbors had established a command center at the fire station, which was damaged by multiple tornadoes that swept through that day.


The FEMA guy saw food, water and supplies being divided and taken out into the community and asked, "Don't take this the wrong way, but what do you need me for? You've got tornado damage, but y'all are out here cooking and delivering food, and even victims are out here helping."


He got an up close look at the Southern way of overcoming adversity. Since the power was out, people shared food from their freezers and had community cookouts or donated it to responders. Others bought water, sunscreen and items victims needed and began handing out boxes in the devastated areas of the county.


On the first of October, the department held an open house to celebrate the completion of repairs on its building and to thank the community for pulling together. Chief Joey Boyd made BBQ chicken and white sauce and the community ate for free. You can't have a Southern celebration without good food, and it doesn't get much better than free Southern food.


There were some good natured arguments over what SEC football game to watch on the meeting hall television. Folks slippd chicken skin to Sheriff Blakely's dog. Kids jumped in an inflatable bouncer, and men wore pink to promote a Breast Cancer Awareness pink T-shirt fundraiser. It was a great day to be "Lovin' it in Limestone."


After the tornadoes, it was an inspiration to see people help their neighbors and strangers in spite of their own troubles. On this fall Saturday, it was further inspiration to see a community overcome and join together with the intent of never forgetting, but the desire of moving on.

Sauceda waits for scraps