"Life is the continuous process of getting used to things you hadn't expected."

On Friday, the 13th of June 1980, my wife Lori and I, were wed at First United Methodist Church, Fort Madison, Iowa. We have lived in Lomax, Illinois throughout our marriage and brought three daughters, Corina, Emily and Elizabeth into our family.

School was out today because of a holiday, so my girls loaded into the car for a visit to Grandpa’s house. My girls didn’t make it to Grandpa Gene’s as planned. Lori, and our three daughters were involved in an motor vehicle accident that nearly claimed each of their lives. This tragedy struck on Lincoln’s birthday, February 12, 1991.

Lori was in the hospital for nearly a month, she acquired multiple injuries and eventually recovered. Emily (then 6 years old) was hospitalized for 195 days of treatments and rehabilitation. Em is now disabled from her head injury and still lives at home today. Our youngest daughter, Elizabeth, died at the scene of the accident at age four. Corina, our oldest girl, died from her open head injury two weeks after the accident at age nine. Corina's day of passing coincided with Lizzy's funeral.

What a mess. Our loss of lives has made it hard for us to move on, but it can be done. After nearly eighteen years, we still miss them terribly. I can move on, but I’ve yet to forget.

I was at my job on the morning I received the initial call from the hospital. When my boss Lynn King and I reached his office phone, the line was dead. We got cut off for some reason. No sooner did Lyn hang up the phone, it rang again. Lyn handed me the phone with an E.R. nurse on the other end. She said my family was involved in a motor vehicle accident, and that my presence was needed at Burlington Medical Center right away. With Lynn’s blessing I left work for the short drive to the hospital.

I parked in the auto ramp and ran to the E.R. where a nurse and doctor shuttled me into a small examination room. Wanting me to sit so they could break the bad news to me, I told the E.R. people they’d waste less time if they’d just cut to the chase and give me the news straight up. Other than hearing that my wife pulled out in front of a grain truck with our little Ford Maverick, details of the accident were sketchy at best. Lori, Corina and Emily were admitted to the E.R. All four girls had indications of severe head trauma. Lori was being prepped for exploratory surgery because of her internal injuries, the little girls had severe brain trauma and were currently being stabilized in the E.R. for Life Flights to University Hospital in Iowa City. Lizzy hadn’t been extracted from the car at this point in time, Kris Beals (Henderson county’s coroner) was to bring her to the hospital a little later on.

I remember the admitting nurse with her soul-soothing-voice, asking me if I had any health insurance, then stuffing a pen and a clipboard of appropriate forms into my hand and leading me to a seat in the E.R. waiting room. I noticed how polished her demeanor and fluid her motion. She was an asset to BMC, a well practiced this professional. As soon as she left, I made a call to my father-in-law, Gene Ruberg. I had to let him in on the news. I had no one else I wanted to call.

After filling out part of a form, I dropped the clipboard back on the registry nurse’s desk and told her I was going to step out for a smoke. Screw their forms. I hated being cooped inside that place. It seemed to me that everyone was staring at me weird, and whenever I looked back, they'd look away. Yeah, I needed a bunch of smokes. I was experiencing shock and I knew it, but how do you treat yourself? I walked around dazed. Total denial, coping with disbelief on one hand, and facing the reality of a brutal re-orientation of my life’s course on the other. I was caught in a violent trapping of our family life’s woes.

There was a flurry of traffic that morning at the E.R. entrance of BMC. Cops, ambulances, pedestrians all going about their business, and others loading and unloading vehicles. As I stood there puffing on my smoke, I heard a helo whoop-whooping above the hospital. The helo was there to transport one of my kids to a university hospital trauma center seventy miles to the north, but it didn’t register to me at all. I can remember thinking about how we’d spend the next weekend. Valentines Day was just around the corner. I wondered if I’d have time to squeeze in an change the oil on the Maverick. As if this car, that just got t-boned by a five ton truck, needed one. A cop walked up to me and told me he needed to speak with my wife. I told him that I had no idea where she was. He gave me a weird look, repeated what he said then walked off.

I lit up another smoke and heard the helo winding its engines up to leave, then I was accosted by another nurse, this one was dressed in scrubs. She drug me along into a washroom to talk to urologist, Dr. Kellogg. Lori’s x-rays weren’t informative enough, she had been crushed in the wreckage. He and Dr. Vincent were preparing to open Lori up to check her kidneys and her other internal organs. Since Lori was conscious, Kellogg wanted me to tell her that the kids were alright and assure her that everything’s going to be just fine before they put her under. Lori was first survivor I’d seen. She appeared to have been severely beaten with a club from head to toe. Bloody, bruised, stripped of her clothing and now being violated by the medical professionals trying desperately to save her life. I just thought to myself as a prayer, “My G-d!” I performed as coached and said what I had to before I left them to do their gruesome tasks.

As I dropped back into the waiting room, I saw some Rubergs beginning to assemble. Since they were all caught up in the moment, and didn’t see me, I went back outside for another smoke. A second helo just came in as I went outside. Soon it left heading north same as the last one.

As I stood there, I can remember just freaking out, feeling so pumped and ready to explode, yet trying desperately to remain calm. I took an interest in a brand-spanking-new, maroon colored, Chevy Astro as it pulled up and parked by the E.R. doors. Yeah, that caught my eye. I had been thinking about maybe buying a new minivan for the family, but this here Astro was a mini-cargo-van and it didn’t have any glass in the back. Nice color that maroon. Then the driver of the van climbs out of his seat, walks to the back of the van and opens a rear door. He pulled out some sort of chrome gurney on wheels. I remember it had a plush red velvet blanket covering the whole mattress, including the small lump in the middle. I finished my smoke before I went inside to see Grandpa Eugene.

The waiting room was all a buzz. I grabbed a cup of coffee and had a seat as family shared questions and answers as best we could. With two of my daughters in route to Iowa City and Lori now in surgery, the E.R. people were trying to clean up their messes and were to preparing for their next catastrophe. An E.R. nurse walks up and hands me a clear, thirty gallon trash bag stuffed full of the nasty looking, bloody clothes, shoes, coats and other personal effects. She told me to take it home with me since my wife’s purse was in there. Thanks. My brother-in-law, Tim found my car and put the trash bag in the trunk for me. Soon afterward, Pastor Don Meiner showed up. He proved to be a valuable friend in the days to come.

On Pastor Meiner’s heels was the maroon minivan driver. He came be-bopping up to the nurses’ station, and spoke to the nurse that was now pointing her finger at me. After exchanging eye contact, he changed direction slowly coming my way and introduced himself. Kris Beals, was medical examiner for Henderson county, Illinois. He wanted to know if I would want to view Elizabeth’s body. He explained that he gets frequent requests of this nature during times like this. I asked how badly Lizzy looked and Kris stated that she was a victim of severe blunt force trauma. My heart was pounding and my body shaking. I felt sick and wilting. It was a good thing I was sitting. Having seen Lori as she was, and having already refused to see Corina and Emily in the E.R., I thanked him as I passed on his offer to see Lizzy. I don’t regret it now. My last living memory of Liz was kissing her ‘two-lips’ as I tucked her in bed the night before. I asked Dr. Beals why he brought her here instead of Prugh’s funeral home. He needed medical x-rays for his inquest. I got up and walked away shedding the hands and arms trying to comfort me. Time for another smoke.

The cop that spoke to me earlier, approached me again as I stood outside in the cold. He was Henderson County Sheriff’s Deputy, Sergeant Ed Collier. He was very apologetic about bothering me, I could see the sincerity in his eyes and hear it in his voice, but he needed to investigate the accident. I told he I’d only spoken briefly with my wife and that she was really out of it at the time.

I asked him what had happened. At 10:53 a.m., the collision took place at the intersection US-HWY-34 and Carman road. Lori was stopped at Carman headed east on her way towards Burlington. For reasons unknown, Lori pulled away from the stop sign turning left into the path of an empty straight bed grain hauler truck, which was also headed to Burlington. The driver of the truck tried to stop, but the collision was inevitable. It was as if Lori never saw him coming. That truck smacked our little Ford Maverick like a softball with a bat, flipped over and lit in the ditch along the road. Everyone in the car was wearing their seatbelts and were found hanging upside down. Rescue was dispatched immediately since the MVA occurred in front of a well traveled gas station.

I asked the Sergeant if the truck driver was alright. He said that the occupants of the grain truck were quite emotionally shaken, but physically unharmed. Grandpa and grandson were both alright. My heart went out to this grandpa. The poor guy had to be hurting too.

Sergeant asked if Lori drank alcohol, did drugs, was she depressed, did we have a recent argument, etc., etc. No was my answer to all of the above. I gave him no clues to help him with his investigation. We agreed to talk some more later, after things settle down a bit. I looked at my watch, it was past noon. I felt disconnected, but not a bit hungry.

Back inside, everyone that was in the E.R. waiting room had now disappeared. They moved over to the surgery waiting room. Gene and I made small talk out in the corridor until Dr. Kellogg popped out of nowhere. Kellogg said Lori was very beat up, but there was no internal bleeding. Her internal organs had been badly crushed. She has a long road ahead of her for recovery. Right now she’s in Post-Op. Soon she’d be transferred upstairs to ICU. Lori’s kidneys were damaged and it’ll take time to see how they recover. I had no idea of what questions to ask, so he left. I noticed how dirty I was from being at work. I needed a shower and a clean change of cloths. What I needed most was out of here! I hated being in this place. I left Gene in charge and took off for home by myself.

The ride home felt like a long journey. I drove east on Hwy 34 and saw that red and blue lights were still blinking up at the intersection of Carman Road and the gas station nearby. The state troopers were still doing whatever they do at accident scenes. I turned south onto Carman Road heading for home. Nine miles later I turned into our drive, parked the car and just sat there dazed for a few moments. I needed a shower and something to eat so I went inside. The house was quiet. It was too quiet. Valentine’s Day was only two days away and I saw that my girls were being artistic this morning. A mess of red, pink and white construction paper hearts, scissors, crayons and Elmer’s glue were strewn about the kitchen table and trailing to the floor. Still hungry, I grabbed a bowl of cereal and gulped it down as I stood in the kitchen. The phone on the wall of the kitchen was blinking for me to answer its messages. I didn’t want to deal with any messages, but it might be the hospital trying to call me. I fielded a half dozen calls, all of them were from people I didn’t know. Members of Lori’s church? They gave their condolences, but wanted to know what had happened. Nuisance calls, rubbernecks seeking out the latest gore and gossip. People can be so cruel at times and the annoying messages on my phone were proof of it. But the last call I listened to was a message from BMC. It was to inform me that University of Iowa Medical Center was trying to reach me. I returned the call from BMC and asked for the number to U of I and soon found that the BMC nurse gave me a number for the U of I switchboard. “What extension please?” I hung up the phone and went to take my shower. The hot water and soap may have washed off the dirt, but I still didn’t feel a bit clean. I put on some clean cloths, got the hell out of the house and headed back to BMC.

BMC was fairly quiet now. My in-laws had all disappeared. Pastor Don had also left. I took the elevator up to ICU. As I entered the ICU, the nurses all took note of me and they stared that stare I was becoming accustomed to. One of the nurses showed me to Lori’s bedside. Lori was asleep and resting. Tubes, and wires were attaching her to various medical equipment. The whole scene was disturbing, giving me an overwhelming feeling. I felt tired and weak. I grabbed a coffee from the nurses’ station and headed out to the parking ramp for a smoke.

Soon afterwards, I heard a nurse calling me to the phone. It was Dr. Loftus at U of I. Because the situation was so grim, he was concerned that I wasn’t up in Iowa City with my daughters. I really didn’t know what to say other than I could only be at one place at a time. He started in telling me the girl’s medical conditions, but his medical jargon went way over my head. The head nurse was standing next to me, so I handed her the phone and asked her to translate for me. She took several notes and after a short time handed the phone back to me. Loftus strongly suggested that I come to Iowa City and see my girls. Loftus said both Corina and Emily were very sick little girls and it was too early to tell what the outcome would be. I asked Loftus to do the best he could and that I’d try my best to get up there when I could and hung up the phone. The nurse told me that both girls were stabilized and were now in Pediatric Intensive Care. Corina had an open head injury, that the right front of her skull had been penetrated. Emily had a closed head injury, which while not as severe as Corina’s, still very critical. After surgery, both girls had been given drugs to induce coma in order to reduce brain swelling. The nurse went on for a short while, but I can’t remember much of what she said. It was hot and stuffy in that ICU. I thanked her for interpreting and went back outside into the cold.

The sky was getting cloudy and dark. I lit up again and took a brisk stroll around the hospital, wondering if I’d ever wake up from this nightmare. Being hungry and now cold, I headed down to the hospital’s basement cafeteria. That place was no five star restaurant. As I sat down in the BMC dining room, trying to choke down a hockey puck pizza, I noticed Pastor Don hoofing it my way. I asked him to sit with me and brought him up to date on what I knew. He hinted around about the need for me to consider the up and coming funeral arrangements. I remembered telling the coroner to deliver Lizzy to Prugh’s, but I hadn’t given a thought about it since. The issue now was how many funerals would I be needing to plan for? With Lizzy gone, along with Corina’s and Em’s survivability in question, the situation was very grim. Pastor Don offered to come with me when I went to talk with Burton Prugh. I asked Don if he’d be willing to perform the services. He agreed to do so and after a few more words and a prayer, Don left to set up a meeting with Burton Prugh for the following morning.
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After Pastor Don got up and left, a lady of small stature approached my table as I sat there mulling over what to do next. She introduced herself to me as Chaplain Mueller. She was part of BMC’s staff and with the way she introduced herself, it made me wonder if she were going to stick out her hand so I could kiss her ring. I took an instant dislike to this woman (and for personal reasons, I still resent her intrusion into the lives of my family to this day.) She said she’d just been up to visit my wife and was curious to know where I was since I wasn‘t at Lori’s side. I told her I’d been kinda busy today and asked her what it is that she wanted from me. She handed me a business card along with a pamphlet on grieving and told me to contact her if she could be of service. I told her that I did need a phone to call my place of work. As a response, she pointed to a payphone hanging on the wall in the cafeteria. I told her I needed a little more privacy than this dining room. Mueller shrugged her shoulders and said, ”Well, I suppose you could use the phone in my office. If your are you finished eating, please follow me.” She led the way as I followed. When we got to the Chaplin’s office, I could see she was relieved to see that her co-chaplain wasn’t in his office, “ Here, use Chaplain Nixon’s phone, I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

I got Lyn King on the phone and brought him up to date. I also asked for time off, that I’d probably be missing a few days of work. I was a blubbering mess. Then I noticed as I looked out of Nixon’s office door, I could see Mueller’s shadow cast upon her office door as she eavesdropped on my conversation. I kicked Nixon’s office door shut with my foot and finished talking to Lyn. Shortly after hanging up the phone, Mueller knocked on Nixon’s door and opened it. “If you’re finished here, I’ll have to ask you to leave since this is a private office.” What a snotty and annoying bitch! Nope, I’m not going to get along with her at all. I just got up and left her standing there. I went back up to ICU. I was told that Lori was awake earlier talking to Chaplain Mueller. I touched Lori’s foot and called her name, but got no response, so I went into the ICU waiting room, closed the door, flipped off the lights and laid down on a sofa for a bit of rest.

It was early evening when one of the nurses came into the waiting room searching for me. I had a call from a Juanita Porter waiting for me in ICU and she wanted to know if I wanted it transferred to the phone in here. I said yes. Juanita was a good friend and co-worker of mine at J.I.Case. I felt relieved talking with her. Juanita asked me how I was doing, just then it struck me that she was the only person to asked me that question today, everyone else asked how Lori and the kids were doing, but not me. We spoke for quite a while. So much had happened up to this point, and having told her what I knew helped me to put this horrible day into perspective. I would come to welcome these conversations in the following days to come.

I stepped outside for a smoke and did a lap around the hospital. It was getting late. When I went to check back on Lori, I found her awake. The nurse at her side and seemed relieved to see me at the door. When she left, Lori started asking me what had happened to her and wanted to know where the girls were. I told her what the Deputy Sergeant told me of the accident. I told Lori about Elizabeth dying from her injuries and that Corina
and Emily were up in PICU at the university struggling with their head injuries. I told her about having to make funeral arrangements the next morning for Liz. It was the most difficult conversation I’d ever had. I could see bits of Lori die as I spoke. I felt more like an observer than a loving husband. There was no way I could reverse what had happened this morning. I had no comfort to give her. I was drowning in grief myself. As I ran out of words to say, Lori wept. I stayed for a little while longer, then finally left Lori in her tears. I had to get out of this ICU oven. I felt as though I could explode at any moment.

I laid down off and on through the night. I roamed the halls of BMC and searched out all of the available coffee pots. At times my mind would race, thinking about my girls. Other times I just stared into space, drawing a complete blank. It was a bear not having someone to act as my sounding board. I dread the thought of going to Prugh’s later on. Before I knew it, I was watching the sun rise over the horizon. What would this new day have in store for me?

My stomach was burning, but do you think I could find an antacid tablet anywhere in this hospital? Hell no. I had to jump in the car and drive across town to buy a four pack of Tums. Heading back to the hospital, I had the sun in my eyes and could hardly see where I was going. I was too much of a mess to have been driving. I needed to get around though. Too much to do.

Having copped a fresh cup of coffee from the switchboard gal, I went and sat in the main lobby of BMC and looked over a copy of yesterdays paper. Not much in it, there rarely is anything good to read in The Hawk Eye. As I sat there, I thought of all of the funerals I’d attended in the past; grandpa Vincent, great-grandma Buga, grandpa Miles, my sister Sandy, my mother, My brother Marc, Lori’s sister Rhonda and her youngest daughter Tanya, Lori’s mother Marion. Death, there’s just no avoiding it.

As a child I can remember when Grandpa Vincent and later, Buga having died. I was more frightened by the profound effect it was having on my family and the way it caused them to act more than anything. I knew that they dead and were with God and this was true cause for celebration. Now, the very people who had me believing this way were all sad, crying loudly and hugging me a lot more than I liked. Very confusing for a boy my age.

My sister Sandy died in an alcohol related mva back in 1974. That was the total mess where witnesses and people directly involved with the accident, each had conflicting stories. I was prepared to kill someone over Sandy’s death, but the whole event boiled down to a bunch of drunken fools acting stupid, an accident was the result and Sandy was the one driving the car. Sandy left behind her husband, two young boys and a one month old daughter. Sandra Jeanne, was only thirty years old at the time and conscious till her death.

Losing Sandy was unbearable for our Mom. Within six months, Mom succeeded in drinking herself to death. We were very close, the three of us. I was still serving my hitch in the Navy at the time of their deaths. I took emergency leave both times. The Navy treated me very well during this crisis. Losing these women was devastating and it took me several years before I got any closure for their loss. Maybe it was God’s way of preparing me for present day happenings.

I went back up to see Lori after grabbing a bite in the cafeteria. Pastor Don and Lori were in prayer as I entered ICU. I waited till they were finished before went into the room. Lori was still groggy and a teary eyed mess. The nurse on duty said Lori woke up this morning not remembering anything of yesterday at all. She didn’t remember seeing me or recall our conversation about the girls yesterday. I’m sure it was because of her concussion or maybe even the shock of her loss was coming into play.

Pastor Don and I discussed the pending funeral arrangements with Lori. We knew we had to bury Lizzy and yet we still had to prepare ourselves for the horrible possibility of loosing Corina or Emily. The heat of the room felt stifling. After a while, Pastor Don and I were on our way to Prugh’s.

We were ushered into Burton Prugh’s office as soon as we arrived. We got down to business immediately. Burton was in no hurry, I was. I wanted out as soon as I sat down, but there was no escaping this task. Burton was very concerned for my well being and didn’t want me to rush through this process and make choices Lori and I might regret later on. There would be no open casket. If people wished to view Lizzy, they’ll have to settle for our family portrait set upon a pedestal nearby. Lizzy would be dressed in her favorite pajamas. Since Lori wouldn’t be able to attend the services, I asked Pastor Don to audio record the services. I would take photos of the Lizzy’s casket and floral arrangements prior to the hours of visitation at Prugh’s. The Lomax Nazarene Church would be where the funeral was held. Burton would arrange for purchase of a family burial plot at Carman Cemetery. Burton had a simple white, satin lined, gold accented children’s casket set up in a display room. This would be Lizzy’s new bed. Not knowing if our other girls would survive, I asked if we could delay the funeral for a week. And that was that. I felt as if I’d just ran a gauntlet. I hurt all over and was completely drained after this ordeal. I still had to go up to Iowa City and see my girls today, so we said our goodbyes to Burton and headed back to see Lori at BMC.

Pastor Don and I reported back to Lori and told her of the plans we had set into motion at Prugh’s. Lori seemed satisfied with our efforts. Pastor Don wanted to talk some more with Lori, so I excused myself to try and find someone to drive me up to Iowa City.

Mike King a friend from work, drove me up to the hospital in my old AMC Hornet. I’m glad I had Mike to drive me, as I was trembling inside and out and my driving was a poor option at best. It was a seventy mile drive on two lane blacktop back then. I can’t recall any of our conversation, just a deep feeling of nervous dread.
University of Iowa Hospital and Clinics is a monstrous place. Many buildings, parking ramps and corridors to get lost in. It is a teaching hospital and in the following days, months and years, I would have much to learn about brain injury. My lessons were to begin today.

A young women at the information desk directed us to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit(PICU.) It was up on the fifth floor. Mike stayed in the ICU waiting room. The young nurse at the PICU desk led me to a corridor of isolation rooms. Another nurse was stationed in this corridor and showed me to the girls. Corina was in the first room, a little boy was in the next, then Emily. The nurse was telling me the conditions of each girl, but I don’t recall much of what she said. I was overwhelmed with horror. I could not believe these were my girls! I was sure I was in the wrong place. These had to someone else’s children! I just stood there staring, weeping and feeling totally disconnected.

As if on cue, the nurse backed off and gave me some room, although she was never far away. I felt as if I was being observed as if some sort of specimen under glass. I guess this is a teaching college.

Corina was the hardest for me to see. Maybe it was because she was our first daughter, I don’t know. There wasn’t a lot of spare room around her bed, for all of the equipment needed for life support. I could stand only to her right side. She was dressed in a simple gown, lying on her back with wires and tubes attached to her here and there. Corina’s head was wrapped up in a turban of bandages and there was a wire coming out of the top of her head. Her tongue was protruding from her mouth in an odd, grotesque fashion. A breathing apparatus was attached to her throat, made her chest go up and down. With the exception of the bandages, her body showed no signs of injury. I half expected Corina to just sit up and greet me with a hug and a kiss, but the other half of me knew better. When I laid my hand upon Corina’s arm and felt the warmth of her skin, the nurse stepped up and cautioned me not to do so. It had something to do with Corina’s brain swelling and the induced comatose state she was in. They wanted to keep Corina’s brain activity subdued, and my touching her arm would stimulate brain activity and somehow increase the pressure on her brain. It was too hot and confining in here. I left the room and stood in the corridor, staring at a little boy wearing a halo in the next room, then a little farther down was my Emily.

After collecting myself, I went to see Emily. She was as bandaged and wired up just as Corina. Emily looked so small and helpless lying there in that big bed. With the exception of wearing a Lone Ranger’s mask consisting of two black eyes, like Corina, she appeared to be free of injuries. I had a hard time believing she couldn’t just open her eyes, hop out of bed and run around like the crazy little goose she is. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. What could I do? Wait and see. Having said goodbye to the girls, I went back out to the ICU waiting room.

The ICU waiting room itself, was foul smelling pit. Stale cigarette smoke, rancid coffee and rank body odors permeated the room. Most of the staff members were non-smokers, so they’d often confer with family members out in the hall or in one of the several consultation rooms located nearby where the air wasn‘t so nasty. Since this is the state of Iowa’s largest trauma center, it’s filled with the injured and sick people from all over the state. And of all the rooms within this monstrous complex, the ICU waiting room contained some of the most desperate looking people I’ve ever seen in my life. The waiting room was often full of people waiting their turn to visit their loved ones. Many even camped out here for days because they were so far from home and couldn’t afford to stay at a motel. It was pathetic the way they staked out areas of the room with gear such as sleeping bags, ice chests and grocery sacks full of personal items. Adult patients were limited to scheduled visiting hours throughout the day and their visitors would form up around these windows of opportunity. When the visitors were allowed in, it was like watching cattle going through a chute. On the other hand, the pediatric ICU allowed parents in to visit at anytime. Activity in the waiting room would fluctuate with the crowds, one moment it would be quiet, the next moment all hell would break loose. At all hours, day or night, unsupervised children could be seen running around unchecked. Arguments, whispers and loud conversations mixed with tears could be heard routinely from waiting visitors. That’s why I refer to this place as the ‘ICU-ZOO.’

I found Mike King sitting alone, drinking a cup of coffee. I joined Mike with a cup and filled Mike in on all of the gory details. Corina and Emily were extremely sick little girls, whether they would survive this ordeal was anyone’s guess. I wondered, even if they did survive, what would be they be like? I had no clue how we were supposed to deal with this? My options were non-existent. All I could see was doom and gloom. As Mike and I were about to leave, a white shirt and tie guy entered the room, and headed our way. He introduced himself as Jim Cone, staff social worker for the hospital. We spoke about the stuff social workers generally speak of during times like this. He wanted me to fill out some release forms and visit their insurance office downstairs. Then with a twist that seemed to throw Jim off guard, I brought up the subject of possible organ donation. I think it surprised him that I mentioned harvesting organs. Lori and I are both designated organ donors and if the opportunity presents itself, I also wanted this option open for my daughters. Jim gave me some literature to read on the subject.

We spoke for a short time longer, said our goodbyes, then we were on our feet and were headed to the hospital business office. Eventually, Mike and I headed back to Burlington. We parted at BMC, I thanked Mike for his company and for taking his time to drive me around.

I made it up to ICU and filled Lori in with what I knew. We discussed how Corina and Emily looked, what the nurses and the social worker discussed with me, and I brought up the possibility of organ donation. I left that final decision up to her, although I already favored organ harvesting. Lori favored the idea also. While talking to Lori, I got a call from Dr. Mathews, pediatric neurologist from Iowa City. Dr. Mathews felt Emily had crossed some sort of milestone and so she lifted the ‘Do Not Resuscitate’ order on her. I don’t remember telling the doctor not to resuscitate either Corina and Emily during their short visit to BMC’s emergency room, but I’ve no doubt that I did. When I asked about Corina, Dr. Mathews said the ‘DNR’ order still stood. Corina’s condition was not as favorable as Em’s. I thanked her for calling and hung up. This info I shared with Lori, along with a reminder that she would still have to make a statement with the investigating officer from Henderson county.

I was past exhaustion. I really didn’t have it in me to watch Lori cry anymore, and I sure as hell had no comforting words to tell her as she lay in bed. Then Lori asked me to lay down and hold her, in her bed full of wires and tubes. I have no reason why, I just couldn’t bring myself to do so and had to leave the room. I was headed out for a smoke, but ran into Mike Sereda down in the BMC lobby.

Mike Sereda, was President of my UAW Local Union #807. Mike was here to give me some much needed counsel. I was under tons of stress and couldn’t function at my job. I needed extended time off from work. Lord knows, I felt like a train wreck in a toilet. Mike had me promise to make an appointment with Dr. Pogue and get myself checked out. He brought the appropriate forms and got me filed for workman’s compensation, insuring my job security with J.I.Case. What Mike said, all made sense, sense I didn‘t have at the time. Mike also had me promise to make an appointment with Dr. Pogue to get myself checked out. One thing I did ask of Sereda before he left that day, was to have him ask a couple of my union brothers to check on the other guy involved in the accident. One of my first and greatest concerns during this ordeal, was how that grain-truck grandpa was holding up. I knew his grief and sorrow were tremendous and I wanted my thought for his well being known to him. Mike and a lot of Brother and Sisters were pulling for me. I was stronger that day knowing I had their support too. It was Union Local guidance and cooperation that helped me regain some control in my life. Thanks guys, I needed that.

I followed Mike out the door of the lobby when I’d realized that I’d left my coat and smokes up in Lori’s room. As I entered ICU, I could see that someone was laying on the bed with Lori. As I got closer, I saw that it was Chaplain Mueller. They were both bawling and hugging on each other. I wanted no part of their emotional display, so I grabbed my coat and walked out of ICU.

Mueller hopped off of the bed and was hot on my tail. Having caught up with me, she grabbed me by the sleeve attempting to stop me as I walked up to the elevator. She was very loud and angry towards me, asking me how I could be so mean and cruel to Lori. Meaning that I should’ve crawled in bed with Lori when she’d asked me to and at least try to give her the support she needed, especially when she asked for it. I told her that how I react with my wife wasn’t any of her affair and I told Mueller to take her meddlesome bullshit elsewhere and to mind her own damned business. Mueller said I was the most cynical man she’d ever met. That Mueller woman was one hell of a grief counselor, at least she gave me all the grief I could stand. I could have registered a complaint, but no one would’ve believed me.

I don’t know how many days I actually went without restful sleep. I was stuck in this cycle of shock, torment and depression. Nephew Gary(my brother Gary’s oldest son) was a real help to me for a few days. He drove back here from Virginia to be with me. Gary Allen was my confidant and the only one in my family to offer up any support. Gary ran me over to Bob Pogue’s office and got me checked out. Bob told me to cut back on the coffee and gave me some pills to help calm my frazzled nerves. At least with the pills, my hands quit twitching. I still didn’t sleep too well.

About the third day into this mess, I got a message from Henderson County Sheriff’s Deputy, Sergeant Ed Collier. Sergeant Collier needed a time to interview Lori about the accident. He needed Lori’s drivers license and proof of insurance. That meant a trip to the trunk of my Hornet and the retreaval of the bloody contents of that trash-bag. That night, in the dimly lit parking ramp, I drug that nasty trash bag out of the Hornet and emptied it’s contents onto the hood of the car. I’m thankful that it was dark. The contents came out of the bag in a frozen wad of bloody clothing and shoes. Somewhere in the middle of that mess I had found Lori’s purse. Having found the purse, I tossed the rest back into the trash-bag and back into the trunk. I’d have to put the rest into a burn barrel later on.

Back inside of BMC, I asked a nurse in ICU for a bottle of spray cleaner, rags and a place where I could clean up Lori’s messy purse. I removed each item and separated it’s contents out upon stainless counter, next to a sink. Now that the purse was thawing out, their blood became sticky. Any blood stained items were tossed in the waste can(If Lori later noticed something missing, I told her it must’ve gotten lost in the wreck.) The purse itself was full of glass, and other what naught. I’m glade the purse was made of plasticized cloth, it cleaned up well enough. What was left was cleaned, inspected, dried and replaced into her purse. Lori was sleeping as I put it on the table next to her bed.

Sergeant Collier came for his interview on the following morning. It went as well as could be expected. Lori could remember as far back as loading up the girls into the car and leaving the house in route to Grandpa‘s house, but the next thing she remembers is waking up in ICU. She had no recollection of events leading up to the wreck. The interview was short. Sergeant Collier was very respectful and sympathetic during his interaction with Lori. He thanked us for our co-operation and left.

Eddie Johnson, dropped by the next day to say that he and Randy Keever visited with David McCrery(the driver of the grain truck) and conveyed my sentiments to him. They said David was still quite upset about the whole situation. He thanked them for their concern and wished me well.

As a team, nephew Gary and I ran up to Iowa City several times to check on the girls. While Emily was stabilizing well, Corina was not. Blood flow to Corina’s brain was minimal at best. The trauma to her brain stem was severe and with the nature of her open head injury, Corina’s ability to survive was next to nil. She had reached the point where she was considered “Clinically Dead.” I didn’t know how to feel. Sad, mad, relieved, or what? When I asked about when they were going to harvest Corina’s organs, the nurse on duty gave me a strange look and said that I’d have to speak with Jim Cone about that. Jim told me that Corina, while considered clinically dead, she could not currently be considered “Brain Dead,” which is a requirement before organs can be considered for harvesting.

Currently, Corina’s brain activity would be masked due to the amount of drugs in her system used to induce comma. As we were speaking, these drugs were being purged from her system so an accurate measurement of brain activity could be observed. Once Corina is considered brain dead, the organ procurement team would proceed and act quickly. For now she would continue on life support.

Now we had to drive back down to BMC and share this information with Lori. For me, harvesting Corina’s organs had nothing to do with any noble thought on my part and there certainly wasn’t anything heroic about my decision, as I was told. My decision was motivated by my selfishness. I loved Corina so much and didn’t want to let her go. I didn’t want her death to become a empty waste. I wanted for her death to become something positive, a life enhancing second chance for as many others as God would allow. I needed to have Lori tell me that she wanted this to happen also, or else I couldn’t proceed. Lori gave me her reassurance and wanted me to set the harvesting process in motion. And that meant I had to return to Iowa City for another meeting with the medical staff and sign several more documents to allow them to proceed.

Next I had to visit Lizzy at Prugh’s. Besides having to deal with Corina’s death today, tonight would be visitation night for Elizabeth. Then tomorrow morning Lizzy’s funeral would follow. Gary and I ran to Kmart and picked up a disposable camera. Burton Prugh greeted me at the door. They were all set up for Lizzy’s visitation that was scheduled to begin in less than two hours. I went into the chapel and looked over all of the flower arrangements surrounding Lizzy’s closed casket. I took several pictures for Lori’s benefit since she was still suffering too much from her injuries to attend the services. I told Burton that I had to be up in Iowa city for Corina’s organ donation and would miss the scheduled visitation. I told Burton that I would try to be back in time for the funeral and for him to proceed as planned whether I was there or not. Gary and I then left Burlington, headed for Iowa City.

The hospital food at the university was the pits, so we stopped in at Village Inn and grabbed a bite to eat. Both Gary and I were dog tired. The coffee wasn’t doing it’s job and the food we ate only served to make us sleepier. We were both dozing off in our booth when our waitress politely asked us to move on down the road.

It was going to be an all niter at PICU. It wouldn’t be until tomorrow morning before Corina would be determined brain dead. We had a lengthy meeting with a representative from the organ procurement team and we got all of the Q&As and paperwork out of the way. Gary and I tried to hunker down in a waiting room and tried rest up a bit. Soon Gary was snoring in the ICUZOO. I didn’t want listen to that noise, so I went for a long walk. Not being able to sleep, I wandered around the hospital trying to collect my thoughts. I looked in on Emily several times and said good bye to Corina more than once. I still couldn’t get over the warm feeling of her skin, and yet knowing she was dead and incapable of sitting up and giving me that hug I needed.

It was about 3a.m. as I wandered around outside ‘till I started shivering from the cold. Whilst scanning through various reading choices, it seemed that whenever I’d look over my shoulder or up over an old discarded newspaper, I’d see a security guard eyeballing me at a distance. The one I saw outside earlier must have radioed to someone inside, and now I was being spied on until they figured whatever it was that I was up to. I was tired of being tailed by this annoying security guard. So I played cat and mouse with him and acted like I was trying to lose him in the myriad of halls. It gave me respite from my thoughts to have this guard to play with. I kept hearing this crackle from a walkie talkie, but the sound always seemed to emanate down the hall behind me and around a corner. Finally after about an hour of this nonsense, I retraced my steps and ran right into a security guard, knocking him off balance. I scared the hell out of him, his eyes were big as saucers, but I was so apologetic and concerned for his well being. That seemed to help diffuse the situation. He asked me what I was doing. I told him I was just killing time, waiting for another of my daughters to die. I offered to take him up to PICU if he needed some physical proof. He said he was sorry for bothering me, just turned, walked away mumbling into his radio.

Back at the ICU ZOO Little Gary was still fast asleep sawing logs. Emily and Corina were still in their beds, their nurse was startled by my presence, I probably caught her nodding out. I know I wished I could do the same. This boredom continued for hours, until Jim Cone showed up to give me an update on Corina. I woke Gary. With the barbiturates purged from her body, Corina was pronounced brain dead. A separate panel of doctors went over Corina’s current health file to determine if the doctors who had treated her up to this point, had done all that they could. They found no discrepancies in her treatments. Then I had to sign some more papers that allowed for them to proceed with her organ harvest. The organ procurement team was currently being assembled.

I went to my oldest daughter’s side for the last time. I touched Corina’s warm skin and stood by her silently. I didn’t know what to say. I felt cowardly, as though I was abandoning my first born. I was so washed out and yet, I still had Lizzy’s funeral to attend. If we hurried, we might just make it in time. Gary and I needed food intake, so we grabbed some hospital food and ate on the run.

With valuable time lost trying to get out of the parking ramp, dealing with the morning traffic congestion of Iowa City, then following school busses that continually stopped traffic, half way there, I knew we weren’t going to make it to Lomax in time. Not only that, I had to keep an eye on Gary so he didn’t fall asleep at the wheel. We drove like maniacs trying to beat the clock. On our last leg of the journey, we speed down Carman Road and passed Carman cemetery where they were all set to receive Lizzy. I thought we just might make it.

We needed showers, so as I was waiting for Gary to finish, I opened the living room drapes just in time to see a car pull off of the road in front my house. I thought it strange until I looked down the road and saw why. With Gary having just pulled on clean clothes, I called him over just in time to see Elizabeth’s white hearse and the rest of her funeral procession pass by in front of the house. I closed the drapes and just went to bed. I didn’t wake until it was dark out.

I was startled awake to the ringing of the phone. It was dark now, I slept for nearly ten hours. Lori was on the phone wondering what had become of us, so Gary and I made ourselves presentable and headed out for BMC to check in with her. Lori’s sister, Sharon was visiting along with niece Angie. Iowa City had called BMC trying to give me an update. Corina’s organs had been shared with five others within the U.S. Her liver went to a School teacher from Kansas City. Of two heart valves, one went to a little boy in Washington D.C., the other one to a boy in Pittsburg. I forget now where the kidneys went, but they went to two other adults. Corina was to be transported to Prugh’s after the Johnson County coroner gave approval. Gary and I were starving for some food now and I felt like fleeing, so after a short visit with Lori, we left her with Sharon and Angie.

We ended up at the Gypsy Dell near Keokuk. I didn’t want to run into anybody I knew in Burlington. After having a meal that couldn’t be beat, Gary and I proceeded to celebrate and drank a few beers. The waitress just couldn’t help but ask what the celebration was all about. So I told her we were celebrating my Daughter’s organ donation. She acted a little pissed and didn’t know what to think, in fact I thought she was going to throw us out. Then Gary pulls a news clipping about the accident out of his wallet and hands it to her. The celebration was over now. After reading it she took away our beers and sat with us until we’d drank half the pot of coffee she’d made us. As we walked to the car, Gary mentioned that we probably ruined her evening. Maybe we did. It wasn’t intentional, but I bet we just made her appreciate her own family just a little bit more.

Gary had to be on his way back to his family and work in Virginia. I sure was glad he came, his being there was a real support to me. Now I was on my own again. Oh well.

I asked my niece, Angie, to come to the house and help me clean the house and strip out the kids rooms. I packed it all up and stored the kids things. I wanted to remodel Emily’s room and turn Corina’s room into an office. I couldn’t bear the way that it was. I remember how Mom told me about the time when great-grandpa Vontadoux passed on. My great-grandmother Buga took his wardrobe, chest of drawers, music, everything she associated with him, she drug out to the backyard, put it in a pile and burnt it all. She was so upset that she busted up his favorite furniture with an axe and piled it on top to burn. I guess it so shocked everyone that they just stayed out of her way and watched from the kitchen window. I must be a little like Buga in that respect, but I didn’t destroy anything in the process.

With nephew Gary back in Virginia I caught a ride up to Iowa City with my brother-in-law Mike once, but he was an ex-smoker and so was his car. I didn’t need his anti-smoking rhetoric, so one trip with him was enough. I was back to driving myself around in the old Hornet.

I got a message on the answering machine from Hurt’s towing. I’d completely forgotten about our wrecked car. I gave him a call. Hurt said that people were continually driving around his property day and night, some were taking pictures and all were trying to get a glimpse of the car my girls got hurt in. Rubberneckers, their everywhere! Hurt wanted to get the car off of his impound lot and asked for the title to the old Maverick so he could have it crushed and put and end to traffic. I asked what we owed for our the towing bill, he said what he’d get for the car’s salvage would cover the towing fees. He was being very generous. I told him I’d have the title to him within the hour.

Driving the old “Hershey Bar Car”(the Hornet was chocolate colored) over to Hurt’s Garage gave me back some semblance of control. It felt good to be behind the wheel and not have to worry about the way someone else drove a car. I had a tire that was low on air, and I needed gas, so I pulled into the Ayerco station at the north end of Carman. This was the station near the scene of the accident. I aired the tire and went to pay for the gas. Inside I waited my turn to pay and noticed a three pound coffee can being used for collecting donations for, “ THE BOHNENKAMP FAMILY”. I paid for my gas, got the hell out of there and threw up in their waste can by the gas pumps. It was a long drive to Hurt’s.

Once I’d arrived at Hurt‘s, I told the woman behind the counter who I was and gave her the signed title and asked to see the Maverick. She took me outside and pointed out a car that was covered with a new blue tarp. A week prior to the MVA, I tried to find a jewelry store that could repair an antique ruby ring that belonged to my great grandmother, Buga. It was still in the car, somewhere. As I pulled the tarp off, I was amazed that anyone survived being in that car when it wrecked. There was only about 14 inches separating the right and left doors. The interior was covered with dried blood and broken glass. There wasn’t anything in that car I wanted. I covered it back up with the tarp, sat on a junk car nearby and just stared at the thing for a while and puffed on a cigarette. I was originally going to go back to BMC and visit Lori, but went home instead and started in on what would be Em’s newly remodeled bedroom.

The hospital allowed Lori to leave the hospital for Corina’s funeral. I remember that there were a lot of people present at church and the graveside committal. Afterwards there was a meal back at the church. It was a somber affair. I was perturbed to see my father and step-mother there. I was pushed out of their lives years ago. Then they had the nerve to sit across from us during the meal. I asked them why they even bothered to come. “Why are you here? Is it to visit your grandkids…You’re a little late for that.” I felt like a ticking time bomb. Lori and I pushed our plates away, got up and left for BMC. I sat around BMC for a while and left for home to work on Em’s room.

While washing down the walls of Em’s room, I got a call from Dr. Mathew’s office to inform me that they were starting to wean Emily off of the high level of barbiturates needed to induce her comatose state. She said Emily’s brain swelling was now under control. I dropped what I was doing to clean up and go tell Lori of the good news. When I was showering, I got an automated call from BMC “Credit Office,” warning me to pay the medical bills we have incurred. I called Metropolitan Life to see why they hadn’t been paying our hospital bills. Met said they’d paid several claims from Iowa city, but that no claims to date had been received from BMC. I’d give them a few more days to process as Metropolitan recommended. With the news of Emily coming out of her coma, I wasn’t going to allow bill collectors to ruin my already shitty day. Back at BMC, I shared the good news with Lori, things were finally taking a turn for the better.

The wife of a certain nephew of mine was really beginning to get on my nerves. She was always calling around, trying to obtain the latest news of my family’s condition. Early on she spent a lot of time taking family friends and visitors through PICU in Iowa City, showing my girls off as if they were some sort of sideshow freaks. That hospital wasn’t doing their job. Only parents were supposed to be allowed into PICU. And the concerned calls she’d made were just a ploy to find out where I was at. If I was in Burlington she and my nephew would head up to Iowa City. If I was in Iowa City, she’d stay away. I told her to back off, but she continued on with being a nosey bag. Both were out of line. If they wanted to do something for me they could’ve cleaned my house or did my laundry. I hate a rubberneck.

I was very excited about Emily’s improved condition and didn’t sleep well the night before. I showered, shaved, slipped into some clean duds and jumped into the Hershey Bar Car headed for Iowa City. On the way, I stopped in Burlington to grab some milk and donuts at Donutland. As I was be-bopping back to my car another customer suggested that I air up my tire since it was nearly flat. Of course my spare wasn’t much better off so I drove three blocks to my favorite Western Auto Store. I stepped up to the service counter and asked to have the offending tire repaired. The guy said I’d be about a three hour wait. I told him I’d buy four new tires if I had to just to get me back on the road. He didn’t care of my plight. He said if I wanted his services, I’d have to wait my turn. I told him to get screwed and never went back.

I ended up at the local Goodyear store. With four customers already in line, I barged my way up to the man behind the counter and told the everyone standing within earshot, my plight. I must have been a frightening sight as I was still pretty upset with my last encounter with Western Auto. Goodyear put three guys on my job order and had me on the road with a new/used tire and a repaired spare in under ten minutes. They only charged me $10. I was in the car and down the road before the money made it to the register.

I made it to Iowa City in record time. Parking was a aggravation I’ll never forget. I ran through the hospital and up to PICU to find different children occupying my girl’s beds. I was besides myself with terror not knowing where my girls were. Then it dawned on me that Corina was dead and buried now. But where was Em? About that time two nurses corralled me and told me that Emily had been moved out of isolation and into a bed in the PICU ward. As they led me into the ward, I didn’t know what to expect. I was half hoping to see her sitting up watching cartoons on the TV. This wasn’t the case at all. Emily was still very much as she was last time I’d seen her, comatose and unresponsive. If there were improvements in her recovery, I couldn’t see it. I just sat down next to her bed and cried to myself.

I went into the ICU-ZOO to get a cup of coffee and a smoke. There was a group of ten or so people congregated in a section of the waiting room. People were crying and hugging on one another. It was a real sad sight. From what I gathered, they were friends and family of a little girl who was undergoing surgery this morning. The mom and dad were all but hysterical over the ordeal. I could feel their pain. I had to go sit elsewhere.

It was getting close to noon hour and the food in the cafeteria was terrible, so I went down to the gift shop and got a couple of candy bars to go along with my coffee. I sat in the main lobby reading a discarded newspaper when a guy I recognized from the ICU-ZOO sat down next to me and asked what I was in here for, just to strike up conversation. I told him, then asked how the little girl was doing, since he was an uncle to the little girl that everyone was bawling about. He said she was in surgery, having her sinuses cleaned out. I thought to myself gee-whiz that’s just terrible. I got up and went back to see Em.

Emily hadn’t moved an inch. I changed a Disney musical cassette that I’d brought earlier, along with a tape player and box of kid‘s music. I was told that hearing her favorite music might help to stimulate her recovery. I looked around the ward at the hurt little kids lying in their beds. Machines beeping and buzzing. Nurses making their rounds and doing what they do. All the while idyllic tunes from Mary Poppin’s filled the air I saw no reason to stick around and left to give Lori a progress report.

After Lori left ICU, she spent a week in a private room on third floor. Lori wanted desperately to leave BMC. She wanted to see Emily and get on with her life. I didn’t think she had recovered fully, but there was no arguing with how she felt and what she wanted to do. I think the doctors were reluctant to let her leave, but we checked her out and went home to a house full of emptiness. It was a time of adjustment for the both of us.
　
　
The house was quiet and gloomy, but clean. Things would never be the same around here, that’s for sure. Together, Lori and I sat down and went through a ton of mail that had been collecting for the past couple of weeks. Bills, cards and letters. BMC was still sending me bills as if they never filed with my insurance carrier. Then we had a couple of boxes of cards and what naught from the funerals, that I never opened. I took the lid off of one and looked inside, but I never examined the contents. I suppose that stuff is still down in our basement in storage. I don’t even know if cards of thanks were ever sent out. At least I know I had nothing to do with it. Being at home now was going to be a big adjustment. Then there was the phone still blinking and ringing. I still hate that thing to this day. Always full of messages I didn’t care to hear. Making me have to talk about things I’d rather put out of my mind. Now the damned things are mobile and an even greater annoyance to me. I've always wondered how many lives have been maimed or lost because of the cell phone. It doesn’t seem to bother Lori, so I let her have domain over the damned thing.

Hark! from the winds a voice of woe,

The wild Atlantic in its flow,

Bears on its breast the murmur low,

My child is gone!

Like savage tigers o'er their prey,

They tore him from my heart away;

And now I cry, by night by day.

My child is gone!

How many a free-born babe is press'd

With fondness to its mother's breast,

And rocked upon her arms to rest,

While mine is gone!

No longer now, at eve I see,

Beneath the sheltering plantain tree,

My baby cradled on my knee,

For he is gone!

And when I seek my cot at night,

There's not a thing that meets my sight,

But tells me that my soul's delight,

My child, is gone!

I sink to sleep, and then I seem

To hear again his parting scream

I start and wake, 'tis but a dream,

My child is gone!

Gone—till my toils and grief’s are o'er,

And I shall reach that happy shore,

Where negro mothers cry no more—

My child is gone!
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10/09/15

It's been quite a few years since I started this blog. I re-read some of it, but it is too painful to edit, even 26 years after the fact. Where we're at today is not that far from where we once were. Time passes so quickly and then your time runs out. Been retired now... since 2003. I'm also the last bird on this branch of Bohnenkamps .

Since retirement, I've had a few jobs, but nothing rewarding enough to stay with. I wanted to work with the developmentally disabled, but it has been impossible for me to find employment in that field. If I looked like Rosanne Conner and chewed tobacco, I'd have been a shoo in, but I believe the administrators sort of had me pegged as someone who'd have eaten their clients. 'Cest la vie.

What jobs I found didn't pay me to work there. I lucked out and found a part time job that worked well for our situation, since my work days coincided with Lori's day's off. Working at in airport maintenance was a real joy to me, then they hired a real nut case to be my boss. She fired me for refusing to train some new knothead to be my boss... What? Run that by me again. The whole affair was a joke. She pressed her weird ultimatum, then fired me when I said I'd rather draw unemployment than listen to her silly bullshit. That was back in '08. The airport could do better. That waste of public tax dollars is ran like a perpetual episode of Petticoat Junction.

So now, I'm a Mr. Mom. It's rewarding at times and works well for us. With me having a job, I'd have to pay for an adult sitter $11/hour from the time I leave the house, 'til the time I got home. At that rate I may as well sit at home and draw from my pension. DHS does provide Em with an aide 20 hours a month... for her respite. Does seem like we're glued to one another at times.

Today in the final years, as if having to already bury two daughters wasn't enough, we now have to plan for our own demise... and what now becomes of Em? Very painful stuff, to be facing down the inevitable. What becomes of Em after we're gone? This has been plaguing for me for what seems like forever. Who is now going to be Em's guardian now? Who will be her defender from harm? No one I know.

12 October, we go to Union Grove, WI, for Em's preliminary stay at Shepherd's. 12 hours of driving. Then on 13th I have to report for jury selection at 8 am at Rock Island, U.S. District Court.

We got Em off to Shepherd's. She was pretty excited to be there... me not so much. She'll be sharing a room with another jigsaw puzzle fanatic when she's not being paraded around as a newbie. The road won't seem as long when we return in two weeks.

I didn't sleep well before the Shepherd's trip, and the trip to Rock Island in the early morning hours, really had me in a sleep deprivation mode. All hurry up and wait once I got there. I had to pee so damned bad once I got there, I was not in the mood to be TSA'd first. Out of the 40 called for selection, I was juror #12. Crap. This was a trial concerning a heroin dealer that sold his product to a customer that ended up dying from the overdose. Four hours into the process, I knew I was going to be struck, when the defense attorney and defendant both made eye contact with me at the same moment.... I believe I'd have been a fair and impartial juror and I was somewhat disheartened because I wasn't kept.

Even though I was struck this time, I still have to call into the court after 3 pm the next day for more of the same, 'til the end of the year.

Trial begins in federal heroin overdose death

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Testimony continues Wednesday morning for a Rock Island man charged in connection with the December 2013 heroin overdose of a Bettendorf woman.

Steven Waldrip, 48, is charged in U.S. District Court, Rock Island, with distribution of heroin resulting in death. The charge carries a mandatory prison sentence of 20 years to life.

Assistant U.S. Attorney Micah Reyner said Tuesday in his opening statement that Waldrip sold heroin to Kathi L. Sweeney, 55, of Bettendorf, and Kyle J. Wilson, 26, the afternoon of Dec. 15, 2013.

The two then drove to a pharmacy in Rock Island, where Sweeney purchased an energy drink, a bag of cotton balls and a hypodermic needle, Reyner said.

Once she got back into the car, Wilson injected himself with heroin and then injected Sweeney, who went unconscious. Panicked, Wilson left the scene but later returned. Sweeney, who at that point was "conscious enough," gave him directions to her apartment in Bettendorf, Reyner said.

She was found dead the next day in the apartment. A forensic pathologist ruled that Sweeney died from a heroin overdose, Reyner said.

Reyner said Wilson in his initial interview with police was “evasive” on some points or not fully descriptive about what happened that day. He later told police that he bought the heroin from Waldrip, Reyner said.

Waldrip was arrested in June 2014.

Wilson pleaded guilty in September 2014 to one count of distribution of heroin causing death. He will be sentenced Nov. 5.

Reyner told jurors Tuesday that Wilson is expected to testify against Waldrip. In exchange for his “truthful” testimony, Wilson will receive a reduced sentence, he added.

Waldrip’s attorney, Murray Bell, urged jurors in his opening statement to listen closely to Wilson’s story, how it changed, and “what has encouraged his story to change.”

The trial is expected to last all week.

Waldrip is awaiting sentencing after pleading guilty in May to three federal charges of distribution of heroin.

According to court documents, Waldrip also sold heroin to an undercover officer on April 28, 2014, May 1, 2014, and May 29, 2014.

Brain Injury

Monday, June 6, 2016

Monday, February 16, 2009

Brain injury, "What Is Going To Happen Next?"

Trial begins in federal heroin overdose death

Elizabeth Yvette Bohnenkamp

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