MY WIFE IS MY HERO

Well, this is my last "sabbatical update" post.  In fact, I'm thinking that I'll see most of you at our worship gathering this Sunday (April 3rd) before you even read this.  Even so, I wanted to get one more up before I left Dana Point to drive home just a few days from now.

I could write about many things, but I want to focus on, of all things, my most recent birthday.  We celebrated it as a family by walking the streets and beaches of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.  My sabbatical committee strongly encouraged me to structure a week with our entire family toward the end of the sabbatical and, after looking at several options, a family cruise to Mexico seemed to be not only the easiest, but also the most economically sensible way to do that.  Puerto Vallarta was one of our stops and, coincidentally, we were there on my 57th birthday.  It was a day that will never be forgotten, that's for sure.  For on that same day, all 7 of us used Mexican public transportation to get around, walked what must have been 10 miles (in flip-flops, of course,) talked Brenda into tasting tequila (I doubt that will ever happen again,) and laughed when a little girl in a crowded shopping area, having noticed my longish, curly, white hair and the full beard I've been nurturing, actually mistook me for Santa Clause.  Yanking on her father's arm as she stopped short and pointed in my direction, she exclaimed, "No, Daddy.  Stop!   Look!  It's Santa.  It's Santa, Daddy.  Look!"  Her eyes grew large.  Her mouth hung open.  I was off my game, otherwise I'd have given her a little, "Ho, ho, ho," winked, and made some sort of "shhhh.  Don't tell anyone else that you recognized me." sign.  Her dad, obviously convinced that "Santa" should be left alone during the summer months, mouthed, "I'm sorry.  She really things you're him."  Then he turned her twisting, resistant body back in the direction their family had been going and said, "Let's leave Santa alone for now.  Let him rest." or something to that effect. 

On that day in Puerto Vallarta we watched a 150 lb man stack and balance 200 lb boulders three and four high, saw acrobats perform (without nets) from ropes that swung four stories above the street, and ate lunch while listening to a full hour and a half of painfully off-key singing intended, presumably, to help us enjoy our over priced tacos more fully.   But, impressive as each of those experiences was, none of them is what will make this particular birthday stand alone in my memory.  The event responsible for that didn't occur until after we had reboarded the ship and were preparing to sail north.  

Our kids had reserved 7 lounge chairs around the indoor pool.  We'd had more than enough sun and a relaxing, shaded time set aside for reading and relating was just what we needed before getting ready for dinner.  I was struggling through "The Brothers Karamazov" while Brenda was with our children in a nearby hot tub when there was what sounded like a disturbing cry for help.  At first I thought it was one of the young children playing.  I realized it was much more than that when Anthony, Becca's fiancé, came around the corner to tell me that Brenda was, "...helping to save a little girl's life."  He was not overstating things.

I jumped up to see my bride kneeling next to a 4 year old girl while an unknown man administered CPR.  Brenda was calm, cleaning the child's mouth out while he did compressions, then encouraging and coaching him when he went back to breathing into a limp, unresponsive body.  The baby had been found at the bottom of the pool and had turned a very deep grey/blue.  Our Becca had been in position to see what was going on and quickly summoned her mom, asserting that a child was in trouble and Brenda needed to go and help right away.  It  was a good thing she did.  On getting to the young girl, Brenda saw that the man had started CPR but hadn't turned the child on her side to allow fluids to leave her lungs and stomach.  She did that immediately and saw dramatic results. 

"Call 911 right now!" It was my Brenda who, without missing a beat in the assistance she was giving, had caught the eye of a bartender and issued the order.  "Yes.  This is an emergency.  Call them!"  At first, the little one was completely unresponsive, but as Brenda kept assisting and a man whose name she didn't even know kept pumping, others of us launched into very aggressive, assertive prayer.  Gradually, the color blue gave way to pale, pasty white, then white was replaced by a subtle but hopeful pink.   Finally, after what seemed like a short "forever," we heard ironic sounds of life: choking, gasping, and then crying.  Neither vacationing nurse nor temporary "EMT" stopped what they were doing, but between breaths Brenda heard something that catapulted an already heart stirring moment to an emotional level that almost defies description.

It had been the stranger doing the CPR that had screamed for help.  He did that just after seeing the helpless, cerulean little girl lying motionless on the pool deck and realizing that she wasn't breathing.  By the time Brenda got there he had already administered the first few puffs of breath and jolts of compression.  As she turned the child onto her side (as noted above) she said something like, "I'm a nurse.  Are you a doctor or EMT?  Would you like me to take over for you?"

"No."  he said between breaths, "I think I'm O.K."  Without looking up he went on, "I just took a CPR class last week.  Just stay here and help me."  Then later, as the baby finally coughed, choked, and began to cry, the man spoke again.  They were the words that changed everything.  "Don't worry, sweetheart."  he said gently as he put his lips to the gasping child's ear.  "Daddy's here with you.  Everything's going to be OK."  The "stranger" that had saved little 4 year old Malia's life was her own father!

"You're doing just fine."  Brenda told the dad as she cleared the little one's mouth and wiped it clean in preparation for more air.  "That's it.  Perfect.  You're doing great.  Keep breathing for her.  Good."  About then the emergency crew arrived to take over.  True to form and character, my red-headed champion sought no thanks or recognition.  In fact, I know her well enough to assure you that she never even THOUGHT about any of that.  She simply updated the doctor, giving information she knew the team would need, got up, wiped her hands on a towel, and returned to her own family.

"Do you think you should stay in case they want to talk to you?"  I asked.

"No.  I told them everything they needed to hear from me.  We'd only be in the way here now.   Let's go.  I need to wash up a bit."  And just like that, we left.

Brenda tells me fairly often that I'm her "hero."  The announcement usually comes on the heels of me taking out the garbage, doing the dishes, or vacuuming the carpets.  I almost always shake my head and suggest that perhaps she needs to raise her standard a bit.  On my birthday last week, she went well beyond raising it ... all the way to demonstrating it.  That's why it's so easy for me to say that one of the things that happened in the closing days of this sabbatical, was that I was once again reminded that "My WIFE is MY hero!"

By the way, I was later told by one of the crew that Malia was taken by ambulance to a Puerto Vallarta hospital.  Shortly after being stabilized, she was flown home where she's expected to make a full recovery.