Ogallala

Just after Labor Day this past year, one of Amy’s lifelong friends, Laura, and her husband, Craig, invited me to their home where they were hosting their 2^nd annual backyard concert. The performer was Trapper Schoep, a local musician well known on the Milwaukee and national music scene. They were lucky enough to have Trapper living on their block and willing to perform for the neighbors each year. I was happy to accept their invitation and jokingly told all my friends I was going to my first garden party!

I brought beverages and a comfortable camp chair and arrived twenty minutes before the show. Laura and Craig were excited to see me and went out of their way to make me feel welcome by introducing me to many of their neighbors. Their backyard was beautiful and just what I had envisioned for a garden party with flowers and blooming shrubs. Trapper was setting up on their deck with a colleague who was tuning an upright bass to accompany him.

He played a variety of covers including a Bob Dylan song and many originals of his own. One song caught my attention, Ogallala. For those of you not familiar with this bustling metropolis of less than 5,000 people in Western Nebraska, its claim to fame is that it is pretty much the only town in the western part of Nebraska with a hotel and hospital of its own.

As Trapper was singing about being stranded for two nights in Ogallala during a blizzard, I leaned over and whispered to Laura that Amy and I also had a good tale about our stay in this town. She whispered back that she couldn’t wait to read about it in my blog someday. I definitely don’t want to disappoint her.

In the summer of 2009, our family decided to take a family vacation to Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado. It was an awesome trip that included camping in our pop-up camper, hiking, whitewater rafting, horseback riding, and the traditional trips to the souvenir shop for locally made fudge and ice cream.

On our last day, we decided to hike to a mountain lake in the park before getting in the car and heading home. After a brief encounter with the local John Denver look alike, we headed up the trail with our waters and the boy’s diabetes kit. The hike was popular with many hikers and climbers who made the moderately difficult trek up to a very picturesque lake sandwiched between two mountain peaks. After eating our lunch on the lakeshore, we headed back down the trail.

About halfway back to the trailhead, Morgan complained that he had to go to the bathroom. This was typically a sign that his blood sugar was too high. We took a quick break to check his levels which were indeed high and administered some additional insulin. He stubbornly refused to relieve himself along the path with so many people on the trail and insisted he could make it back to the trailhead.

The farther we hiked, however, the greater his urgency. Our pace increased from leisurely walk, to power walking, and then to a slight jog. Amy ran ahead with him, but he still refused to walk a few feet off trail to take care of his urgency. At this point Amy stumbled over a protruding root and nosedived hard onto the rocky path. Her knee was torn up pretty bad. We tried applying pressure to the wound, but it would not stop bleeding.

Fortunately, a passing rock climber stopped with a medical kit and kindly took the time to clean and sterilize the wound. He stated it was up to us, but he thought it was worth a trip to the Emergency Room for stitches. Amy managed to walk the remaining distance back to the parking lot at a slow pace where Morgan was finally able to visit the facilities.

We packed up and headed to the nearest ER. The ER doctor concurred with the rock climber that her injury would need stitches. Claire had always been interested in the health care field, so in one of my less astute parenting moments, I suggested maybe she should observe them stitching Amy up. I am not sure what her true thoughts were, but she agreed to go in with her mother and watch the procedure. Amy admitted it was nice to have her there to distract her. Claire turned white as they cleaned the wound and stitched up Amy’s knee. Claire and Amy held hands for most of the procedure until Claire had to make a quick exit before she passed out.

Meanwhile, I was getting anxious about our travel schedule. We had originally planned on trying to make it to Lincoln, Nebraska on our return trip home, but our detour to the ER was setting back our timetable. By the time we left the ER, we were already three to four hours behind our goal.

After a brief stop to pick up some extra strength Tylenol, we hit the road. We were able to make Fort Collins, Colorado around dinner time and stopped at the local McDonalds for dinner to let a severe storm pass before resuming our drive. On the road again, we set a good pace toward home, but knew we were not going to make it as far as we wanted. Amy began looking at the map for a place to stop another 200 miles down the road. Ogallala, Nebraska leaped off the page as the only town likely to have a hotel for us to crash for the night.

We made Ogallala by around 9:00 o’clock that night and checked into a hotel. Our family returned to the car to grab overnight essentials and head to our room for the night. After grabbing everything we would need, I asked “Who has the diabetes kit?”

My question was met with blank stares.

Amy and I immediately began tearing the car apart looking for it. The boys would need insulin before they went to bed. We keep backup insulin separately but had already transferred that to their kit as we had been running low. I must admit that I am typically the irrational individual when faced with a crisis, but in this case I remained calm.

For Amy, however, a dam of emotion burst forth. Whether she was just tired from the trip or from her trip to the ER, she uncharacteristically lost control of her emotions. We quickly deduced that we had left the kit in the McDonalds in Fort Collins. Round trip, that would be six or seven hours in the car to retrieve it.  She demanded I give her the keys to the car so she could drive back to Fort Collins. We went back and forth on the wisdom of that course of action for about 10 minutes.

Finally, cooler heads prevailed. I convinced her to take Morgan and Claire up to the room and call the McDonalds to confirm the diabetes kit had been found. Meanwhile, I would take Carson to the local hospital and see if I could procure enough insulin to make it back home.

It was our second trip to the Emergency Room on the day. The ER doctor met with us and patiently listened to our story. Unfortunately, the ER did not have access to insulin and the pharmacies in town had closed hours earlier. He did indicate however, that the diabetes clinic likely had some sample insulin pens, but the clinic was locked up. After some discussion with his colleagues, it was decided that they would break into the clinic and retrieve them for us. It was with great relief and gratitude that we came away from the ER with two sample insulin pens with enough insulin to get us home the next day.

When Carson and I returned to the hotel, we found a calmer Amy. Claire had remembered that the McDonalds we had visited was next to a Sam’s Club and they were able to identify the correct restaurant and call them. They had the diabetes kit and would ship it to us the next day. Carson and I shared our successful visit to the ER and everyone let out a big sigh of relief. Our stay in Ogallala would never be forgotten.

As Trapper played and the night progressed, I thought of how much Amy would have enjoyed coming to this event. She loved live performances, and the intimate setting was special. Trapper did not play dance music, but Amy would have found a way. I’m sure of that. I am very grateful that Laura and Craig were kind enough to include me. I can’t wait to go next year!