Personal Journal
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February 3, 1998 Mathew J. Stucki Page 1
As I set out to complete the awesome task of recording a few meaningful experiences in my life which occurred during my senior year in high school, I am overwhelmed by the task at hand and wonder “Where do I begin?” With that said, I begin now to write these experiences as I remember them.
My sister Robyn lost her husband to a car accident when their first child, Levi, was but a month old. She moved from her house temporarily and back in with the family. The small room adjacent to the family room became her bedroom. This room barely fit a twin bed and a cradle for Levi. I believe she had a rocking chair, also, and a few shelves on the wall for some belongings. Because this room was so small, however, she left most her things in the attic of her home on her property. She never complained about her circumstances, and I felt she was truly grateful she had her family to rely on. In many ways, we relied on Robyn. Despite her tragic loss, she was grateful for her son and for her blessings. She brought much joy into our family, as did Levi.
I was blessed by the Lord to obtain a good job at City Market as a bagger when I turned 16. This company had the reputation of paying their employees well and providing excellent benefits. I was excited about these prospects but had no idea how important this would be for me. Although I could not drive when I was first hired, I soon arranged to buy a 1970 Dodge Challenger from Brent. It was a good car and had been well-cared for. It provided the much needed transportation for my new job, and as a young boy, I was thrilled to have my own car, especially this one. Of course, it needed the typical maintenance that cars do, but it was in great condition, and I was on top of the world.
My job at City Market allowed me to earn enough money to save for my mission, pay for the maintenance of my car, help Mom and Dad out with the finances at home, and have spending money to do the things I wanted to do. I felt greatly blessed to have this job.
The summer of 1980 was an eventful season to say the least. I started for home after a regular day’s was work and was nearing home. When I reached the turn off from the river road and headed up towards Castle Valley, Jerry White flagged me down as he was coming down the road from Castle Valley. He had a concerned look on his face and began to tell me that there had been a fire up in the valley earlier in the day. He indicated that no one had been injured but there had been some damage. He said he wasn’t sure but thought that maybe the fire had burned down Robyn’s house. I thanked him for telling me and headed home quickly. My mind raced as I hurried up the road to the valley. As I rounded the final curve before reaching the valley, I met Robyn in her Volkswagen Rabbit coming the opposite direction at a high rate of speed. Her eyes were red and her face was white. I slowed my car hoping she would stop. She didn’t slow down at all but passed right by me and continued down the mountainside. I didn’t know what to do, but my fear not knowing where Robyn was going or what she might do induced me to quickly turn around and pursue her.
I drove quickly after her, but she had gained a fair distance from me. I saw her turn up the river at the bottom of the hill, and I followed. When I caught up with her, I honked my horn and blinked my lights to get her attention and persuade her to stop. I knew that she saw me but she wouldn’t slow down. I accelerated and passed her. Once I was in front of her, I applied the brakes and we both slowed down and came to a standstill. I got out of my car and walked back to where Robyn had stopped. She rolled down her window when I reached her, but I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to see and feel. Robyn’s look of hopelessness and tear-stained faced gave me a small glimpse of the pain and suffering she was feeling. Levi was buckled in his seatbelt in the passenger seat, wide-eyed and placid. Up to this point, I had been so concerned with overtaking Robyn, I hadn’t considered the emotions I was feeling. Tears flowed freely as I leaned in through the open window and put my arms around Robyn. At first I couldn’t talk but held her tight in my arms. Finally, I gathered my emotions enough to whisper “I’m sorry, Robyn. I’m sorry.” I asked her if she would be coming back. She said she needed to be alone for a while. Unsure what that meant, I got her to promise that she would return. I expressed my love to her, and she and Levi sped away up the river road.
It was a long drive home, and it hurt all the way thinking about the Robyn’s suffering. AShe of all people didn’t deserve it,@ I thought. But I knew she would return, because she had promised.
I decided to play football during my senior year in high school, just months following Robyn’s tragic fire. Football practice was scheduled to begin at the end of the summer. I was thrilled with this opportunity and enjoyed practice a great deal. During the final week of summer before school started, we held practice twice a day. Once early in the morning and again that afternoon. Although this scheduled was strenuous and presented some hardship since I lived 25 miles from town in Castle Valley, I knew it would last only a week and the anticipation of our first game carried me from day to day.
It so happened that Mom and Dad had arranged to attend Education Week at BYU in Provo that week also, so Brent was staying with us in the valley while Mom and Dad were away. My memory of the events of that week and the months that followed is sketchy. Most of what I know or remember about that time, I’ve pieced together from things others told me. Anyway, one morning of Thursday, August 18,1980, I arose, dressed, and left for practice. Although I can remember nothing of that morning, the car I was driving apparently slipped on the dew on a new stretch of black top near the bridge at the White’s ranch. My car turned sideways and hit the cement buttress of the bridge directly. The car was torn in half at the middle. Incredibly, I was throne to the floor and remained in the front portion of the car while the front seat broke away and went with the back half of the car. Some neighbors were following not far behind me and witnessed the accident. They rushed back to our farm to alert Brent of the emergency. Brent hurried to the site of the accident and found me lying in a pool of blood. He cradled my head with his hands to stabilize my neck and held me that way as I was placed in an ambulance and the entire drive to the Moab hospital.
Once the doctors in Moab saw my condition, they decided that it was more serious than they could handle, and they rushed me to a larger facility in nearby Grand Junction, Colorado. Brent called BYU and had Mom and Dad paged so he could inform them of the situation. Brent told them that I was still alive but that my future was unsure. They left for Grand Junction as quickly as possible. They stopped once in Helper to call and get an update on my condition. They learned that I had been placed in the intensive care unit and still holding on. Mom and Dad hurried on until they reached Grand Junction.
When they arrived at the hospital, they found that I was unconscious and had been placed on a rotating bed. I was strapped in and the bed which would tip to the left side and then to the right and back to the left continuously. I thrashed about and gritted my teeth as though I was in tremendous pain, but the doctors told the family this was normal for an individual that received a head injury like I did. I can’t remember any of this, so I can only repeat what others have told me. I remained in a coma for two weeks.
Of course, the family members could not stay at the hospital, and we didn’t have money to pay for a motel. Dad contacted the bishop of a local ward there in Grand Junction. The bishop sought the help of an elderly woman, Sister Olsen, who lived right beside the hospital. She graciously consented to allow the family to stay in her home as much as needed. She welcomed them to come or go as they pleased and often shared a meal or offered them some kind thing to make their stay more pleasant.
Someone in the family, either Mom, Dad, or Robyn, stayed with me at all times during the day. Dad came on the weekends, and Robyn and Mom would divide the week. I didn’t comprehend the dedication they consistently displayed. I’m amazed now to think back and realize the commitment they had traveling back and forth between Grand Junction and Castle Valley three or more times every week. We never could have afforded these trips without the generous contributions of others, many whom I never knew or met.
I received a tracheotomy when I was admitted to the hospital, so any communication I had with the family was limited to lip-reading, pointing at an alphabet to try and spell messages, or choosing the statement from a common phrases board. The first memory I have of this time was one day when I was in my hospital bed and Robyn was there with me. I must have said something which indicated to Robyn that I had no idea how long I had been at the hospital. She said “Mathew, how long do you think you have been here?” to which I responded a day or two. “You’ve been here two-and-a-half weeks. Don’t you remember?” I didn’t. It felt strange like I’d just woken up from a long nap (2 ½ week coma).
The nurses and therapists also got to know us well because of my extended stay. Although I don’t remember the nurses names anymore, I do remember their kindnesses were plentiful.
At my request, the family member staying with me tried to leave after I’d fallen asleep and return before I awoke in the morning. Although they were exhausted from a long day tending to my needs, they were always to do this for me. I remember well my father writing his testimony inside the covers of Book of Mormons to give to the nurses. He would do this late at night while I rested. He’d turn on the light in the bathroom and open the bathroom door, then he could write by the light of coming through the open door without disturbing me. He would express his appreciation for all the care the nurses so skillfully gave me and offered to share with them something that had brought great happiness into our livesBthe gospel of Jesus Christ.
Although I’ve forgotten when exactly this took place, I remember excitedly telling Robyn when she came to my hospital room that Gregg and Randy had come to visit me the previous night. She said “Mat, do you remember where Gregg and Randy are? They are still on their missions,@ which didn’t make an difference to me. I was convinced. “They did come!” I maintained. This was at a difficult time during my hospital stay when I needed additional love and strength from the family. Years later, when talking with Randy about this experience, he commented that he had a dream one night while on his mission during the time that I was in the hospital in which he saw my room exactly and in great detail. Whether I saw them that night in the spirit or in the flesh I don’t know, but when I needed their strength the most, they were there to help me.
I had several operations during my stay in the hospital. Foremost, my neck had been dislocated. To repair this problem, I had a couple of different options: first, they could immobilize my neck giving my tissues time to heal. This would require that I have a halo secured to my skull to help hold my head and neck in place while the tissues healed, or second, they could take chips of bone from my hip and use them and wire to fuse the vertebrates in my neck together. The second option would get me back on my feet more quickly, but the operation to my hip would be quite uncomfortable and the fused vertebrates would affect the motion in my neck some. We chose the second option, and the surgeries were successfully performed. The pain to my hip was extreme and any movement created a great deal of discomfort.
Since I was constantly in bed and had been for sometime, physical therapists would come to my room daily to help me stretch, beat on my chest to help me breathe properly, and suction the build up from my lungs ─ three activities I did not enjoy. Since I remained in bed for so long, my tendons would begin to tighten and cause be joints to bend. This effect would become increasingly worse unless physical effort was made to resist this tightening. So the therapists would come exercise me everyday, stretching my muscles and straightening the joints in my legs, arms, and hands to resist this tightening. Then a different therapist would come into my room and beat on the sides of my chest to loosen the build-up of flem in my lungs so I could breathe properly. This wouldn’t have been so bad except to do this, they had to beat on one side of my chest, then turn me and pound on the other side of my chest. Because of the operation to my hip, this turning was extremely painful. Then, finally, the therapist would insert a tube down my throat and into my lungs to suction the build-up out of my system. This caused me to gag and choke severely. I came to detest this procedure.
For the first few weeks at the hospital, I was hooked to an IV from which I was give liquid nourishment to keep me alive. The doctors later placed a tube in my abdomen which went directly into my stomach. The nurses would chop up my food in a blender and then feed it to me through this tube. The nurses all carried out this task pretty much the same, except for one. She couldn’t bear to mix all the foods together and give it to me in that form (even though she was inserting through the tube that went directly in to my stomach), so she osterized each item separately and fed them to me one at a time.
At one point, I began throwing up everything that they tried to feed me. When this complication appeared, Dr. Tice gave the nurses the order to stop feeding me through the stomach tube. Dr. Tice had to go out of town for a time, and he turned over my case to a different doctor while he was gone. He gave the doctor strict orders to keep an eye on me. This doctor checked on me once, I think, but he didn’t really check to see how I was doing. In fact, the nurses were continuing to follow Dr. Tice’s order not to feed me, and because this doctor didn’t come by to check on me or give the nurses new orders for me, they continued to allow me to go without food. As I remember it, they were providing nourishment to me through an IV. Although this gave me, I suppose, the minimum daily requirement, it didn’t fill my stomach or lessen my hunger pains. I cried to have something to eat and wondered how long I could survive this. I lost weight drastically. While I was playing football before my accident, I weighed 155 lbs. When Dr. Tice returned, I weighed 98 lbs. Another operation ensued, where they found that my intestine had “telescoped” and would not allow digestion. The doctor corrected the problem and sewed my stomach back up. After the operation, I was able to eat and keep my food down, but the discomfort I experienced from the “wound” in my stomach caused so much pain, it was almost more than I thought I could live through. I fell into a deep state of depression, and if it weren’t for the love and support of my family, I never would have made it.
I was in the hospital for a total of two-and-a-half months, including a week at a rehabilitation center. When I was released, there was some concern as to whether or not I would be able to remember my school studies adequately so that when it came test time, I would be able to pass the tests. When I graduated from high school, I sent a letter to Dr. Tice to let him know of this accomplishment. Periodically through my life, I have sent him letters to let him know of my progress: completion of mission to Finland and ability to speak the Finnish language, marriage and children, graduation from BYU, etc. Through his accomplished medical knowledge and skillful hands, the Lord was able to perform a great miracle, giving me a full recovery.
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February 3, 1998 Mathew J. Stucki Page 1
As I set out to complete the awesome task of recording a few meaningful experiences in my life which occurred during my senior year in high school, I am overwhelmed by the task at hand and wonder “Where do I begin?” With that said, I begin now to write these experiences as I remember them.
My sister Robyn lost her husband to a car accident when their first child, Levi, was but a month old. She moved from her house temporarily and back in with the family. The small room adjacent to the family room became her bedroom. This room barely fit a twin bed and a cradle for Levi. I believe she had a rocking chair, also, and a few shelves on the wall for some belongings. Because this room was so small, however, she left most her things in the attic of her home on her property. She never complained about her circumstances, and I felt she was truly grateful she had her family to rely on. In many ways, we relied on Robyn. Despite her tragic loss, she was grateful for her son and for her blessings. She brought much joy into our family, as did Levi.
I was blessed by the Lord to obtain a good job at City Market as a bagger when I turned 16. This company had the reputation of paying their employees well and providing excellent benefits. I was excited about these prospects but had no idea how important this would be for me. Although I could not drive when I was first hired, I soon arranged to buy a 1970 Dodge Challenger from Brent. It was a good car and had been well-cared for. It provided the much needed transportation for my new job, and as a young boy, I was thrilled to have my own car, especially this one. Of course, it needed the typical maintenance that cars do, but it was in great condition, and I was on top of the world.
My job at City Market allowed me to earn enough money to save for my mission, pay for the maintenance of my car, help Mom and Dad out with the finances at home, and have spending money to do the things I wanted to do. I felt greatly blessed to have this job.
The summer of 1980 was an eventful season to say the least. I started for home after a regular day’s was work and was nearing home. When I reached the turn off from the river road and headed up towards Castle Valley, Jerry White flagged me down as he was coming down the road from Castle Valley. He had a concerned look on his face and began to tell me that there had been a fire up in the valley earlier in the day. He indicated that no one had been injured but there had been some damage. He said he wasn’t sure but thought that maybe the fire had burned down Robyn’s house. I thanked him for telling me and headed home quickly. My mind raced as I hurried up the road to the valley. As I rounded the final curve before reaching the valley, I met Robyn in her Volkswagen Rabbit coming the opposite direction at a high rate of speed. Her eyes were red and her face was white. I slowed my car hoping she would stop. She didn’t slow down at all but passed right by me and continued down the mountainside. I didn’t know what to do, but my fear not knowing where Robyn was going or what she might do induced me to quickly turn around and pursue her.
I drove quickly after her, but she had gained a fair distance from me. I saw her turn up the river at the bottom of the hill, and I followed. When I caught up with her, I honked my horn and blinked my lights to get her attention and persuade her to stop. I knew that she saw me but she wouldn’t slow down. I accelerated and passed her. Once I was in front of her, I applied the brakes and we both slowed down and came to a standstill. I got out of my car and walked back to where Robyn had stopped. She rolled down her window when I reached her, but I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to see and feel. Robyn’s look of hopelessness and tear-stained faced gave me a small glimpse of the pain and suffering she was feeling. Levi was buckled in his seatbelt in the passenger seat, wide-eyed and placid. Up to this point, I had been so concerned with overtaking Robyn, I hadn’t considered the emotions I was feeling. Tears flowed freely as I leaned in through the open window and put my arms around Robyn. At first I couldn’t talk but held her tight in my arms. Finally, I gathered my emotions enough to whisper “I’m sorry, Robyn. I’m sorry.” I asked her if she would be coming back. She said she needed to be alone for a while. Unsure what that meant, I got her to promise that she would return. I expressed my love to her, and she and Levi sped away up the river road.
It was a long drive home, and it hurt all the way thinking about the Robyn’s suffering. AShe of all people didn’t deserve it,@ I thought. But I knew she would return, because she had promised.
I decided to play football during my senior year in high school, just months following Robyn’s tragic fire. Football practice was scheduled to begin at the end of the summer. I was thrilled with this opportunity and enjoyed practice a great deal. During the final week of summer before school started, we held practice twice a day. Once early in the morning and again that afternoon. Although this scheduled was strenuous and presented some hardship since I lived 25 miles from town in Castle Valley, I knew it would last only a week and the anticipation of our first game carried me from day to day.
It so happened that Mom and Dad had arranged to attend Education Week at BYU in Provo that week also, so Brent was staying with us in the valley while Mom and Dad were away. My memory of the events of that week and the months that followed is sketchy. Most of what I know or remember about that time, I’ve pieced together from things others told me. Anyway, one morning of Thursday, August 18,1980, I arose, dressed, and left for practice. Although I can remember nothing of that morning, the car I was driving apparently slipped on the dew on a new stretch of black top near the bridge at the White’s ranch. My car turned sideways and hit the cement buttress of the bridge directly. The car was torn in half at the middle. Incredibly, I was throne to the floor and remained in the front portion of the car while the front seat broke away and went with the back half of the car. Some neighbors were following not far behind me and witnessed the accident. They rushed back to our farm to alert Brent of the emergency. Brent hurried to the site of the accident and found me lying in a pool of blood. He cradled my head with his hands to stabilize my neck and held me that way as I was placed in an ambulance and the entire drive to the Moab hospital.
Once the doctors in Moab saw my condition, they decided that it was more serious than they could handle, and they rushed me to a larger facility in nearby Grand Junction, Colorado. Brent called BYU and had Mom and Dad paged so he could inform them of the situation. Brent told them that I was still alive but that my future was unsure. They left for Grand Junction as quickly as possible. They stopped once in Helper to call and get an update on my condition. They learned that I had been placed in the intensive care unit and still holding on. Mom and Dad hurried on until they reached Grand Junction.
When they arrived at the hospital, they found that I was unconscious and had been placed on a rotating bed. I was strapped in and the bed which would tip to the left side and then to the right and back to the left continuously. I thrashed about and gritted my teeth as though I was in tremendous pain, but the doctors told the family this was normal for an individual that received a head injury like I did. I can’t remember any of this, so I can only repeat what others have told me. I remained in a coma for two weeks.
Of course, the family members could not stay at the hospital, and we didn’t have money to pay for a motel. Dad contacted the bishop of a local ward there in Grand Junction. The bishop sought the help of an elderly woman, Sister Olsen, who lived right beside the hospital. She graciously consented to allow the family to stay in her home as much as needed. She welcomed them to come or go as they pleased and often shared a meal or offered them some kind thing to make their stay more pleasant.
Someone in the family, either Mom, Dad, or Robyn, stayed with me at all times during the day. Dad came on the weekends, and Robyn and Mom would divide the week. I didn’t comprehend the dedication they consistently displayed. I’m amazed now to think back and realize the commitment they had traveling back and forth between Grand Junction and Castle Valley three or more times every week. We never could have afforded these trips without the generous contributions of others, many whom I never knew or met.
I received a tracheotomy when I was admitted to the hospital, so any communication I had with the family was limited to lip-reading, pointing at an alphabet to try and spell messages, or choosing the statement from a common phrases board. The first memory I have of this time was one day when I was in my hospital bed and Robyn was there with me. I must have said something which indicated to Robyn that I had no idea how long I had been at the hospital. She said “Mathew, how long do you think you have been here?” to which I responded a day or two. “You’ve been here two-and-a-half weeks. Don’t you remember?” I didn’t. It felt strange like I’d just woken up from a long nap (2 ½ week coma).
The nurses and therapists also got to know us well because of my extended stay. Although I don’t remember the nurses names anymore, I do remember their kindnesses were plentiful.
At my request, the family member staying with me tried to leave after I’d fallen asleep and return before I awoke in the morning. Although they were exhausted from a long day tending to my needs, they were always to do this for me. I remember well my father writing his testimony inside the covers of Book of Mormons to give to the nurses. He would do this late at night while I rested. He’d turn on the light in the bathroom and open the bathroom door, then he could write by the light of coming through the open door without disturbing me. He would express his appreciation for all the care the nurses so skillfully gave me and offered to share with them something that had brought great happiness into our livesBthe gospel of Jesus Christ.
Although I’ve forgotten when exactly this took place, I remember excitedly telling Robyn when she came to my hospital room that Gregg and Randy had come to visit me the previous night. She said “Mat, do you remember where Gregg and Randy are? They are still on their missions,@ which didn’t make an difference to me. I was convinced. “They did come!” I maintained. This was at a difficult time during my hospital stay when I needed additional love and strength from the family. Years later, when talking with Randy about this experience, he commented that he had a dream one night while on his mission during the time that I was in the hospital in which he saw my room exactly and in great detail. Whether I saw them that night in the spirit or in the flesh I don’t know, but when I needed their strength the most, they were there to help me.
I had several operations during my stay in the hospital. Foremost, my neck had been dislocated. To repair this problem, I had a couple of different options: first, they could immobilize my neck giving my tissues time to heal. This would require that I have a halo secured to my skull to help hold my head and neck in place while the tissues healed, or second, they could take chips of bone from my hip and use them and wire to fuse the vertebrates in my neck together. The second option would get me back on my feet more quickly, but the operation to my hip would be quite uncomfortable and the fused vertebrates would affect the motion in my neck some. We chose the second option, and the surgeries were successfully performed. The pain to my hip was extreme and any movement created a great deal of discomfort.
Since I was constantly in bed and had been for sometime, physical therapists would come to my room daily to help me stretch, beat on my chest to help me breathe properly, and suction the build up from my lungs ─ three activities I did not enjoy. Since I remained in bed for so long, my tendons would begin to tighten and cause be joints to bend. This effect would become increasingly worse unless physical effort was made to resist this tightening. So the therapists would come exercise me everyday, stretching my muscles and straightening the joints in my legs, arms, and hands to resist this tightening. Then a different therapist would come into my room and beat on the sides of my chest to loosen the build-up of flem in my lungs so I could breathe properly. This wouldn’t have been so bad except to do this, they had to beat on one side of my chest, then turn me and pound on the other side of my chest. Because of the operation to my hip, this turning was extremely painful. Then, finally, the therapist would insert a tube down my throat and into my lungs to suction the build-up out of my system. This caused me to gag and choke severely. I came to detest this procedure.
For the first few weeks at the hospital, I was hooked to an IV from which I was give liquid nourishment to keep me alive. The doctors later placed a tube in my abdomen which went directly into my stomach. The nurses would chop up my food in a blender and then feed it to me through this tube. The nurses all carried out this task pretty much the same, except for one. She couldn’t bear to mix all the foods together and give it to me in that form (even though she was inserting through the tube that went directly in to my stomach), so she osterized each item separately and fed them to me one at a time.
At one point, I began throwing up everything that they tried to feed me. When this complication appeared, Dr. Tice gave the nurses the order to stop feeding me through the stomach tube. Dr. Tice had to go out of town for a time, and he turned over my case to a different doctor while he was gone. He gave the doctor strict orders to keep an eye on me. This doctor checked on me once, I think, but he didn’t really check to see how I was doing. In fact, the nurses were continuing to follow Dr. Tice’s order not to feed me, and because this doctor didn’t come by to check on me or give the nurses new orders for me, they continued to allow me to go without food. As I remember it, they were providing nourishment to me through an IV. Although this gave me, I suppose, the minimum daily requirement, it didn’t fill my stomach or lessen my hunger pains. I cried to have something to eat and wondered how long I could survive this. I lost weight drastically. While I was playing football before my accident, I weighed 155 lbs. When Dr. Tice returned, I weighed 98 lbs. Another operation ensued, where they found that my intestine had “telescoped” and would not allow digestion. The doctor corrected the problem and sewed my stomach back up. After the operation, I was able to eat and keep my food down, but the discomfort I experienced from the “wound” in my stomach caused so much pain, it was almost more than I thought I could live through. I fell into a deep state of depression, and if it weren’t for the love and support of my family, I never would have made it.
I was in the hospital for a total of two-and-a-half months, including a week at a rehabilitation center. When I was released, there was some concern as to whether or not I would be able to remember my school studies adequately so that when it came test time, I would be able to pass the tests. When I graduated from high school, I sent a letter to Dr. Tice to let him know of this accomplishment. Periodically through my life, I have sent him letters to let him know of my progress: completion of mission to Finland and ability to speak the Finnish language, marriage and children, graduation from BYU, etc. Through his accomplished medical knowledge and skillful hands, the Lord was able to perform a great miracle, giving me a full recovery.
