Lion, was the first born
with Hirschspurngs that we know of in our family. He was never
diagnosed with hirschspurngs. It wasn't till my son was born
that I knew what was really wrong with Lion. I was in the 8th
grade when Lion was born. I was an only child. My mother
remarried in 1962. I had two step-sisters that visited in the
summer. This was different, I was going to have a brother or
sister that would be mine, living with me. This is Lion's
short life, and my memories as a young girl of my brother's
fight for life.

Mac was born December 9, 1968, Christmas break was soon at
school. I was so happy, he was so precious, perfect in every
way. Or we thought. Guess my mother knew he wasn't, just
wasn't to sure what it was that wasn't right. Mac would not
eat. I remember hearing Dr. Rigler telling my mother, he will
eat when he's hungry. Just keep sticking the bottle in his
mouth. Dr. Rigler took the bottle and what looked like to a 12
year old was shoving it down his throat to try and make him
eat. I'm sure he wasn't, just looked like that to me. We go
back home, another day goes by. Mac threw up some bile. My
mother says, I've not changed any dirty diapers. This baby has
not soiled any diapers. I can not remember going to the
hospital with them, nor exactly if they took him to the
emergency room, or called Dr. Rigler and told him, then
meeting him at the hospital. The next I really remember is
being in the waiting room while Mac was in surgery. They
removed a intestinal blockage. The surgeons didn't seem to
really know what the problem was. They said he had not passed
his meconium,(first infant stool) like he should have when
born. I remember them saying something about him having a kink
in his intestines.

Christmas
break would be over Monday. I was told Mac was doing good, I
was to go to school in the morning. This had not been a good
Christmas break. Mac had some really bad moments over
Christmas break. He got the nickname Lion from a type-o on
something at the hospital. The nurses said he was fighting
like a Lion, so that name stuck.

Monday morning comes, my step-grandfather comes to the
house, tells me he is there to take me to the hospital. I
argue telling him NO! I am to go to school. Then my
grandmother tells me, my mom has been at hospital since wee
morning hours, Mac is dying. This is the first time I've seen
my maternal grandparents together, at our house. I know this
is really bad. From the time he was admitted to that day, I've
not been able to see him. Today will be different. We get to
the hospital, they have him in a regular room. This really
cold empty room with a tiny baby in an incubator is all I see.
The Doctor pops in once or twice. Doesn't seem like we were
there all that long. I'm so confused. He was doing really good
yesterday and now dying. I don't understand at all. I stood
looking at him in the incubator and said, he's not breathing.
Leon (step-dad), says that's it then. Steps out the door, and
next thing I know we have to leave as the Doctor comes in the
room. As we leave the hospital, my mother lites a cigerette.
She hadn't smoked a cigerette since Mac was put in the
hospital. I'm told on the way home, the hopital called in the
middle of the night. They said, somehow accidentially the
incubator had gone dry. Causing it to cook him internally,
they need to get up there, he wouldn't live long. Needless to
say, this is a vision I've never ever gotten out of my head.
Not ever understanding how could the incubator go dry and cook
my brother. Not understanding how calm my mom and step-farther
seem to be. I wasn't sure how to be. Wasn't sure of what I was
feeling. I was 12.

People from the church were at our house by the time we got
home. I remember wishing everyone would leave, shut up and
leave. Leon (step-father) must have felt the same. He took me
and we went into another room where we cried together, alone.
Leaving my mother to deal with these people full of good
intentions. I was never asked about my feelings. Not sure my
mother nor my step-father ever knew how much Mac touched my
life, or how much his dying effected me. Guess they felt I was
only 12.

In May 1970, Greg was born. Healthy baby boy. His birth
didn't replace Mac's place nor make the memories of Mac any
less. He is Greg and Mac is Mac. I don't know the reason, but
I never felt my mother allowed herself to mourn. Often
wondering, why I never saw her cry. I thought about Mac all
the time. I just did not understand why he died.

The truth of what was wrong with Mac would not be answered
until the birth of my son, December 7, 1978. Just a few days
short of 10 years later. I thank Mac and God for the precious
time I had with William. I knew with William it had to be
something hereditary. I must get my outter strength from my
mother. I didn't see the tears within her heart. The same
tears I never let anyone see. I would learn, a relationship
with death is as personal as a relationship with the Lord.

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