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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